Words,
imagery,
poignancy,
laconic
brevity,
extended
profundity,
rhetorical
brilliancy,

Poetry...
bringer of insight,
harbinger of wisdom,
manifestation of
wonder.

Quiet. It is so very quiet.
The sound, not quite silence.
Rather, like a heavy snow fall,
it adds to the hushed quiet, and
so creates a larger, deeper silence,
vast as an icy sea, small as a single
snowflake, falling from a cloudy
sky.

The rage that's in me is hard to describe.
Welling up, it roars inside, and whispers
softly in my ear, " to think's a common
innocent deed, the act of cowards, of fools
Of folly, to act's a different sort of thing,
a major step, a greater pact, 'tween you
and the devil down below. Act I say, and
take the prize, **** for glory, **** for greed,
take you what is rightfully yours, and
claim her hand forevermore."

Raindrops are
falling, tears
benign, falling,
from a winter sky,
and the mass of
windswept clouds.

I wake in bed, 'neath twisted sheets,
full throated sings the thrush
and with it, the scrape of knotted
twigs, scratching at my window-pane,
which doubtless served to bring me
up, from that release of dreamless
sleep.

I turn my head upon the pillow,
hoist me up the patchwork quilt,
but struggle how I may in lust
of the peerless prize of sleeps
recapture, I end, as well perhaps,
I might have known, with naught
to show but bated breath, and rest
lost, in want recalled.

Throwing off the strangling sheets,
pushing back the weighted quilt,
I rise, abandon hope of sleep,
shiver, in the morning's chill;
the dawns of Spring as
Winters days.

I move to light a candle,
watch the flickering flames arise,
draw up a chair to the window,
set the candle at my side. I
sit there, dreaming wakeful,
mind weary, gone, astray, as
the minutes pass in silence,
and the hours slip away.

At length, as long I lie there,
reclined in soulful apathy,
lost in boundless sympathy
as to the state of self and Being,
I rouse myself, and stir, eyes
red, begrimed and straining,
for I sense a subtle lessening,
in the aura of the dark.

Then at last, as I sit watching,
I and the herald thrush, at
last, oh long awaited! the
gleam of the dawning Sun.
I rise and gaze in gladness,
tears welling at the brim,
for it seems to me I never saw
more splendid a sight than
this; sublime, celestial
vision, balm to my hearts
desire.

I move towards the door,
all weariness forgotten,
push back the latch and
turn, forward in the
lambent dawn.
I stand amidst the sunlight,
golden gleam effulgent,
and all the dew-drops
glittering, resplendent in
the shine.

I marvel to myself in awe,
at the magnitude of
the world, as if the
colors' cool irradiance,
or the fragrance of
the vernal dawn,
were not but seeming
new, but were, verily
new-made in glory,
set to lighten paradise,
for the coming of
Thoughts firstborn.

I breathe deep, in and out.
Thoughts clear I gaze,
out still, amidst the reaching
light, yearning ever to glimpse,
into the heart of the Sun,
and see there, as I know I
shall, the patterns of eternity,
Imprinted upon my eyes
and memory, full-writ
in endless time, before descends
the final black.

At last, I sit, back straight,
against the old and ivied wall.
Eyes farseeing, gaze lost,
beyond the reach of mind
and men, I waver not, from
that point of infinity, lost to
the horizon, and yet near,
so near...I am lost, adrift,
in a golden sea of light,
and of nothingness,
which is everything,
and eternity.

Lost, amidst the bright expanse;
peace, in endless change.

And I sleep, amidst the
dawning light, at last,
in blissful solitude;
and my soul is far,
and gone from me,
gone, within the fractals
of infinity, and in the
sempiternity of joy,
and of endless light;
for a moment,
and for forever,
in Time.

I wonder, dreaming, lost in the
twist, in the curve of the road,
in the arching endlessness of
times eternity, and we trapped
just a little behind the center,
able to glance before, but not
beyond; I wonder then, when
lost in sleep, what peace may
I find, in living life, what joy
among such twisted lies.
I think of the lily, of the holly
tree, of Christmases, and
laughter free, but ever after
thinking thus, my thoughts
turn always to the empty
dark, to the thorn, to the
adder, to the darker parts.
What joy for me, when cursed
to think, to wander in
places cold and bleak,
led, abandoned, my nature
conflicted, I yearn for the
light, I lust for the dark.
I wonder now, thinking so,
what use there be in striving
so, in knowledge that mine
is a lesser struggle, a paltry
thing, devoid of sorrow;
and yet I feel it, through
and through, I rage at the
dark, I weep at the light,
petulant, true, as a child
grown fat, grown full
in the luxury of an easy
life.

