Chasten Calypso declared to be clear;
humming a mumble inside of mine ear.
Always heard, but ne’er understood,
a whisper so willing, decidedly good.

The rapture of doomsday is said to be near,
but an ounce of the evidence has yet to appear.
There are several factors that could end it all;
the pride of mankind is destined to fall.

Hastened Calypso declared to be clear,
rumbling a rumble, fueled by a fear.
Often forgotten, yet forever engraved;
those who are faithful have already been saved.

Dwindled and swindled, the man may soon ask,
“Your person is puzzling; take leave of your mask.”
Now the raven is calling, to bring out your soul,
but all you have left is a void with a hole.

With chastened Calypso declared to be clear
she is tumbling a bumble who’s drunken with beer,
and thought the cliff it is climbing is sharp, and quite sheer,
if the bumble dose stumble it won’t shed a tear.

Where we are looking and what we will find
is based in illusion we have made in our mind;
Always is heard, and is ne’er understood.
It’s a whisper so willing, decidedly good.

It kills to be so close, and yet so far.
She lives inside my mind invisible, and twinkles like a half-seen star.
Only words shall transfer forth, and it’s a misery of sorts.
No face shall I see, no flower found to bloom.
Only a corpse of memory sealed inside a silent tomb.
Where one is blunt the other is bashful.
Where one is close the other is far off,
watching like a seagull.
I watch her like a dream sealed inside a glass case,
I’m not the kind to break things...

Speak to me about the way the wind hits you.
How the air of your mind is stirred.
Give me a taste of your soul music.
That I may fly aloft like a bird.
A rustle, a whistle, through the boughs and brooks
of your words fall pitter-patter
on my attentive eyes and ears.
A dream of heaven; an after-life.
A wish for peace, and a cease of strife.
Yet I shall share a vision of what has always been.
A connection to the infinite.

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent  

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."

Only when the rain comes does the road I travel down reflect all light directed to it.
For in the hazy sheen given to all things
in such a dreary-gray drizzle all that shines
finds room to grow indefinitely.
The headlights, and the stoplights and the store lights and the city lights; the pretty lights
all tumble down and find themselves woven
or rather painted on every curbside, every parkway, every avenue and mainstay.
The intersections are much like a pool of paint and water,
giving birth to a shimmering iridescent daughter.
While in the cool of night when the water falls like air,
I can do nothing but stop a while and stare.
Only when the rain comes does the road I travel down reflect all light directed to it.
Not but a metaphor is this.

Seldom touched are the ways which we can circumnavigate ourselves.
So little searched are the depths at which the spirit dwells.
Yet quickly recognized is the truth that there is something truer than ourselves.
And all depends on how far the human delves;
Into light, into dark, into ruin, into joy, into peace, into war, into pain into pleasure.
Into life and death, into poverty and treasure.
For though we chase after only what may make us smile,
there is more required to make life worthwhile.
Though heartbreak and tears may last through the years
deliverance shall be sweeter still than any passive happiness.
Far more beautiful is life with its portion of strife
and far more worthy is man who has suffered.

In fields where roses fade as finite flowers should
He watches from his mountain; mindfully morose.
Full of sound and fury; sad and surley.
As if made of wood.
He moveth not as a man might move
rather he gather a stretch of wind
and with it work a while, that he may prove.
He is free and clear, he has not sinned.
Yet lost to in trepidation
and filled for five years or more
he is. The child of every nation,
being but a borrower among the poor.
Carry no comforts nor glee
while whistling workers are whimpering;
their pain, an ease to see.
The game is paved with suffering
and always played so thoughtlessly.

Loneliness demonstrates everything totally.
To feel is to wonder; to dance is to plunder.
So take off your dress. It’ll do you no good.

Sleek silk off your body like a waterfall ******
falls to the ground like a puddle.
In the darkness you become the new moon;
unseen yet so...

I could not avert my eye, not for anything.

You touched me with the delicate stroke
of a single finger around my neck to my face;
too potent and mysterious to feel properly.

Then with a lurch I grasped you
like a magnetic vine whose very life force
is clinging.

We danced,
and gave
and give
to live.

A dream that I chase, is something I should not catch.

Asian liposuction feeling the fingers of my mind piling the ripped up chipped up crap from the side of the face to the plate put out in front of my lips to kiss the endless stream of a violent dream and all of the seams are ripped and I’m dark inside.

No where to be hyde or swallow my pride I have nothing left but my bare naked self in the cold of my unfettered failure.

Killing me softly with all the softcore underscore. Oh what a bore.
Such a slap in the face is the endless disgrace that peels though the soul like a razor maypole.

Grand is the shame that once was a game and ends with the fact that I’m deaf and dumb.
I’ve up and confessed.
So it’s over... but still missing
The body, the eyes, the flesh and the thighs, the hair and the lips unyielding.
The mind and the soul. The joy of the whole, and the love I could give so selflessly.

Twas numbing like a needle, or bottle.
Distracting from a cold, cruel, crack in the wall.
Yet up on the wings of an eagles
I’ll resist the pull of the fall.