Hello
Fellow Poets
I created
Today
In cyberspace
A new collection
A new place
Where we
Can upload
twenty-word
Poems

You
behind the doors where the monsters reside,
watching the citadel fall and Jerusalem calls for an encore,
but they lied to you
as they always do.

We
hope for immortality on this roller coaster ride and down we go again behind the doors where the monsters reside.

I work or I die and when the day is due you will too and whatever or which way the cards fall
Jerusalem will still fall and
they'll still lie,
work or die?

Use your voice,
touch type your voice on the white stick that you carry,
or we could marry,
she coughs and splutters in the kitchen
butters toast and removes from my face
the *** of jam.

I move on beyond where the image burns
beyond where the sane men turn and stand in awe,
seen it
done it and no fun in it for the untied who wait outside the doors where the monsters reside.

Licking jam off my lips she slides me a kiss and I slip on saliva that drips from my tongue,
that is fun, never done that before,
I move away from the door
for a while.

I have known the snap of the cold,
I have lay, bitten by frost.
Shivering limbs, fold and unfold,
I have fought the fight and lost.

I have limped down a solitary street,
Fingers too numb to count the cost,
The only noise, my stamping feet.
I judge time by the moons height,

The hours, until Dawn brings heat.
I have used the shadows at night,
To hide from eyes, over-bold,
I do not wish to share my plight,

Swaddled in newspapers, my story untold,
It is a dish , best served . . .cold.

There's beauty in the night time

That no one else see's

There's an orchard in the forest

That whispers in the breeze.

There's a place I often go to

Known only by me

If I get to know you better

I might just let you see.

I guess I'll never understand some poems...
I have never felt their pain.
And when it comes to the idea of love...
Well, some people are purely insane.

I guess I'll never truely know...
I have never walked in their shoes.
And when it comes to sadness...
Well, I rarely sing the blues.

My past lies
  like a deep
    still lake,
a record of
all my mistakes
swimming
  within its soul
& I want to burn
them all, but
   how do you
take a flame to
water?
it just stays,
    forms ripples,
sometimes small,
    sometimes
biblical, all I can
   do is wait for
drought, for
  clouds to move
& sun to come
    out; the day
I will wake
   & not see a lake
but a clean slate

You
Cannot
Take
Away
The
Rights
Of
Those
Who
Have
Nothing
Left