What use, you say?
Why simply this, that
life is short, yet mine new
begun, and though short
it be, yet long mayhap,
I may run in the grass,
and forget my sorrow;
or if, indeed, my life is
marked, my fate be cast
for a darker lot, a shadowed
play, a twisted plot, then
hope there is, if hope it
be, that sorrows
undreamed of may yet
find me, and I may then
in bitter relief, say then
in truth: That though
mine before was an
easy life, a spring devoid
of pain, of strife, that
now at last I have joined
the ranks, of those
who have drunk of
the vinegar of life, and
found it bitter, to the
very dregs.

I look back, see, and regret.
so much of darkness, so much of
bitterness, of despair, of death, of the
chill of being forgotten for ever and ever
and ever..... I look back and wish. Wish upon
the fading star, the falling moon, the setting sun,
wish that I had not taken so of the darker pleasures,
had not indulged this passion for words of pain,
had not opened the door for gentle melancholy.
Wistfully do I weep, for the grief around the corner,
and for the quiet breath of silent death, as he steals
away the precious life, an old man dying, taken at last,
leaves as nothing, leaving nothing, taking naught save
sad regret, leaving naught save life gone wasted.
Bitterly do I weep, deep in the silent tomb of
myself, and wish that I had taken a little of the light
before it was too late, leaving naught but sad regret,
and bottles at the door.

To her side I laughing fell,
there in the violets, and in
the warmth of summers noon.
Love burned in my straining
breast; light reflected in the beauty
of her smile. We ran in that pagan
sunlit idyll; Life, the race and the
scented joy, as we ran in the grass,
in the light, and in laughter. Lovely, she,
in sunlit grace. Our joy the limit of
life and sky.

Still lovely, she, in death, as in life.
Lovely still, as she is laid to her rest,
down among lilies and lilacs and silk,
and amidst the tears of the living, bereft
in their joy, of the life and the youth and
the laughter that was she. I cry out in a
broken voice, "Allele! Remember the joy
and the summer and the wind in the trees!
Remember the long days laughing in the
shade of the oak, of the leaves and the
breeze and the waterfall splashing! Go not
softly into the dark tomorrow. Take your life
with you. Do not end in the darkness, alone,
in the darkness." Whispered the last, voice rough
in sorrow. And I wept, there, in the summers starlit
dark.

I sit and think, of times that there were,
Of wind sighing in the leaves, and
The sunlight golden on her hair.

I look back, through the mists of time,
and I see the starlight in her eyes,
reflected brighter than the non-existent
moon.

I look back, on times of yore, and see there
a wall, old and crumbling, darkness seeping
in to poison life and joy, with the quiet sorrow
of half remembered pain.

I see her there, remembrance, turned cold and bitter,
Lies beyond those frozen gates.

They tell me to leave her, to go, to forget...
but how, when we stood there, her voice
smooth and quiet as liquid moonlight.
How, when I played for her, her tears
as shining jewels, precious, in their transparent
light.


How, when her voice, turned sharp and bitter
as broken glass, tore at my soul, how, when her voice,
broken now, and hoarse with the force of her screams,
whispered to me as she lay in my arms, blood red as holly,
warm and terrible as remembered love, remembered folly.

How, when she asked if I loved her, still, at the end of things,
even as her life drained from her, and her heart slowed its weary
work, and stilled beneath her pale breast?

How, when she had to ask, when she should have
known, the answer always...yes and yes.

I stand alone, feet bare, at precipices' edge.
I feel the wind, a gentle embrace, breathy,
Infinite caress, enveloping my soul in the
Eternity of acceptance. Irises shut, against
the gentle piercing of dawns red-gold,
tender radiance, I gaze into the
kaleidoscopic configurations of Eternity,
and see all, in dazzling brightness.

the winds caress comes now, softly, soft,
as the reverent touchings of the Lovers,
gentle in their adoration, lost in their worship,
of love, of life, of each other..

