This proverbial palace of pen
And paper has room for
Exactly as many as
We are.
Together.
People of Parchment, welcome.
Move in.

Poem has room for your every letter,
Each one of your feelings, all
Pleasure; all hurt.
It's diary, -hallways that go on
Forever-
That you can explore in your mind,
It is birth

Of things that you love, that you see
Your own features in.
Thoughts fit for sharing with minds
Like your own.
It's channel for channeling, channel
For handling the things that arise,
You are never alone.

It's words to the pictures of love
That you witnessed, it's tellings of
Hardships you had
To withstand.
It's more discriptive of lust and of
Pleasure than movies you watch in
The dark with
Your hand.

The Palace of Poem has room for
Each poet. The doors are unlocked,
See the sign: "Vacancy."
Interiour's custom, your personal
Taste as design, and don't ask:  
It is perfectly free.

In here there's no grown-ups,
We're children; just taller.
No bedtime, no said time to eat or
Come home.
In here you can choose to create
When you're crying, or laughing or
Tickled or cut to the bone.
-
It's a palace fit for the Kings and
Queens of Expression
That truly live in your
Every
Mirror.

I was born screaming in to the
world letting ever one know
that I was hear and wanting
to be heard. Through the years
I was quite and loud, mostly
through no fault of my own.

Then the teens did come, confusing
times, where I,d scream at those
to know I was around temper
flared hormones going crazy
the shouting was a vent for the
confusion I felt.

I grew past that time and a few
shouts did spill out, but I was
listened in this time only certain
times did my voice need to be
heard from those around.

Age caught up and did begin to
show, but as I aged I became more
invisible to the world, I shouted in
frustration out of being ignored I
shouted because it was the only
way people would take notice that
I was around.

We shout for many reasons, through
out are life from birth to old age,
there is always some thing we wish
to be heard and some times a louder
voice is the only way people will listen
to what we must say.

~

Choices



Shadows move on sheet rock barriers
framed in time of late
Spaces filled with unknown visions
dance about with feet of clay
Gowns of nightmare carpetbaggers
thunder on the floor
Drippings in a mist of nervous breath
blanket my safe haven
and the sounds scream
in voices of past mishaps
Lost in lonely corridors,
wailing on aching skylights
permitting barely a moon glow psalm
to echo of their meaning
in songs from a distance,
of pleading skeletal desire

“I fear for I have no choice”

Doorways yawn in weary ovations
Slanted photos dot the landscape
Windows prove little relief from the cold
as heat pierces my cavities
Gaping wounds of frail memories
clutch at my last ounce,
measuring the words I am reading
Taking a breath, sweet, stagnant
Clawing for an exit only to find
it has stood before me all along
Baby steps, I have been told
Find that trust, slowly…make sure,
reach out for the hand
offered on a dreamscape message

“I fear for I have no choice?”

Eyes, so tired, weeping pools
out of focus since that day, open
(As if sunflowers float on silken wings
and glorious becomes an understood word)
slowly and tentatively,
blinking sorrow’s pathway free
to lead me to you
The imprint of that butterfly
marks my palm in red lines of love,
mapping my skin with a long awaited
smile, dry lips curve as I take your hand
trusting, for the very first time
realizing the feeling
which hath finally…set me free

“I no longer fear, for I have a choice”

My pen doesn't write anymore
It stumbles and trembles in my hand.
If Autumn were here, she'd understand.
It's funny how we never know
exactly how our life will go.
It's funny how a dream can fade
within the break of a day.
I'm not sure where you are now
though I see you in my dreams
and I hear everyone say
"Things are not always what they seem".
So I'm often uncertain
if you like your new home
and when I'm uncertain
I write a poem.
Time can't erase the memories
and time can't bring you home.
That time was a part of me
and now a part that's gone.

And so the girl
Who only ever needed a friend
And a shoulder to cry on
Was left
And abandoned
Because she pushed them all
Away.

Today is the yesterday that you'll regret throwing away tomorrow.

Again
You hurt each other again
You hurt yourselves again
You loved each other so much you hurt each other with it
Again
It all happens again
He still loves you
He'd do anything for you
See how sad he is?
Yeah
I see it too
It rips both of you apart being friends and even more so apart
Again
Again
Again
Again
Why be together?
Why be friends again?
Why be apart again?
Something this self destructive can never be forgotten
Can never be undone or erased
Again
Again
Again
Again
This all happens again
The self destructive bomb of two broken hearts
One trying to move on
One trying to hold on
But both never enddingly hurting each other
Every second
Of everyday
This all happens
*Again
And again
And again

I have a little friend that lives
within my beard, she is my
morning wake up call as she
pecks and chirps in my ears.

People think it may be strange
to have a little bird in my beard,
but she never goes hungry, as she
cleans all the crumbs from
my breakfast, lunch and tea.

I have a smile each and everyday,
for when I look in to the mirror, I
see her in her nest beard, looking
back at me.

So if ever walking and see me talking
and chirping, know I am not as
crazy as I seem, I'm just chatting
to my friend who lives within my beard.

I don't believe in your god.
I know, you think I'll burn in hell.
I believe in my gods though.
That has to count for something

I follow the old traditions.
Many gods, they personify
The natural occurrences
the ancients couldn't explain.

I know you think I'll burn in hell
And I know you think I should be scared.
And I know you want to "save me"
By converting me to your god.

But my ancestors roll in their grave
At the thoughts of me abandoning
The traditions I've learnt from my family
They're your family too, don't you remember?

It's your sister that taught me,
About the myths of our people
About the time when we thrived
And celebrated our life

Instead of constricting it,
to the words of a book.
Instead of giving it so many rules
Instead of having threats and promises of a hell or heaven

But to each their own.
You live how you want
Just let me live,
how i want, too.

Sometimes it’s just fine to look away
Without pain’s twitch a word to say
Pretend it’s nothing that’s all too harsh
Look up from ground to the far up stars.

Sometimes it’s just fine to look away
Hiding the dent the anguish’s sway
Burn the tears with the fire in heart
Look up from the ruins to the sky for a start.

Sometimes it’s just fine to look away
Feel within it’s not your day
Stop listening to the sadness’ tune
Move with the wind a shifting dune.

Know some days are never your day
Though they’ll try to blow you away
Just live them down not drown in them
For on the morrow is written your name.