Torn, yet this stretch of night
Is not counterfeit to the eyes.
Purple heart bluffs, as ides
Of each month come hastily by.

Men of conquest, men of honor,
A call to glory is a call to clangor.
Yet still is the restless nightmare
Alive for the wounded warrior.

To wither, vanish, fade and diminish,
Dissolving in a glass half - empty
That forgets, whilst growing
In Time's passage and e'er
Shrinking with age, is
To wither, vanish, fade and diminish.

Darling, I heed thy cries as you feel
Blemished, and are becoming nearer
To Death than to me, 'cause I cannot
See the petals for the rose ye be,
Or at times sense what scents
Linger in your train, as you
Do wither, vanish, fade and diminish.

However, in perfumed decay, I watched
You sustain your image, and persevere
In a glass that I changed out and made
Half-full, being so careful when putting
You back in it, but still you most certainly
Do wither, vanish, fade and diminish.

The day has come and you have gone
Away, and those familiar feel an agony,
As we display you finally in a heavenly
Vase, for our good-intentioned and
Religious ceremony: but now I will
No longer see you
To wither, vanish, fade and diminish.

Hear the cries of women. Hear the screams of men.
Listen. They will never scream and cry again.
Screaming, running, terrified, as Hell-fire fills the skies.
Ignited by the greed of Man. Fueled by hate and lies.
No where to run.  No where to go.  Running, screaming, lost.
Accumulating land and gold, no matter what the cost.
Ten thousand years and counting. The story oft the same.
Accumulating land and gold, sometimes in God’s own name.
Ten thousand years and counting. The weapons more mature.
But in the hands of jealous men, will never be the cure.
Jealous men seek riches from a world they must despise.
And now run screaming, terrified, as Hell-fire fills the skies.
Phil Lindsey 6/17/15

Peak experiences are now
Flashes of allusions;
The universality thing,
But not spiritual or metaphysical,
The minute and grand have equality,
Or none are equal.
The tree is free from adjectives,
A birdsong nest is superfluous.
Nest will suffice.
When I hear your name
We are together again.
I can't pass a hedge
Without  remembering the push,
The old gap;
It's the push.
There's the poem.
The push.
Each thought a particle,
All particles experiences.
Try it now. No descriptors.
Eyes. Airplane. Clouds.
     (but the story continues):
Airplane. Sunshine. Kiss.
     (there's the peak)
Each word a peak experience.

Byron underwent
Stent implants
For a few
Ailing arteries.
He soon waxed on
About his people
On the other side.
Friends and fans
And family
To kiss and greet
When he arrives.
I know he'll die
Of a broken heart
When he doesn't
Wake up alive,
He won't consider,
Instead,
That he won't
Wake up dead.

I was born to die in Rivertown
As I'm still here to this day
Where the dreams you make are seldom saved
And soon enough washed away

Over time we all must find
That truth along the way
As you plot your course on the sandy shores
Of Rivertown's tidal waves

I dip my toes in murky water
Always surprised at what I find
You'd think by now I would have figured out
I was born to die in Rivertown

Air ?
I feel it
Your voice ?
I hear it
Passion ?
It's filling up
my broken
bones.
Cocoon ?
Turned into
a pretty butterfly.
Light ?
I see it and feel
it pouring on my
face.
Fingers ?
Caressing my
skin.
Love ?
It was the only
thing i believed
in.
You ?
You saved me
from myself and
heard my desperate
cries on those
dark lonely nights* ~

I believe everything
That my T.V. is telling me
From my old time black and white
To the new color technology

From what all I should wear
To everything that I should eat
My television really cares
Never once would it lie to me

The way I should smell
What atmosphere I should breath
Helps me be myself
Fulfills my every need

It's here to entertain
Keep my life on track
Shows me what is in
Tells me where it's at

If you can't believe the T.V.
Who then can you believe
Based on fact not fiction
Never out of selfish greed

As long as there's still breath in me
I'll continue until I leave
Believing every single thing
My television is telling me

Isa was the type of girl we all dreamed of being. She spoke
quietly, smiled softly, & held her body with grace. For
now she was heaven. No one truly knew her & her eyes would hide
a multitude of secrets from her past. One summer she began
a diary of her innermost thoughts:

I can't sleep. It is 4am & I am typing
my thoughts. The sun is rising
in the sky. Charlotte is calling me (I hope this
afternoon). I can hear the kettle whistling
so I'm going to make a cup of tea.

Later Charlotte showed me her diary:

Outside the sun is rising. 4am. Just waking up.
Going over to X's this afternoon. Got to go.
My tea is ready.

Then I let her read my diary. I was shy at first to share
something so private. We realised we had a lot in common.
I was intrigued by who X was, & she smiled, "Someone might
read my words without me knowing!"
I smiled back back. Of course. What a good idea. How had I not thought
of that. From that day on I always used X for those people I knew.

© Sia Jane