I inhale, slowly, the air warm and strange,
and infinitely tender, alive in itself,
and in its love of everything, of the world,
and of the multicolored ecstasies' of
Eternity...

I breathe, and, slowly, I grow, expanding
outwards, encompassing everything, and
inwards, becoming nothing...and I discover
the learnings of my secret heart..

I breathe...and I release, everything..
softly, I dissipate, my body released,
become one with the world; with the air,
with the stone, with earth, with life,
with love...

I remain there, awhile longer, existing in
peace, and in the love of spirit...I breathe,
deeply, once.  I open my eyes...and see
my face, there before me, smiling, out of
a cracked, and broken mirror; and there
is the light of Eternity in my skin, in my
smile...and there is everything and
nothing, in the Eternity of my eyes.

Spring,
time of life, of heat, beginnings
growings, season of joy, I do not
celebrate your warmth, nor rejoice
your heralding of summer, your bringing
of the fresh new growth. For I am tired, and weary
of the world, and sleep seems a balm, a soothing remedy,
And I shall go to it, when my time has
passed. As Spring must pass into Summer, Summer into Fall,
Fall into Winter, so will the seasons pass, and the whitening and
the shortening of the days come closer, ever closer, while I wait
amidst the eddies and swirls of youth and life and joy, buffeting me like
waves whipped to fury by the wind and lashing rain. Waiting, I stand.
Waiting I fall. Waiting I rise again, and wait once more for the season of silence
and darkness and soft tranquility, cool in its embrace, long in its passing.
Waiting I, for the Winter cold, and the shortening of days, and the silence over
all, imposed by death, and the frozen heart of life and joy.

The Oak stands tall in the verdant spring,
his hair arrayed all about him, resplendent
in leafy splendor. Birds sing in his branches.

Vigor runs in his ancient veins, his boughs
heavy with seeded acorns; squirrels chatter in
his reaching limbs, arms stretched to the azure
heavens, in that time of swelling Summer.


The cool wind blows, in Autumn, in time. Leaves
flushed with crimson hue, fall to lie amid the great
oaks roots, and among the faded grass, sighing; The
fox hunts in the flaming wood.


The old oak stands firm, its branches swaying in the
cold winds of winter. Its boughs are bare, its stems are
black, the bear is sleeping, the days are short. Yet life
remains in the sleeping wood, buried deep, waiting for
the song of the laughing brook, for the robin and the
thrush; waiting for green Springs return.

Autumn,
Summers dying,
leaves falling;
fire in the trees,
Herald of Winter.

The winds blow, carrying spice and sand and death from the desert, water from the forests, ice from the mountains, fire from the lands of
fire, air from everywhere, and from itself. Stand one day in a high place,
Witt the wind all about you, and none else there but you, and if you listen, you may here secrets whispered to you, on the breath of the wind,
secrets many, and yours among them, for the wind knows all things, and it sees all, forgets nothing.

Winged flight;
souls yearning.
Journey
into the far
places, into the
deep places,
of the sacred
heart; myself
but one
of many.

Standing, I rise,
within, the
weight of
doubt, of
fear, of
the lack of
will to pursue
my dreams,
my goals,
my life, fall
from me...
and I am free
and alone
and together,
and happy, at
last...and all that
may be achieved
lies in my path,
waiting, and all
obstacles that
stand in my way,
are as dust
in the wind, in the
face of my will,
and the knowledge
shining within
me, that nothing
is impossible, if one
will only believe,
and have faith, in
destiny, and in
oneself.

And so from life and the flower
of her youth, has she fallen to the
dust in death. She who laughed with
joy and who wept with her sorrow,
has passed beyond us. Her passion
unequaled, her vibrancy unmatched,
she burned as a flame to gather the lost
and the weary, and give them light and
love and laughter, and to bring them in from
the cold and the darkness. She who had nothing,
gave everything, even unto death. Food for the
hungry, rest for the weary, care for the sick, joy
for the sorrowful. She who loved, was loved in
return by all who saw the care in her eyes and the pain,
borne willingly, so that others might not suffer.
Her spirit strong unto the end, she dried the tears of
those who wept for her, and embraced their sorrow, so that
they might have peace and endure no suffering.
She was our light and our joy, the hearth to which we
came in our sorrow and our grief, to be held and comforted,
and to ease our saddened souls. She who would take our pain
and turn it into joy and light and laughter, now is cold and buried
in the stone. Now farewell to you we must cry and leave you to
your rest. Goodbye, my love. We will meet again in the far fields
of joy and laughter which lie beyond the veil of death. We must.
Farewell.

