A state of emotional purgatory;
unable to flee to paradise,
yet still away from the Scathing Flames
of the Inferno.
Love, broken, lies in pieces
beneath the cage that is a Heart.
The bars pulse with a thumping rhythm;
they too transforming into
Fragile Things,
easily shattered by words unspoken.
Fleeting and Cursory glances.
a nervous flutter of eyelashes.
Things that exist within the
gray landscape of
purgatory.
Silently, like an assassin, resolution
evades those who give chase,
and paradise remains Locked behind
a gate.

No one paying attention,
especially the colorful leaders.
I, the man who Unites the
nothing.
I am among many with
common origins,
rewritten to focus
interest
on Stardom
Criticism and
Image.

I had a feeling.
And so far it proves true.
Ever since the time you said
you didn't want to live together next year,
I knew
you had had your fill of me.
A nuisance and delusional twit;
I would abandon me too
if I weren't so attached physically.
My heart,
shattered, strewn across the fresh carpeted floor;
I desperately swept the shards into my hands.
Plucking the larger pieces,
I manipulated them as though working
a  jigsaw puzzle.
I cringed and the
tears
began
to
drop,
like the bass flowing from your headphones.
The pieces fell from my fingertips;
I realized the effort equates to
a person's ability to repair a broken mirror.
I,
however,
refuse to discard the shards
into the nearby waste bin.

Love, like song, is fast
and slow;
A dance to the rhythmic beating
of a heart.
Badump.  Badump.
They twirl, those two,
while lights flicker and fade
around them;
Fleeting, lucent images pass
their eyes
in grand splendor.

Winter winds Howl against
the decrepit wood of a house.
The air, stone-cold, feels empty.
Flames slowly reach up from the hearth
to lick a face scarred,
turned from the inquiring eye.
Snow - a Flurry - assaults
the windows.
A rose, red and alone,
grows against the Chill.
Silence.

I can't bear to see it!
My heart aches,
weeps,
and sobs in the night;
A silent baying
to the moon.
Fragile chains bind me
to a wooden post.
Rain falls, a caustic flame;
dark clouds hide the sky;
gravity forces
my body into the ground.
Lovely Burial.

Darkness and light;
a flickering madness.
Eternity strangles death,
breath snuffed like a Candle put out
once the wax has pooled.
March forward,
head perched high.
Continue with the procession.
Awaken.

Screaming echos resound around,
lies and torture coated in bronze,
forever silent.
Seething beneath the swirling clouds
and billowing stars, he paints
a portrait of the soul,
forever silent.
Walks in the dark and
wistful thoughts,
forever silent.
Sound falls on deaf ears.
Forever Silent.

Sitting there-
across the way-
I spy thee, a beast of care
shining with the Light of day.

Your eyes-a beauty fair-
enough to make me sway!
Your lips, watched with despair,
urge my Heartache to fly away.

And here-where I stare-
on a beach I lay,
the ocean my nose does snare.
A longing; I wish to stay.

Standing, you give me a scare,
and walk forward to my dismay.
Anxious to become a pair,
I turn my face towards the cay.

You reach across with hand bare
to place a finger so I cannot say
how I miss your bronze arm's dare,
an obscured passion of the May.

The Sun begins to set-no light to spare-
as you lean in with amorous display
for this Summer affair.
A longing; I wish to stay.

A flourish of red,
a bold stroke of yellow,
and thin, black dots
Form the image on the canvas.
The artist washes his brush
in a bowl filled with water,
now murky, brown, and indiscriminate.
He lifts the veil over his mind
and paints what he sees:
A girl twirls
among the towering red petals
of the flowers.
She laughs,
throwing her medium-length,
black hair behind her.
Her pale, tan skin
reflects the brilliance of the Sun
as she dances with her partner,
a fair boy born deep within the wood.
Mirth.  Cheer.  Joy.
These emotions swarm the picture,
like bees buzzing amid the daisies.
The painter withdraws again from his masterpiece;
a vibrant Harmony.
He smiles.

Gaunt cheeks, solemn eyes.
Wizened, gray wisps hang from head,
perhaps I am already dead.
My face, like death in the night,
frightens all with sight.
Why does this corpse contain motion?
It has no purpose, not a single notion.
Terror breathing, emotion seething.
Tell me what to do
when age creeps through.

