There’s a key
to open the lock
of the door
that leads to
the alley
hidden from
everyone’s view
old buildings
graying facades
history peeling off
exposing
the strong walls
not many
have walked
this alley
for many centuries
forlorn and tired
history sleeps
memories sigh
waiting to
be heard
the last footstep
that reverberated
into oblivion
lost glory
passionate dwellers
abandoned
for centuries
stripped off
the lights
and long forgotten
switching off
the town’s existence
now only
if one had the key
to walk down
the forgotten alley
history would wake up
to narrate
so many stories
put under
a long spell
an effort to
wipe away its existence
but it soul
still lives
and the key shall be found
to the lucky one
walking amidst history
transported back
to the past
to feel the essence
of this unnamed place
almost wiped
away by time

"The difference between
medicinal and recreational
is a matter of mere intention.

Of course, they can overlap.
I venture to say the Venn-diagram is a single circle.
So, relax and live well."

meet me
where the broad teary rivers
both empty and fill the oceans,
takers and givers,
swapping sorrowful fluids constant,
these loyal thieves,
from the sky,
robbing a soul's invisible moisture,
selling what isn't hisn't
right back to the heavens

for this is the
human condition,
the foaming eddys where
life becomes words
becomes life redux,
infinitum swapping
sorrowful fluids*
~~~~~~
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1052415/a-personal-god-wailing-and-complaining

She had talent, she had skills,
Always there a sucker for meat.
She would look on
In wild abandonment,
Every man thought he was
Jackpot,
Winner,
King
For as long as it did last, a woman
Of such beauty, not even money
Changed hands. She would hold it
Through cloth, up, down  up, down
Till she felt it mature in the palm
Of her cold hand,
Her mouth was cold as ice on meat so warm,
Shocked,
Bewildered,
Ecstasy
As lips cold on warmth made it last,
"I'll drink you down"
"I'll drink you till there's nothing left"
Smiles erupted
Moans of ecstasy
Grew in volume as moments past.
"I'm getting"
"I'm getting"
"AAaghhhhh"
Pain seared though,
As grabbing hair in pain not pleasure now.
She looked up, saw the fear in his eyes,
"I told you I'd drink you"
"I'll **** you dry"
With that she bit in to the meat once more,
As life left this body,
She stood up,
"Was it good for you"
Mmm..
As she licked her lips,
How delightful these men
Are to let me eat upon their meat,
I'll drink everyone of them cold.
"She was a queen of suckers"
She knew where blood flowed fastest
When she was on her knees,
They would not resist just want more,
Feeble men, thinking with the wrong brain
But just more for me to **** off,
So many to eat, as she licks her fangs,
"I'm full tonight"
"Tomorrow though"
Mmm...
English breakfast
Or
Left over nearly cold Chinese
Ill make that decision tomorrow,
I could be really greedy and eat **both....

winter's after-the-noon shadow lights,
fused-tinged with early-onset grays,
harbinger of one for whom death
detaches the answer from that question
too soon asked, so long unanswered,
why me?

those gray lights, a violin accompaniment,
mourning pitched wailings unasked for,
yet always in attendance, court courtiers,
feelings of insufficiency, angry angst insects

envy days when simplistic unknown fears
were the worst enemy, never lingering,
for unknowns have no answers and
cannot obtain permanent resident visas

but reality, another matter, mad hatter,
asking repeating what is this, why is this,
even comprehension partial gives
no comforting answer satisfactory logical

envy innocence past, for newer questions now *****,
comfort by the lies in the essaying, trialling,
if, but, for, the distractions most affordable,
so grasp the pen that is the envy of thy companions

let the ink wail louder than you,
make paper shed what you have used up,
let envy of lost and found, found, yet still lost,
salve, but not solve, soothe, but not save

in the winter afternoons, those shortest days
of indeterminable longevity, words received,
offer little, but words self-conscripted,
a mortal transcript of pain immortalized by pen, relief will yet be,

for the pen is the envy of all

Aesthetics visualized
Dissected and processed
Non-corporeal to physical
Infinite particles vibrating
In unfathomable patterns
Disappearing, reappearing
Momentarily stored
In biographic memory
And finally set free
Onto the canvas
of reality

If only
To live in that zone
Yet patterns shift
From hemisphere to hemisphere
Abstractions reside
In the passing of minds
Like manna from heaven
Perhaps
Gather best in the morn

From Artist to con-artist
Manipulation of words depend
On the placement of the wave
In our creative brain

In conclusion
We all return
Sooner or later

There is a stillness here
though I would not say it's calm
there are only quiet things
and the beating of my heart
tiny little changes
and the turning of the clock
monochrome dreaming
and the repeating of routine
there is a stillness here
though it's not the kind I dreamt