Walking...
Walking.
Walking,
light, the falling
Universe,
revolving
in endless
stillness,
within
Chaos,
within
Life.

Walking,
through
t­he ocean
of the
Universe,
of the void
not-void,
each step
sending
ripples,
energy;
the seeds of
Life.

Looking,
I see,
the world
falls
away,
the Universe,
is not,
and all
is nothing;
But within,
(striving
past the
Mind of
the Lost
Ones)
I see
Love,
and so,
the Universe.

Once I saw a girl, standing
by the shore of a deepwater
pond, smooth and black as
polished glass, and she seemed
sad. Her hair matched the water,
in sheen and in color, and her skin
was the pale of alabaster, and there
were freckles on her cheeks and around
her blue eyes, and her lips were red.


I walked over to her, slowly, and I doffed
my hat, because she looked so delicate and
frail, and I deemed she would appreciate
all courtesy and propriety, and I composed
myself for the speech of gentles.


I said, "Lady, forgive my intrusion, but I
saw you standing here, watching your
reflection, and you seemed sad. Are you
alright? She looked up at me, and her face
was solemn, and her eyes were sorrowful.


"Sir," she said, and her voice was steady, though
it was laced with grief. "Sir, I am grateful for your
kindness, and you seem a gentleman, and not used
to the hardness of the world, and so are innocent of
true pain and true sorrow. This is a comfort to me, a
great comfort, and so I thank you for your bearing, but
now leave me, for I am weary and full of sorrow, and
desire to be alone with my thoughts"


I was struck then, with the beauty of her speech, and
beheld that she was indeed weary of both heart and
body, for her eyes were red rimmed, and her hands
shook with the smallest of tremors as she stood, there
before me.


"Lady," I said, " Lady, be not frightened to share your
troubles with me. It is true that I am a gentleman, and
therefore unused to the harsher rigors of the living
experience, but, believe me, Lady, when I say that
none of this matters to me, nor should it to you. I know
we are still new met, but already I feel as if you were a
close friend of many years, who has been absent for
sometime, and that we are only now reunited. Share
with me your troubles, and I will listen with a kind eye
and attentive bearing, for to me, your troubles are now
mine, and your sorrows my own."


She stood, frozen, her blue eyes wide with shock, and her
bearing was as that of a startled fawn in the moment before
flight. I made no move, and I held my breath, and I held her
eyes in mine, for I feared that if my attention faltered for but
an instant, she would vanish, like a doe into the shadows of the
trees. "Sir," she said, and faltered. "Sir," she said again, "you do
not know what you ask. And why should my troubles concern
you? This world does not allow for weakness to go unpunished."


"Lady," I spoke, and my voice was gentle. "tell me your sorrows."
She shivered. "Be it so then. I will tell you." She shook her head
and stared into the dark waters of the pond, reflective like the sheen of
polished ebony, stared at her reflection, gazing up at her from the
depths, and sighed. "My troubles began a mere three days prior to
this, and if they seem to you frivolous or unworthy, pray do not laugh,
but leave forthwith, and I will know your mind.


"Lady," I said, and though my voice was gentle still, it was now deep
also and steady, as a mountain before the storm. "tell me your sorrows.
I will listen. I will not laugh. This you know. Tell me your sorrows."
She shivered, again, and her lips parted, and her eyes were more full
of pain and of sorrow than I had yet seen them, and my heart ached
in my breast. "Be it so." she whispered, and her voice was as a
splintered shard of purest crystal.


"I was looking into a mirror, and admiring myself,
and was full of joy at the fullness of my figure, and
of the sheen of my hair. So fixed was I on my reflection
that I failed to notice the approach of a beautiful woman,
with flaxen hair and pale blue eyes and with skin the soft
color of the lilies of the valley. She looked at me and asked
why I should stare so avidly at a simple mirror. I replied
that I was merely gazing into the mirror at myself.