A crescent reflection of pure light
shines above in black velvet.
Miniscule stars dance with it,
enthralled with mystic mirth.
One little star, tired from the excitement,
decides to rest; its path glows behind it.
Quickly, hurriedly, it streaks
through dark fields, transcends
over tall mountains, rushes along
cold, winding rivers.
Suddenly it stops, cradled by earth;
Its final respite.

Darkness surrounded the Light with fingers long and slender
It encroached Heavy.  and black,
like mascara running, wet from the rain.
Cold rain, water stinging the visage
once warm and cheerful,
though now bitten and chilled,  Life drained.

Breathing became harder as the Lungs filled with darkness
Soaked by broken Fantasies.  and thoughts,
the mind transformed, a prison of words.
Sharp words, letters cutting the soul
bound chained and caged,
tormented by beliefs and emotions, Life drained.

The sinner-saint, weighed down, collapsed on filthy streets
and left an imprint which withers as time passes.

I am a puppet with
lips sewn together.
I lay there, apart,
on that hardwood floor,
limp and motionless.
Occasionally,
Terah visits to pull on those
gossamer chords.

the tortured ones are those who cannot sleep.
Their brains filled with words
which ceaselessly whirl
like drafts of a breeze
dancing through the fallen
leaves of autumn.
lamp posts beside windows serve
as a reminder that dawn approaches;
a subdued, yet piercing, orange light
envelopes everything it touches.
Perhaps the secret lies with the eyes.
Does darkness cure the tortured soul?

the light streams through glass shards
held
together by stone-pressed force
columns of light refract onto the hard
     and cold wooden floor
dust particles, suspended in free fall, dance as the light
shimmers on their skin
     gleaming like small glints of silver
     the dust fades into the
Air;
transcendent, Gone.

Falling like rain
petals float above the earth.
The bud is bare, but for one
alone in the wind
swaying on the branch.
Gentle, fragile,
submissive to the breeze.
Spin.  Spin.  Spin.

The Time has come for Sacrifice.
High and wasted on the night's fumes,
The ****** gives her heart,
letting it bleed.
Drip.
     Drop.
          Silence.
Now, she lies there, sleep deprived,
the Early Morning Sunlight
streaming through
the cracked window panes.
The broken heart makes no more
signs
     of
          Life:
NUMB.
Crushed and Ground into stained red dust
by the pressure of
welling tears.

Her eyes, open, seem VACANT;
once shining bright and dark
are
now Dull.
The sheets of the bed
spread out
in Waves
     and
          Ripples
beneath her,
disturbed.

I am a teddy bear
viewing the world with black eyes.
You trust me with your heart,
your innermost desires.
My lips are sewn;
never will I betray you.
Protect me with your love.

Handsome, with a twinkling in his eyes,
the boy walked.
Drizzle dropped from gray clouds.
The boy lifted what was his, and unlatched the mechanism.
Yellow sprung
and pushed the rain away from the boy.
Calm, content, the boy’s face hid behind
the material of the yellow umbrella.

The class impatiently waited for the bell to ring,
second after second.
The clock still ticking, taunting them.
Will this class period ever end?
The boys tap their pencils on their desks or kick the floor,
the girls check their makeup or nails.
The bell rang!
They all stirred from a deep slumber in the hardened beds,
and rose from their seats,
yet only to return to another one once more.

Through the years,
memories brings us tears.
But as we think about all the times,
the rhythms and rhymes,
we imagine all the good we have shared,
especially for those for who we cared.
Moving on is a difficult feat.
In order for fears to be beat,
do not bury them within the ground.
Because if they are found,
stronger and grander grow the lies,
impacting reality, which, itself guise.

Time slips through the Hands
like Water,
free and continually flowing
This River, swimming swift Southward,
heeds no command but the One from the
Blanched Lips
of Mother Nature.
Mother's Mistress--Fate--harrows
the trunks of Trees
so that they
fall
across Time's bank into the Stream
Unstagnated, the River still rushes
past the dead wood
Further, Deeper
into the Forest,
seeking the Ocean and its Sweet Embrace
Where
All
Stops.

flood the cement With speakers
Rally a million generations;
information is becoming
obsolete,
Instead of necessity.
provide and define the Costs.
it is worth it.
Spread the word.