I walk through the valley of darkness,
though fear besets me, and a darkness is
In my mind, for my dream is there, shining
like a morning mist, far away, set in the unreachable
horizons of my belief. Unreachable, though I struggle on
through all the troubles and tribulations of the world.
Because I must.

So I go on, on through a gauntlet of fear and doubt
And pain. For though I suffer, and though I die,
gasping, sprawled on ****** ground, the stones
hard beneath me, it would be enough, at the end
Of things, to say at least, that I tried.

Yes, at the end of things, when life is bitter
and death seems sweet, it would be enough,
to say, that I tried.

There, at the end of things.

I look back at all I have written, all I have seen.
I think it was a good life, I think it has been well spent.
Kindness and joy, mixed and intermingled with sorrow and regret.
I like to think that I have seen both sides of the spectrum, if not to the extremes,
men burned and broken, for listening to their dreams. I have seen joy and heard laughter,
witnessed the happy innocence of a child with both joy and sadness, for the knowing that it will be taken from them. Ah, for life is a cruel experience, and though joy is in it, and laughter, and peace, and innocence too for a while, for a year, for a day, this all is mingled and mixed, interwoven seamlessly with sadness, regret. With the melancholy of a still winters morning, on a cold winters day. For one cannot be without the other. Or how else could life be? Could the joy of a raindrop falling from a grey and cloudy sky to splash against ones face be truly appreciated, if one had not first to experience the long, hard years of bitter drought, and the women's wailing cries in time of famine? Or could the joy of innocence, total and pure, be recognized for what it was, if one had never lost it? This is the balance of life, yin and yang, universal and eternal, for if it was not, how could we exist at all?

Why is it that every time I leave the room, I hear
the candles flickering? You all whispering, your breath
fluttering, butterflies of lies and deceit, they in their eloquent
artifice, they are fluttering the candles, causing them too to whisper,
Voices of smoke and flame, and human tongues, whispering that most hurtful
sound, a trusted friend, hissing through a liars teeth.