Then the beautiful womans eyes flashed, and in them appeared
such cruelty as I had never thought to imagine or to conceive. "Such vanity." She said to me, and my spirit faltered within me. She
beckoned me to step closer. I did, cautiously, and she bent down
to my ear and whispered, harshly, "You are an ugly *****, and are
so outshone by my beauty that you are as a flickering candle compared to the glory of the Sun." With this she turned and left me, and since
then I have been here gazing at my reflection, and wondering why
God should choose to curse me with so terrible a form as mine." She was crying, the young lady, standing by the depths of the
deepwater pond, darker now, with the fading of the light. She would
not look at me, ashamed of the outpouring of her heart, and I felt
the ache within my breast grow, until grief found me, and tears sprung
unbidden to fall, unheeded, in the waters of the pond.


"Lady," I said, and my voice was heavy and laden now with sorrow for the grief of the maiden there before me, and for her crystal tears, shed in sadness. "Lady," I said, "will you tell me your name?" She shivered once more, and bowed her head as she answered, "Johanna." and a single tear escaped her closed lids to trace its way down her cheek, and fall into the blackness of the dark waters of the pond. "Johanna." she said to me, and her voice then near shattered my aching heart. "Johanna." I said. And again, "Johanna." A third time I spoke, "Johanna." I fell silent for
a moment, and saw that she was trembling, and her cheeks were wet.


"Johanna," I said again, and now my voice was loud and strong, so that
she looked up in shock,and her eyes were fearful. "Johanna, you are more beautiful than the sun in all its glory, more beautiful than the stars, more beautiful even than the infinite heavens in their celestial wonder, arching above us. You are more beautiful, Johanna, because you are you.
Johanna. You of the hair of raven hue, you of the skin like alabaster, you
of the eyes of the oceans hue, you of the ruby lips, you, your voice the voice of angels." And now my voice was soft, a whisper to match her own, as I spoke, close to her ear. "Let none wound you, let none dissuade you, let none harm you in word or deed, Johanna, for you are more beautiful than all of Gods creation, because you are you." She looked at me, and her eyes were full once more with crystal tears.
She sobbed, once, and fell into my arms, and wept. And I held her, there beside the deep waters of the pond, and under the vastness of
the velvet blackness of the night, and the moon, and the turnings of
the stars.

Think,
if the depth
and breadth
of the boundless
sea, were combined
with the serenity
of a flower, and
the stillness of
a clear pool,
forgotten
in a timeless
vale, if all
these qualities
were instilled
in a mortal man,
would he not
be an expression
of the Spirit
of God?

She stands there on the
tufted mound, the lilies
of the valley all about her,
surrounding her in
scented spring. Lovely, in
the hidden dale, in the
sweetly scented spring.

Hot, cool.
Damp, moist.
Blurring, biting, stinging clouds.
Spring Weather.

Us, the people, to me are as
stars, fallen to earth. Each a
small burning point of light,
one among billions, all so close,
and yet so far apart.

On the clouds, moors of heaven,
skidding by, oh would to fly, as
a cloud in a rushing, driving gale.
Wind screaming, tearing, wearing,
lift the trees and raise the stones!
Topple moors and masts alike, and
drive the waves to foaming roar, on
the rocks of the wine-dark sea. On
the edge of the wine-dark sea. Driving,
driving, lifting, falling, speed my lover
home to me. Home to me, home to me,
upon the raging wine-dark sea. To me
across the empty sea.

In walking down the
Sunlit paths, through
The young trees and
The old, through the
Dark vine and the
Flowered stem--my
Eyes see the road of
My passing; yet my
Mind stumbles in
The forwards sea:
The present passes
Over me.

Once I lay in Summers heat;
laid on the grass, 'neath a
tall swaying tree, sole
shade in that sunlit field.
I looked up through the rocking
limbs, through the myriad sighing
leaves, and saw a shining speck of
dust come floating in the breeze.
And I laughed to see it hanging there,
just floating in the breeze.

Days end. sun falling,
gone behind the distant
hills. I watch the vibrant
colors, spread across the sky,
days dying tribute to the fast
approaching night, and wonder,
at the beauty of days dying, and
the lighting of the stars, bright specks
of light, shining in the dark.

