Shadows of pain block the sun
Joy turns sour in the shade
Twisted desires nauseate
Self-hatred masquerades in smiles
Demons come out to play
Casting nets in daylight
Trapping hearts and twisting dreams
Nightmares turn beautiful in time
Charcoal and ash
Charcoal and ash
Burn memories into scars
Marking territory
Claiming all they see
Making them beg to be taken
Beg for more
Begging for the honor
To be twisted unrecognizable
Freedom in acceptance
Relinquishing all
Feasting on the beating hearts
Of the innocently depraved
Gambling souls
Playing for keeps

Drowning in verbosity
Lost in time
For I cannot express
In prose or rhyme
The beauty that enlivens
Kindred by chance
A victim by choice
or circumstance?
A victimless crime?
A passionate flare
Unexpected rawness
Enter, enter if you dare
Challenges accepted
Without hesitation
Jump into darkness
Accede consummation
Oh my pretty, pretty one
Whatever have we done
With hell deep in your eyes
The claiming has begun
Every calculation
And each strategic move
An action for an action
Every step it does behoove
How easily the game is played
When lines are drawn in black
Maneuvering each bitty piece
Not giving any slack
Training like a solider
Satisfying every need
Holding on to nothing
The past promised to impede
Eating demons in the flesh
A Knight in rusted armor
Feeding darkness innocence
Inherently a charmer
There you are so handsome
Seemingly sweet and kind
Hidden far behind those eyes
Lives a *****, evil mind

Boiling blood and angry eyes
Boil over in tears that do not cry
For this idea, one last good-bye
Is a selfish notion
Proximity breeds what hearts belie
Jagged emotion
So this, our little rendezvous
I swore that I would never do
Until, of course, you asked me too
The doorknob's turning
Now, it must be followed through
My heart lies burning
Ferocity to match my own
Intensifies this time alone
The love has long-since been outgrown
There is no forgiveness
Just pleasure like we’ve never known
This time, I’ll win this
Then finally, you’ll realize
I’ve grown into these golden thighs
That seem to have you hypnotized
Within their power
And far too late you realize
You’ve been devoured
By the woman who stands glistening bare
Watching you with tainted glare
In a flash the passion flares
Drunk acrobatics
Bring forth new heights our bodies share
Now spent and static
Breathless and dripping wet
As close to hate as love can get
And this amazing last duet
An exclamation
In this goodbye lives no regret
No indignation

So here I am sexually desiring this woman, my natural habitat begs to be pleased
but my bit of conscious is telling me to stop ..
" Its my nature," I think immediately;  trying to avoid guilt

I pleased myself, I ***** this woman
I felt passion burning in my gut
I enjoyed seeing her facials expressing all the pain
It was all so very lovely
And I wont go to hell cause there is no sin.

an anomaly
few roots are many roots of the same tree
from outside I am within the bark that encloses me

here ye here ye! polygonal me
mocking you an apology
all a'Riddle first due to the very nature
my skin my leaf

contradictory, the roots they twist on me
the vines of me
the veins of me

my pain you cannot see
my pain you cannot see

double vision two no three
four or infinity to a varying degree

my body tis' of thee, tangled up insanity
of thee I sing

***** from my fathers side
egg from my mothers side
brain and heart formaldehyde
let my moods swing

polygonal me an anomaly
normally unnatural
and artificially indeed
through means of fabrication
and good malicious deed

confiscatory generous
and metaphorically my breed
sarcastically scholastic
institutionalized branches
from the end to my seed

divinely soulless
constrictedly free
interestingly boring
grammatical greed

desperately selfish
slowly with speed
movingly static
hungry to feed

constantly moving
polygonal anomaly
how many sides
to a coin always flipping
to a coin always spinning

polygonal me
transparency
just
like
a
tree

there are many sides to a story
through shadows cannot see
the interlocking counterparts
elbows, knees, branches on trees.

who says they can't get along?
I say they have to disagree.
why can't they just let it be?
why don't you be you?...
and me be me me me me.

Just like a tree
whistling and singing
chirping with glee
waking me up at 6:30
though shadows cannot see
an anomaly sometimes
they play tricks on me

polygonal me

Would you prefer it if I called myself Master God?  
Would it please everyone if I called myself beautiful? Or would it come off as fake?  
Whatever, nevermind.  
I am zero. I do not count.  I am an omission.  Neglected.  Ignored. Alone.  
I have developed many a personality.  I have become everyone and everything and I am nearing ripe.  I call myself a *******…
Why? Because no one else would… I call myself a scumbag, a loser, a failure, a disgrace.  
Because no one would want that burden.  
I call myself Jesus.  
What confidence?  Keep wondering.  Deliberation hmm…
I call myself a ******* because why not?
If everyone called themselves a *******… we would all be the **** of the earth.
We would all be disgraces. The playing field will finally start at the bottom line.  
We would be **** in unison.  
We would **** embarrassment.
We would **** it.

I stood gazing.
Light shed behind a wooden cross
overlooking your kingdom.
Overlooking your river steady and true
flowing to your sea.
From a distance it seemed to be moving
with the life and morning life of you.