I sometimes walk down a crowded street, buffeted by a river of humanity, and fantasize in my walking, from here to there, what it would be like if people just moved slower, thought more, danced more, loved more. I'm dreaming I know, a world fit only for the realms of sleep, this what I have imagined. And yet....I can't help it, walking down a frosted side walk, cars speeding by, snowflakes falling to melt against my coat, and sending a delicious shiver of cold, a sensual chill, that travels up my spine to exit through my lopsided ears, and steal a ride on my steaming breath, out into the cold from whence it came. I'm walking and I'm dreaming, two lovers kissing in the snow, oblivious to those who pass them by. Why can't I have that, why can't I gaze into anothers eyes the way they're doing, and realize in that moment that we would be together forever? Can't I even fantasize about it, dream about it, in idle moments between the strains and hardships and petty coincidences of daily life? I sigh and walk on, brushing past the cluster of people, standing in the way, gazing with longing and envy at what those two had found, together, in a snowstorm, in between the bustling, ordinary, regular, and boring moments of daily life. I look in through a store window, at the blurred and fuzzy television screens, snow swirling up there in the wintry breeze, and wreaking havoc on the broadcasting towers, away over there. I know I don't have time for this, for staring idly at the wintry sky, and the blurred, nonsensical images on a set of fuzzy TVs that someone forgot to take inside. I sigh and turn away, glance at the time. 6:15. Work would start soon, a dreary start to a dreary day. Maybe I had time for an espresso, quietly in a corner, in a crowded Starbucks, full of other people like me, trying to get warm, to find a quiet corner to sit down in, amidst everyone else trying to do the same thing. I'm walking again, turning a corner, brushing by, people like eddies of water, swirling around me. I can smell the Starbucks now, can taste the coffee, stale now with the dry and unexcitable feel of countless repetition. I stop outside, and try to remember the first time I entered this Starbucks, how it felt, how it tasted. What was the atmosphere like, was it any different from what I feel now every time I go in?  And what about the people, were they always so quiet, so reserved, huddled in corners, alone or in small groups, never talking, never greeting, never standing, till they've finished their coffee, and have to then, and go out back to their work, whatever it may be? I stand there, for a while, only slightly aware of the passing of time, the tick tock of the countless clocks and watches spinning endlessly around me, all day every day. I stand there and then reluctantly conclude, with a sigh and a shake of my head, that the Starbucks in front of me, all it's scents and tastes and it's muffled sounds, all the atmosphere of the place, was the same as it had ever been, and it was only me that had changed, becoming as much a part of the atmosphere, of the feel of the place as anyone else in there. I found that I was walking again, my steps slow and heavy, and that before I knew it I was inside the place, with all it's smells and tastes, and slight, unconscious sounds exactly as I had recalled them to be, as if to reinforce the unfortunate conclusion that I had just come to. I sat down and ordered my usual, a ,mocha without the cream, and two bags of sweetener. I watched the waitress as she moved off, laden down with orders and trays. I watched how she walked with a smooth and hitch-less gait, a perfectly neutral stance, meant, I was sure, to support her ability to be nearly invisible, when she wasn't taking your orders, or walking by. I sighed and sipped my coffee that had sat there for a while now, as I had considered what the smooth and nearly unconscious movements of the waitress might mean. I regarded her for a moment more, and then turned back to my coffee, and became once more a part of the place, it's atmosphere reflected in me as it was in all the other customers, standing or sitting in the room with me. I finished my coffee. As I rose and tipped the waitress, my thoughts returned once more to my unrealized fantasies, my waking dreams, idle and counterproductive as they were. I was outside, walking again, the cool snow accustoming my face again to the chill crispness of that winters day. I looked up and saw the Chrysler building up ahead, lit up with its thousand lights. I looked back down again, down towards the ground at my feet, watchful for a patch of slippery ice, the practice so ingrained in my nature that it was without thought that I did so, scanning the side walk for any treacherous stretch of ice in front of me. And as I did so I failed to notice any change in direction, or ambiance, so immersed was I in my bleak thoughts. I looked up and found myself far from where I was supposed to be, and with five minutes left for me to show up at work! I cursed once, and then sighed and turned around, searching for any familiar landmarks that might show me the way back to show up late for work, and hope I wasn't going to be denied entrance because my boss had just about had enough! This had happened before. Finally, yes there was the Chrysler building, glowing, a giant among many. I was preparing to head off to my inevitable scolding, and probable discharge, when I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder, small and warm, a woman's hand. I turned, slowly, very aware in that moment, of the average percentage of muggings that occurred in this part of town. I would have been prepared, at least to an extent, to have found a gun aimed at my face, or a knife, low, so as to best gut me, if I should attempt to flee. I stared in shock however, at the small card, with a phone number, written in an elegant scrawl being presented to me by a perfectly lovely woman, dressed in a black overcoat and crimson scarfe, standing in front of me with a smile on her pale face, framed by red locks, shot through with streaks of bright orange and yellow. The girl with the flame colored hair, presented the card to me and said, "Hi! I'm Christy." I simply stared at her for a moment, then at the card. Then," Madam, I think you've mistaken me for someone else, my names Dave August." She smiled even wider, showing strong white teeth, and replied," No I haven't. My organization is doing a charity program, and I thought you looked like you could use some company. We're having a dinner at 10:30 pm on Sunday, December 15th, and we've been instructed to invite whoever we feel should come. Think about it, okay?" And then, before I could react, she had pressed the card into my hands, and was already, halfway across the street, walking quickly, and with a spring to her step. I looked after her, and then, slowly, I smiled. Perhaps I would go to this dinner at 10:30 pm on Sunday, December the 15th. Perhaps I would at that.