I dreamt once of falling,
falling, through
the tales of my life;
and everything
was dim, and my
truths were twisted,
distorted into beings
of fantasy, of light,
and of darkness.
I saw then that this
was because my eyes,
though turned inward,
had yet to cleanse
themselves of the dust
of illusion, which is the
nature of existence,
and which, though neither
good nor bad, is an obstacle
to the perception of the
truth. Thus, when I looked
upon my truths of vision,
I recognized that these were
doubly mine, for they were
formed not only of experience,
but of illusion, and the dreamings
of my mind. And I acknowledged,
in dream, that this was neither good,
nor bad. Determined, however, in
the view of my understanding,
flawed as it was through its
passage into my-self, through
my-self, I looked about me for
the eye of my beholding, that
I might wash it clean with
the realization of its folly,
and I saw that I was within the
eye of my perception, and that
it was in me, and that in ultimate
reality, my Self was the essence,
and the quintessential embodiment
of the eye of my perception,
which was clouded through the
veil of existence, but which
possessed the power to see into
the depths of the universe, and
into the sacred mysteries of
the cosmic heart. Therefore, I
reached outside myself, into the
vastness of the universe,
and inside myself, into the
intricacies of my heart, and
found there my eyes, and
wiped them clean. Held in my
hands, within the clasp of
my fingers, blind I saw, as my
eyes saw, the pulsing of the
veins through my fingers,
webbed and branching
bridges, filled with the blood
of my heart, which was life,
which was the essence of
the universe; for within every
speck of nothingness, I saw, were
the seeds for a thousand, thousand
universes, of boundless life. And I
saw, in that moment in dream, that
there is no end to nothingness,
and so is no end to life, even in the
midst of all absence. Seeing this, I
released my eyes, and
my sight returned to me; and I
saw through it my distorted truths.
And before the sight of the eye
of my perception, cleansed of the fog
of life, which had clung to it
unceasing, from the moment of my
birth, free of all illusion, I for the first
time beheld myself; and I wept, in joy,
and in sadness, for I saw then that
what I had perceived as the distortions
of illusion, were in reality, but the
essence of my truth, tilted so,
that the light of my perception would
scatter upon them, shattering into a
thousand fragments of reflected hues,
and that these were not the images of
falsehood, but rather my Truth, colored
in the truth of my perception, into a
form that I could understand, within
the illusion, that is the nature of
existence. I saw this, and wept, and in
weeping, my heart was cleansed,
and my soul was freed of the burden of
existence, and of perception. Adrift then
in the nothingness of my Being, I recognized
that I was not, and yet, that I was, unique
in the vast glory of the oneness of my soul
with the soul of the universe, which is the light
of all souls, future, past, and present, as it is
One soul, of all, above all, within all,
which is Love, and Truth.

I saw this, in the nothingness of
my being, which was in truth,
everything, as it was nothing,
in time and out of time,
in the glory of change in stasis,
and stasis, within change.
I saw this, in that moment,
in dream, outside of all
moments, in the circle
of time; and I woke,
to the illusion of the world,
forgetful as always,
as to the nature of
Dream.

A man dreams of sunken towers,
windows shattered, dark and empty.
And yet between these broken giants,
swimming cars are speeding by, traffic
ghastly in its size, yet blurring past
without a sound, while sharks and fishes
swim overhead, and eels hide in their
gravel-stone beds.


He stares surreal, lost
in wonder, at the wonderful madness of the
scene all before him. And then a change, a
slowing, stopping, beasts and motors grind to
a halt, and all is still, and all is silent, save for the
gentle swaying of clinging plants, in the cracks and
hollows of Times old ruins. Crack! A short and ringing
sound, first to break the ancient silence. And then, in the
stillness after the shock, a long thin crack appeared on
the side, of that old and towering corpse.


Then came a feel, a shimmering thing, reminding
the man of the heat of a fire in the shivering chill of a cold winters
evening. And in this strange feel, this shimmering thing,
the dreaming man watched, with eyes stretched as far
as they ever could go, as the wall started to sway, to
shiver and creak! He knew this insanity had reached its
peak! As he watched, he saw, he turned all to pale, as
an eye of monstrous, hideous size, opened before him,
blue iris watching, watching him watching, as that eye
stretched as far as it ever could go.


It's pupil was golden,
and it's whites were all yellow, like the tired old color of weary
old bone. It stared at the man, who was watching in turn,
an then with a horrible, hideous crackle, it's huge golden
pupil, it started to burn. Encircled by flames, blue-gold and pale,
it's pupil it shrank, and it shrank down some more, till at last
with a ******* and succulent sound, it was gone, it was vanished!
It was staring no more.


