I lay waste to hope,
wherever I find it.
I drag it into the light,
revealing all the little flaws,
in it's design.
I set fire to happiness,
with fervor.
I love to watch,
as people's joyful little worlds,
are rendered unto ash.
For every act of human kindness,
I'll see a thousand homes destroyed.
I'll leave ten thousand quaking people,
to be consumed,
by hells most vile lords.
All shall come to know my face.
All shall come to know my name,
Despair.

Feel my words,
Let them soak into your skin.
Let ink fall like tear drops,
And drown this poem in soul.
Let it eat away your darkness,
And let you once again be whole.

by any other name would smell
as till as a cliche,
a plate,
stereotype,
   for example, i.e.:
        'tis better to have loved and lost, then to
have never loved at all.
Once new, then used repetitively,
i.e.
Only time will tell.
If any words
become
described as such.

Ringed fingers run across sculpted chests,
and they don their red stained lipstick vests.
"Roxanne" plays in the background,
and it feels like raindrops falling down,
because my eyes are cold, and blue, and wet.

Misty eyes and tired smoke
breathe deep through aching, weary lungs.
We cry in alleyways and choke
on strange bedfellows with probing tongues.
My heart is filled with tear stained jokes.
My jeans are filled with crumbled ones.

Crammed years into nights,
Spoke of lives lived in between,
Like crimes to confess.

Have you ever noticed the coloured dust on a butterfly's wings
Or are you too busy running after money and things
Have you heard the crunch of fall leaves under your boot
Or are you too rich to be going anywhere on foot
If you have lived on earth for any time at all
and yet have no time to observe the magic of the world
Wake up, wake up, and fall in love again
the beauty of our planet is a finite thing

Have you ever felt the spark in a lover's touch
or is your time too precious for love and such
Have you ever felt pampered in nature's lap
or do you have every luxury pouring out of a tap
Is your idea of comfort a day in the spa
Or have you ever seen the magic in a little girl's laugh
Do you feel sheltered under a concrete roof
or have you ever fallen asleep in that magical tree shade?

Wake up, wake up dear friend, and see the world anew
Look at yourself again in the fresh morning dew
Open your mind to the wonders of our world
and let's make our Earth a paradise once again.

When Whitman wrote his "Leaves of Grass"
he was a man before his time.
Just ten years - the span of his career-
before he wrote his final line.
He never asked to have the gift
he could not un-see what he saw.
His sensibilities were formed
in the crucible of civil war.
He wrote beautifully of loss
in words that he was proud to sign.
Now I too know how he felt
as he approached the finish line