I sit and hear the desert wind, sand hissing past,
winging by on the deserts breath. The moon hangs
still above the earth, enshrined in vaults of darkest
black, an infinity of stars to frost the sky. I sit here,
on the shifting crest of a tall and windswept dune,
contemplating the majesty of starry sky, and the silence
of the desert winds. My mind empty, wanders, and I
seem to hear, in the howling of the desert wind, the yipping
cries of jackals, and a strain of music, faint and thin, riding, on
the whisper of the desert winds. I look and see, a palace, light
shining from many windows, and colored pennants, whipping
in the desert breeze, spices seeming, rich and dry, waft around
me, caught, in the twisting zephyrs of the deserts breath. I stare, and
slowly, the sounds of the palace reach my ears, women laughing, singing, and the lilting tones of music strange and wonderful, lift me
from the desert sand, and set me forward, stumbling from fatigue and
thirst, towards that place of light and sound, a refuge surely from the
stinging sands, and the whispering voice of the desert, dry in its susurrations, as an empty skull, bleached and hollow, sockets set to the
contemplation of the desert winds, dessicated remnant of mortal man, till wind and sand consign it to the deserts breath. I stumble forwards, eyes locked on that vision held before me, and I, with all remaining strength and speed, run towards that deserts dream, and in my folly, I
strive for speed, even exceeding the desert wind. At last I halt, and in my weariness, stumble against a mighty gate, set with gold and jade and onyx, moonstone high, and amber low. I set my hands to wondrous gate, but lo! the gates are fast and strong. They do not yield to the feeble push of weary traveler, nor to the entreaty of dry and sand parched throat, imploring it to stand aside. I fall at last, defeated, and thought, to die here, before these gates of opulent splendour, would not be so tragic a fate, as the deaths of thousands, lost as I in the immeasurable vastness of the desert sands. But yea! There in the darkness of night as I made my peace with God and his angels and consigned myself to the inevitable fate of eternal rest, that near unnoticed, the gates swung voicelessly open, and through it I inhaled weakly, the scents of anise and cumin and cinnamon and allspice, all mixed with the intoxicating perfume of the daughters of the desert, scented waters and mulled wine. I reeled, dazed by the glory of light and sound and scent. I was lifted then by gentle hands, soft and cool, with the featherlight touch of sweet virginity. I fell, spinning, into the cool dark of grey oblivion. I awaken, rested, in the dark. Birdsong wafts in through arched windows. Below, I can hear the women singing, talking, as their needles clack in unrelenting harmony. And yet, this all seems to fade, to become less real. I listen harder, and yet, I hear instead of the singing harmony of before, the lonely song of the desert wind, faint and yet as if it had ever been, and this all some fantasy, imagined dream more true than life? I open my eyes. I lie there, back pressed to chill stone, jutting up into the heavens. The scents of man dissipate and are gone, replaced by the dry and whispering aura of the lonely desert, faint sage upon the wind. I close my eyes. falling, I slide to the cold sands and lie there, waiting only for death to take me, that I might once more approach that vision of holy beauty that awaits those that live and die in piety, and with the grace of heaven. A hand touches my shoulder. I do not look up. The hand remains, insistent in its immovability. I rise, slowly, turning, so I might see my unknown companion, with me, in the heart of the windsept sands of the great expanse. A man stands there, robed in white, black veil obscuring all save for dark eyes, set deep in his weathered brow, like jewels of onyx, set in a dark and seasoned stone, left to the desert, in years gone by. "Come. It is time" The man whispers through the desert wind. He beckons me, fingers set with jewels and stones, gold thread belts his waist. He turns and walks silently, out, towards the eastern sky. I follow him, seeming vision of guidance, sent to set my feet on the path of life. I follow him and yet, gradually he fades and is gone, vanished, beside a weathered stone, lonely in the great expanse. I fall to my knees, head bowed, strength gone from soul and body. I hear dimly through the haze of weary enervation, even as death enshrouds me, the trickle of falling water. I lift my eyes. water pools before me, gift of life, sent by spirit of guiding thirst. I drink and life within me lifts its head, water streams down wind partched throat, and even as I fall into cool oblivion, knowing that that vison of heaven awaits me, water soothes me, as I fall at last into darkness, and the shining vision of heaven around me, I close my eyes, darkness enshrouding, as I perish beneath the moon and frosted sky.