And then with a crack and a rumbling sound,
the eye started to close, it's lids falling slowly, but before they closed the
man thought he perceived, a flickering light where the pupil should be.
With a shivering shudder the man woke with a start. His face was all
sweaty, his sheets were all soaked. The man closed his eyes, and shivered
with fear, at that horrible dream, with that eye full of fire. And there in the
dark of that midwinters night, the man stayed awake till the first hint of
light.

I am standing here, staring into a dim horizon
while the wind sighs past, eternal and uncaring,
bearing with it the tattered remnants of poems,
legion in their number, forgotten and left to fade
away and be taken by the wind. With every step
I make, across this cold and grey place, words
are crushed beneath my feet, their meanings
failing, as they rise and take their places, within
that wind of empty promises, of broken loves and
hollow sighs. I lift my gaze, up from the dust of
my creation, rising slowly and with the grace of
gentle death. I see the horizon there, see it
glowing unconcernedly with the light of a thousand
thousand thoughts, and swaying gently with the
bubbling waves of happy joy, swaying with their
laughter, with their tears and quiet sorrows. We stand
here forgotten, the old and faded words and I, watching
Witt an envy dulled by time and the ever present wind.
We are watching, they and I, as we too, at last are faded away,
eroded by the constant wind, and the hollow sighs of forgotten
words as they rise to join that lonely wind, bleak with the dying
dust of a thousand thousand words, and their sorrows,
as they pass.

I looked, once,
up into a sky
grey, and milky
white. My mind
spun along
trails of
unconscious
thought,
brief and fleeting
as the zephyr
that occasionally
brushed my face..
my eyes slid shut,
and my lips
curved, into
the smallest of
smiles, as I sat
there, still, empty
...calm, and content,
as the gentle
breath of the
west ruffled
my hair,
gently, and
from my fingers,
dropped a
band of gold,
down, into
the abyss below...
down, as I
stand, and
turning,
walk away
from that place,
and I am
happy,
as I go,
leaving
that
memory of
love,
that place
of
beginnings,
and of
ends,
softly,
as we part,
equals, the
silence,
and I.
At last.
At last...

We walk through life,
blind,
knowingly,
and not;
willingly,
and not.
We see the
world,
and let it
pass,
unremarked,
taken as
a fixture
of eternity,
for the
most part.
This, is not
the truth.
The world
is not a thing
of diamond,
not a thing of
light, or
of spirit, wholly,
although it is
all of these
things,
in part;
It is also an
earthen world,
a fragile world,
a beautiful
world,
and one which
we are quickly
stripping of
its beauty,
and its life.
Our world is
dying, and
we are the
cause.
But, there is yet hope.
There is still
time, to
turn back,
to leave behind
us, all this
pain, and
desecration,
and soul-wide
apathy;
there is yet time,
but not for
much longer.
Therefore, I
charge you,
all who read
these words,
and feel them
within your
heart,
change.
Now.
Revitalize your
lives,
revitalize
the world.
Every action
has
significance;
think, before
you act.
I charge you,
do this
thing,
for yourselves,
and for the
world;
and I swear
to you, before
God, and
all the infinite
immutable
and yet
ever-changing
light,
of eternity,
there is yet time.
There is still hope.
the world will
change,
and flower,
for all of
time.
I promise you.
It will.

You are writing. Yes I am writing. But why?
For the ease of my soul. But why? For the
time spent well. But why? For my own sake.
Father, why do you not spend time with me?
Little son. One day you will understand. The
line of days runs ever on, the sun will mind it's
course, but life is a costly thing my son, and I must
pay its price. But Father, life must surely also be, of
play and laughing joy? Come outside and play with
me, for the day is fading and time is short. Come Father
and play with me, let life be patient and mind its cost.
Little son. You know I cannot. Go and find your mother,
she is blessed with ample time, to stem your flow of
questions, and slow your growing heart. Goodbye
Father. Goodbye, my son.

the hearth crackled, the flames spat.
Warmth came from its dancing recesses,
and with it light to greet the shadows.
I curled in front of this ancient thing,
yet newborn through the strength of my
will. And I dozed before the flickering flames,
courting shadows as well as light. And my
heart was glad.

