A man standing tall; a madman in leather shoes.
With a wave of an unseen hand, with the aid of a pen,
The thoughts and minds of a species are forged.

The beasts teach by doing. The evolved teach by writing.
Yet a word only contains the truth one assigns to it.

So where does honor reside?
Where does that unconquerable and objective
Nobility rest its tired limbs?

Is it found in the ****** of lawlessness?
Or in the temperance of our betters?

Is all certainty lost to them?
With abandoned streets and crowded fears,
The evolved, so different from the beasts,
Look nervously for that that unseen hand.
That hand aided with a pen.

And still,
Safe amid the outer rim,
The beasts look on.
And the proud and evolved accept their blindfolds.
An existence where truth and falsehood ...
Where good and evil ...
Where freedom and imprisonment ...

... Are all just words written by an unseen hand.

Goats and skinheads try to boast
they say they do it more than most!
Musk ox have a mighty try
Bang! A crash to split the sky.
Alpine sheep, buffalos too
all decry "the rest are poo!"
But they see stars around their nut
when they receive a Dragon ****.
No run up or deep breath required
**** all day long , they're never tired.
Oh how the jealous ones desire
a headbutt fuelled with dragon fire!

Dead man walking                dazed
eyes blank                               and
killed by years                      searching
sraining to see                        for
the one thing that                    just
he knows will never come         one
spirit ground to the dust of tombs    slight
pallid spectres of no warmth                     chance
moving into the fringe of his gaze                 but
his lethargy tells                                                     as
there is little left for them to take                  so
no spark                                                                  often
no light                                                                  before
passion for life denied                                  whenever
the cloying                                                            comes
the clinging                                                            some
filth left upon him                                            desperate
in the dark                                                            perhaps
no choice but to                                               undeserved
try to wash this                                                     last
scar                                                                          clean
wound                                                                   chance
to scrape                                                              away
and to cut                                                            into
till blood flows                                                  my
knife cleanses nothing                               future
just mocks                                                       I
have nothing  left                                          fail
not even my blood                                       myself
drained out and soiled                               again

too often I go

to the fair long ago

where there’s laughter

and teardrops with music

the bright colored horses

ride circles

the calliope plays

where I blew it

where we rode together

and I look back forever

with memories of lips

sweet and soft

and a dreamer

still hates to get off….

Today.

Saw blackness today in the corner off my eye
brooding close and unexpected amidst smiles.
Blackness of tomorrow's threat,
clinging to the edges of bright and kindness.
Feeding on scattered jewels of joy,
building its strength
biding its time to move into her sight.
By then it will be strong
and she will not.

Dream.

She was sat tired and ill
on a upholstered chair
placed on broad and ancient steps
curving to her front
cliffs behind
no strength
we were arranged to her front
scattered to try
to keep it back
and down
it was enjoying our distress
that of the children most of all

I didn't see the end
but have been crying for an hour

It will come for her soon.

You loved me l.i.g.h.t.l.y.
I only felt it
In my bones.
You were a sickness,
And I --
Was the infected.
You
Took me over,
And I --
Ached with your weight.
You loved me lightly...
But,
You used me like a **grave.

I want to know how you take your coffee.

I'd like to gather up all of your pieces
And pierce them with sewing needles.
I'll watch them bleed,
And scab and scar,
Until they result in you.

I'll shine a light into your darkest places,
And scribble down your secrets.
Let a feather duster explore the things long forgotten,
Until all of your sins have been uncovered.
Let a flaming wick alight your eyes,
Until your passions burst forth, uninhibited.

I'd like to trace your lines, your cracks,
Your every imperfection,
Until your mind unhinges completely.
I'll drive you mad with my probing.
You'll be crazy with me.
And I'll be lost somewhere inside of you.

And neither of us, will ever be the same.

Puddles of light are gathering under the street lamps.
If it were raining I wouldn't mind not being able to see the stars.
I'll just stare at the cracks in my driveway instead,
Or lay back on the hood of the car,
And watch the way my cigarette smoke dances in the air.
It's almost beautiful.

I'll remember times I had someone's hand to hold.
Music would be coming from the stereo.
He might even ask me to dance.
But back then, I never would have had smoke in my lungs.

I'll remember the nights it was really too cold to be outside,
So he would move a little closer,
And we would let sin keep us warm.
But back then, I never would have missed the stars.

I'll remember the times I never made it out of the car.
The conversation was too captivating,
His lips were too welcoming.
But back then, I never would have noticed the cracks in anything.

Now,
I'll light another cigarette,
Pretend I could splash around in the puddles of light under the street lamps,
Watch it glisten and fade into the cracks in my driveway.
Then, lay back on the hood of the car,
And watch the way the end of my cigarette burns hotter than any of the other flames I thought about tonight,
Still, it burns out just as quickly.
It's almost beautiful.

I need a sedative.
Desperation never looked good on anyone.
But when I show a little skin and do my make-up just right,
I can make it more than passable.
I can make them fall in love with the way my body becomes music, and my hollow gaze, and my photo-shopped smile...
All before they even know my name.
Not that they will ever care to know it.

My emptiness is unbearable.
And my heart is running away with my mind,
So they can live in train cars
Or abandoned warehouses
Or maybe a nice treehouse somewhere.
If they're smart, they'll see the world before settling down.

Meanwhile,
What's left behind is walking along the streets in quiet neighborhoods,
Humming sad songs that sound like hallelujah and empty orchestras,
While the rain melts me into the cracks in the sidewalk.
I'll be nothing at all by morning.

I'm not a real girl anyways.
I'm a memory box.
Keep your best of times tucked away in me.
I'll gather dust in the garage, or the attic, or the basement.
Or maybe, if I'm really lucky, a shelf in your room,
Where, at least occasionally, you'll glance at me and smile.
But even that is aiming pretty high.

Prece a Deus

Meu Deus, a espiritualidade me faz pensar em ti.
Ser melhor e rezar como intuito simples.
A fé dá razão a quem vive com gratidão,
Amor a Deus e plena comunhão.

Meu Deus do amor eterno e infinito,
Trovão que ressoa teu grito.
Me fazes viver com amor e coração,
De joelhos pedindo com devoção .


Meu Deus perene e consensual,
Único e Universal.
Louvores te damos e te pedimos na oração,
Saúde e pedacinhos de pão.

Cordiais Cumprimentos.
Victor Marques

She sits in the corner
glad to be fallen.
Her eyes still trying to shine
with the light of last year.
No glances can cross the gulf to her heart.
The last warmth flown away,
what is left can only die,
like a  swallow,
left to starve as winter's cold flows in.

Left to our own devices,
what mischief can we find?
Some trouble to get into,
a worm inside my mind.
Climb up a tree,
or better a cliff!
Boo, not enough danger,
only a whiff.
Lets make a fire,
down in the wood.
Then put in gas canisters,
explosions are good!
Barely a bang,
what a waste of a fire,
so we run throught the flames,
like it's our funeral pyre!
Take the big knife,
thrown back and fore,
if I make Andrew  duck,
it raises my score.
Found a long rope,
that means some fun!
I'll be trussed up and dangled,
so off I will run.
Time to go home now,
off to our bed.
We're both over 40,
but still kids in our head.