a slap on the wrist;
unguided hand rolls a fist –
knocks back the favour.

she has my voice,
only sweeter;
she has my notions,
only purer;
she has my pride,
only gentler;

she knows i’m hurt,
only better.

she means well;
is it… only a spell?
she breathes a song;
only, i cannot tell —
if she yearns for me,
or only mourns for me.

to me, it don't seem;
but i know —
she's only a dream.

echoes of guilt cause  
an avalanche of sorrow;
we’re buried alive.

a slave to desires
masters manipulation;
ushers the dark age.

men of endurance
will often take the back seat -
they’re driven by poise.

i wait for daybreak —
shed embers of disquiet;
my spirit rages.

driven by madness,
the man crushed the little bird -
then heaved a grave tune.

always offered help,
never realizing that
i needed it most.

when the echoes of harmony leave the heart’s chambers,
when the ears ring between extremities of silence,
when the hallows shudder into a lull,
when the birds sing out of tune,

we shall muse together again -
my sweet bitterness.

the phone’s rung twice now;
i can hear it from the bath,
too naked to talk.

they say its easier said than done.
i say, not poetry.
it's easier done than said.

he lost his way, he knows not when.
chasing false idols he mistook for men.
he'd lose the child, if he only knew then -
he'd find a way to be a man again.