I walk through the pouring rain, wind howling at my face, tearing, my hair blows in the wind. The rain streams down my youthful face, aged now, with grief and pain, rain like tears, falls from empty sky. I walk through twilit streets, dim with mist and rain, and I wander, lost in daylight dreams, a haze of visions, enshrouding me, embracing me....her touch soft on my cheek, her gaze gentle, and yet strong, helping me, guiding me out of the howling storms of my inner mind, her whisper warm against my ear, her tears hot, mix with mine, as she whispers, her words full of love and quiet strength, even as she weeps, quiet tears. I fall into dark oblivion, lulled by her caring words, and the soft and gentle sounds of her weeping. I am walking. That, a distant memory, gone, shattered into a million shards of brightest glass, her screams mingle with mine, her body cold on empty street, the wind howls, leaves whipping past my pale face. I hold her, tears streaming, falling, her life bleeding out, trickling, slowing....she draws in a ragged breath, tongue poised for words, eyes desperate, pleading. She dies, breath sighing, slipping, back, into that cruel Autumnal world. I fall, head cradled against her chilling breast, blood slowing now, stopping. She is cold against me. I scream, world uncaring, carries on, and I alone, agony cold in my chest, I fall into the deepest black, her screams echoing after me, down into the dark of sleep. I walk, the rain pours down, the wind cuts me, chills me, dank hair falling, I walk alone, and empty, of life of love, of joy of peace.
I walk, and that empty pain, bitter as the dregs of cheapest wine, roars up, a storm once held in check by her love and gentle tears, strengthened by newer loss and fresher pain, it wells up, and I scream, ragged and tearing. I fall, knees scraping, stones stabbing, mud and leaves pulling, reaching, for my weary soul. I weep for pain and bitter grief, the storms roaring, within, without. I look up at cloudy sky, grey and empty, rain falling like bitter tears. I fall, limbs failing, heart quailing, beneath the empty, bitter pain. I lie here, amidst the mud and leaves, rain whipping past, wind screaming, I lie, consumed at last, by grief, cold fingers squeezing my screaming heart. I lie here, and wait for death, and my beloveds gentle tears.

I walk alone, out in the vastness
of space, heavens vaults, darkness
leavened by the brilliance of
unknown galaxies, and the far off
light of distant stars.

I am alone. lost in this eternal
field, of dark and light, black
and white, and all between,
shining, eternal light, to shine
forever, and bathe heaven, radiant,
in its undying light.

I wander, lost. Am I a spirit,
to wander so, sad and lonely,
cut off from the roiling, chaotic,
masses of humanity, and set to
wander, adrift in a brilliant sea,
vivid colors clashing always,
with the ever present void of
infinity?

But why, if I am here, are not others?
Where are they? Is space so vast, am
I to wander endlessly, lost in the void of
eternity, to be at last at peace, but to have
none others to share it with, none to join me
in my wanderings, none to acompany me
in my eternal journey, none to make it "our"
instead?

And what of Katerina? What of her? Is she here
wandering also, lost and alone even as I am,
enduring the silence of space, alone unto eternity
and beyond?

Or is she some other place, doomed to
eternal pain, locked away, to scream
unheard, save by her tormentor, some
thing of darkness, created from
the blackness of infinity, immortal,
set to guard the way to heavens bliss
the angels dying, falling?

Or is this all, this vast infinity, souls
doomed to wander forever, never
meeting, never crossing, alone
in solitude, forever and for all
the infinite centuries of eternity,
alone?

I wander here, lost for countless
years, stars vanish in heat and
light, whilst I wander, spirit
cast off, set adrift to wander,
centuries come and go,
while I stop to listen for
some imagined sound,
some human voice,
heard but unheard,
the darkness eats my mind,
while light replaces it,
with thoughts of
eternity, solitude and
bliss, together forever,
I and eternity, set to tread
alone through space, from now
until the end of Time.



I am alone, and I wonder,
perhaps, I am not
alone, perhaps I do not wander,
but instead set my feet to the path
appointed me. For perhaps those
stars were not always stars,
those nebulae not always so,
gaseous and vast, but instead were
souls like me, journeying only
to meet their ends as light and
gas and rocky spheres?

Perhaps, I shall know,
perhaps I shall see,
later amidst eternity.