I moved, drawn closer to the life,
at peace, but my heart quickened.
Your cross grew larger and leaped faster,
not away, but towards me.
Now I saw a new color of the day,
the color crimson. Alive on your cross.
Crimson lept away and towards me in time and space it seemed.

When I opened and focused my eyes fully,
I gazed on a miracle of your making.
A harmless, simply beautiful, creation.
Hundreds of pure crimson ladies, your blood shed for me,
danced in hope and joy around on your sacrifice.
The cross you bore for me.

After my wide eyes settled I sat quietly, serenely.
I felt your cool morning dew laying on your jade toned grass.
I sat near enough to soak in your beauty fully,
Just enough to feel hope landing on my arms, harmlessly.

Hope then crawled and spread a joyful smile on my resting lips.
Only enough to absorb grace and all that there was, then.

I sat and looked up, using gifts given , bent my neck to spine.
I sat and saw the wonder you showed me.
I sat and heard your voice whispering through my hair.
I sat and breathed in your breath fully.
I sat and believed in you, still I sat alone with you.

Time unknown went by and then there were more of us.
We sat together no words spoken.
We sat together in weary morning amazement.
We sat together with our hands folded , spirits entwined with yours.
We sat together and the eyes you blessed us with soaked in wings of pure joy.
We sat together and believed in you.

Crimson ladies danced to sow in us peace, love, serenity, creation, quiet,
joy, connection, beauty, light,  sound, feeling and it all meant love.

The cross of your creation, dancing with life.
The sacrifice you made.
Made for us, made for you and me.
We are grateful for all and your crimson ladies.

2008....about my first experience with the Father, Son and The Holy Spirit, which happened in 2002. I lost the memory and my way for a a while and the experience found me later and brought me back to Him in some ways.

We entered in the hospice room
where Mother lay alone.
By the scourge of this last illness
she'd been reduced to skin and bone.
Now at peace from suffering,
Her visage fairly shone.
The well worn beads
clasped in her hand
had helped her journey home.

"Now and at the Hour.."
a fragment of a childhood prayer.
Now and the hour
were joined together
in She for whom I cared.

“Beautiful” she said;
And none can her gainsay.
The poetess who spoke,
then, in quiet, passed away.
Cossetted within her husband’s arms,
frail and small in death’s repose,
Never again would she put pen to paper.
No more sonnets would her art compose.
Her illnesses had dogged her all her life.
Only morphine kept the pain at bay.
It also gave to her a heightened sense
of the beauty of mundane reality.
How vividly did her expressive eyes
Put words to thoughts and thoughts to
printed page.
She was the wild enthusiast of life,
whose poetry was the spirit of the age.

The Vessel was a thing of clay.
the sort you use, then throw away.
It was worth little, of itself,
but that vessel was filled with Love.
It poured out Love upon the Living
Free and selfless was its giving.
When at last the clay was dry,
it was the vessels time to die.
It shattered on the sands of time,
now half a lifetime gone from mine.
The vessel was my Dad you see-
and by his gifts I was set free.
I wept the day he met his end-
will I ever see his like again?
God willing on a higher plane
I'll get to call again his name.,
but if my journey ends in dust,
he taught me how as all men must.

His pressure was mounting
along with his weight.
He got into training
a little bit late.

In the grey light of morning
He'd be seen on the street.
sweating it out
on sneaker clad feet.

He sparred with his partners.
with few in the stands.
Then pummel the light bag
with lightening fast hands.

The fight date was approaching
and no one in the State
gave him much of a chance
of escaping his fate.

The champ was unbeaten.
He ground his foes down.
They'd be down, looking up
at the Champ looking down.

How then to cope
with an unbeatable foe?
This cup would not pass
even if he wished it so.

He was not getting younger,
This was his last shot.
Would he be one more challenger
that history forgot?

He was no timid soul,
avoiding the chance.
He'd go down swinging.
No regrets, he would dance.

He stepped into the ring
and they stood toe to toe
They touched gloved hands together
When the bell rings, you go.

He took her by the wrist and gently placed a brush in her hand.
She dipped it in a bottle of pastels,
And under His watchful eye
She drew a sky with all the colors before her.
A shade of blue glowed on the page,
And in the distance birds cawed.

Once He nodded in approval
Her brush painted a scene of love and silent tears.
Houses appeared on the page,
Each with more meaning then the next.
Gradually the scene changed,
As things do with age.

Her brush faltered,
Painting a scene in all blacks and blues.
She shaded her face until only the tears showed.
The painter stubbornly looked down,
Ignoring the face of beauty looking down at her,
Ignoring the gentle touch on her wrist.
She painted scenes of confusion and pain,
Worry and death.
She became ignorant and blind,
Forgetting the setting she had once loved before.

The painter suddenly noticed her mistake,
And once again found Him and the guidance He gave.
He whispered his plan to her
And her brush danced across the page with a renewed hope.
She painted all the joys in colors of yellow,
All the little hints of love in various tints of red.
Times of growth and understanding leaped off the page in vibrant greens.
She didn't hesitate to paint the sorrows,
Knowing that was what He wanted her to see.

And on the seventh day, He rested.
The girl, old and wise from the life she led,
Became a lifetime younger.
She curled up into His arms,
Like a child on a cold night.
He smiled down at her and she set down her brush,
Retiring to heaven
To admire the painting they had created.