I sit, staring, all around me
darkness, the shadows of the
night lurk about me, while
the soft sighs of the spirits
of the abyss, of darkness,
of death, of despair, swirl
around me, finding their way
into the depths of my heart,
of my soul...plunging me into
nothingness, and drawing a
grey veil over my eyes...I wander,
lost, and alone...and all is ashes,
and dust, upon the winds and
tides of the currents of Time...
and I am lost..

The mountains echo to the
drumbeats call, the forests
ring with their rhythmic fall,
the birds rise into the frost
laden winds, the ground shakes
beneath the call...

I hear her
speak, her
words, fall
through me,
to land
soundly,
on the singing
land that
is my heart,
as she says
the words,
the blessed
words,
"I love you"

I wake, rising, in the dark
of night. I stare, into the
blackness, and listen to the
quiet, and to her breathing,
soft and shallow, there at my
side.

Her face is pale, as I light
the lamp, hanging at my
side, across from her. Her
hair, red, lies stretched, out
across the sheets, thin and
dull, in the flickering glow.

I blow out, the lamp. I lay
down again, softly beside
her. The tears track their
way down the weathered
grooves in my cheeks, and
fall noiselessly, as I lie there,
sleepless, in the night.

Silence

The barren hill


Silence

The rusting gate


Silence

The downcast eyes


Silence
And gentle melancholy


Hand in hand,

The Great Divide


Chasm

Falling down...


Abyss

Unspannable


Separating

The dark from the white


Mist from the light...


Jump...?

Dreaming,
the body is
left behind...
and the soul
is cut loose,
to wander
the realms,
that lie beyond
our bodies,
and our lives.

Sleeping,
I dreamed..
and I flew...

It's blue outside, tinted
in the colors of the rain-
bow, some bold, some not.
The flowers are nodding,
back and forth, like a sea of
violets and reds and oranges
and green stalks. The wind Is
blowing.


It's dark in here, all the lamps
turned way down, all the candles
gone out. Sweet smoke curls up
from the stumps and swirls around
in the darkness; the cloying scent
makes me sleepy.


I look out through a crack in the
curtains, my eyes are dazzled by
the light; spots floating beneath my
lids. When I look back, I can't see.
Drawn, I stare out, the sun hidden
by a passing cloud, glowing orange
behind the white, and watch.


The pines are sighing, alone in their
thicket, a favorite pastime of theirs,
as they watch the flowers in their
sway.


Clouds scud past, gold and red
with the sunset. The crickets
are chirping. Birds sing to one
another in the trees, light and
sweet. The flapping of wings
resounds and echoes throughout
the meadow, as a flock of tired
geese glide down to rest. The grass
is rustling.


I turn and let the curtains fall
closed. I look at the dim and
cluttered room that surrounds
me, I smell the dust and the
mold and the thinning candle
smoke. I sigh, once. And I walk
out, out the door, into the light
and the sunset. And I don't look
back.

I rise, slowly, in the grey morning
light. I raise my eyes, and seeking,
sought; the grey light of dawn,
filters down, between the eaves.

Dressing, clad in the days grey skin,
I step down the covered stairs, soft
as a whisper, born upon the breeze,
for the fear of detection, and the desire
to be gone.

Opening the sighing door, I pause, and
turn, hand still grasping the reluctant
handle, as I see her, beautiful, in her night
gown, her black hair streaming, her eyes,
rimmed with red.

She looks at me, and there is nothing in her
eyes, but sadness, regret, and resignation. She
turns away, and I leave, closing the door
behind me.

I drive to work, sitting behind the wheel,
the grey sky empty, and the black road
full. I look to my right, to my left, and
behind. Everywhere I look, I see the same.
Black suit, grey tie, short-cut hair, and
empty eyes.

I close mine. Open them. The world seems
no different; no change meets my gaze.
only cars and commuters, going forward to
slave.

I look down, up again. My hand reaches, finds
the cold, smooth handle. I raise it. My eyes
close. I think of her, my wife, as the cold end
of the long dull rod touches my temple. A tear
wells slowly in my eye, to fall, softly along my
face. I don't brush it away.

My fingers tremble. They don't know their duty.
My hands shake, as tear follows tear, drifting slowly,
down the lines of my face, careworn, in the line of
pointless duty. My fingers steady, my hands grow still.
It is the breaking point..my mind is blank, as I pull
the trigger...red roses fill my head, as I fall, forward
against the wheel, and the world goes dark.