Standing in a room painted red, staring at a book on a table. There are no windows, there are no doors, a light swings from a rusty cable. Music plays through the walls, voices speak through the floor, a chill runs down my neck, I spun around, tripped, then landed on the floor.

The air was sweet, the sand was warm, the water splashed our feet. Walking on the beach the waves began to form, two became a beautiful three, then time brewed a terrible storm. Then she flinched with gritted teeth and in her eyes a look of scorn. Then she turned her back on me, her halo turned into horns. Then she vanished from the dream leaving the sky broken and torn.

The book slammed shut and the room began to shake, then a cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows, and walked over to where I lay. Then a door appeared on the red wall, and the cloaked figure stepped outside. He was holding a sword in his left hand, and a list of names in his right. The cloaked figure smiled at me then vanished out of sight.

Standing in a room painted red, staring at a book on a table. There are no windows, there are no doors.

I must be dead.

the grave diggers son
rises before the dawn
out into the cold morning
out into the vast fields of the dead
this is not the future he saw
for himself
a farmer of the macabre
he plants them
firmly underground
but nothing grows
nothing good comes of it

this vast architecture of finality
this field of mourning and tears
this cold place of death
a place that others would rather forget
yet they build miles of marble
and years of art
in this quiet foreboding place
afraid if we dont honor the power
that can ****** the
life from us at any time
then perhaps it will come seeking vengeance

the gravediggers son
his hands ache from all the death he must
touch
from all the loss he sees and feels

this is not the life for me
he swears to himself in a whisper
as he has every day for thirty years
i will escape this place
dont plant me in the fields of the dead

she is a poem is pajamas
an unfinished Picasso fresh from the shower
she is a watercolour painted along the
moments of my day
in bright vibrant colours
running along my thoughts
as fluid as the delicate turns of her laugh
shes not just a woman
shes a universe and a summer day
wrapped in a rose printed dress
shes a intoxicating potion and a carefree laugh
iv never wanted to be anywhere but here
holding her and breathing her
loving her
drinking in her every moment
she is a poem in pajamas

Deep, way deep
Inside your mind
You’ve walked its paths
A thousand times

Storing all of
What you once knew
Parts remain lost
Some come back to you

Twists and turns
Some good, some bad
Longing for the future
Yet begging for what you had

Deep, way deep
Inside your soul
All of your emotions
They truly show

The grass surrounds you
Continues to grow
And simultaneously
You continue to mow

Lying there
Watching the clouds
With another
Sharing thoughts aloud

Back to reality
The truth isn’t so sweet
When you feel now
What lies beneath your feet