Free falling failures,
Plunging into the great unknown.
Soaring through the valley of despair,
Barren wastelands of broken dreams.

Old familiar faces seed hope,
Sewing powerful ideas.
Feeling so alive,
Lush forest left in the wake.

Far below the canopy of green,
Morning dew moistens tough lips.
The spirits enchant the air,
Singing songs humming with graceful booms.

Grounded, thoughts run free.
Places where magic over powers darkness.
Subtle vibrations swell, consuming
The wicked vines of negativity,
Once constricting loving hearts.

Sacred grove, private haven.
Blooming across the defeated ones.
Instilling a chance to cleanse,
Unbounded by the toxicity which builds
Into the honest folk who trusted a time too many.

I cannot touch the sand
The unease of the coarse grain
Pressing my foot down, terror rises

I'm a killer
1, 2, 3, 4
5, 6, 7, 8
Body count

Three hours of sleep
All that my demons allow me

I walked with nightmares
I sacrificed... for them
I sacrificed... for them
I sacrificed... for them

Fighting under banners
Flying high for freedom
I became the prisoner

War is art, painted in blood.
Live the life I cannot
Hear the fireworks
Touch the sand
I sacrificed these for you.

Things have changed,
And I know I shouldn't.
But it's already too late
My hopes, caught the tide.

What difference does it make,
Across the endless sea between.
Then there is time, which comes,
Take it as you see fit, and heal.

I'll hoist this flag, tattered and all,
Singing a chanty of foolish dreams.
Be well, think of me, as I was or am,
Into the dark waters, I return..

In the early morning
Before the sun overwhelms her
Four white paws trot about
Methodically traversing the grass

Each standing a pillar of stubbornness
Walking up her soft brown fur
Curling into her cunning smile
Eyes investigating my next move

Three years and some time
And ornery pup eager to love
Found herself alone in suburbia
Crossing my path to reward us both

She is known by many names
And perhaps she fancies quite a few
I call after her, she answers
That devilish grin, her ecstacy

By no means do I own her
She sings freedom in her walk
Just blessed to share the time
Of an old soul in a young heart

Bare feet
Walking against the tide
Leaving impressions in the sand
Which crumble with each step forward

Tiny grains
Earth between the toes
Salted water rises to the ankles
Each step onwards to the horizon

Waste deep
Jeans are soaked
Never ready for the beach
Ocean freezing, and pain leaving

Waiting now
The thought to keep going
Submerging any hope to go on
Instead turning around back to the coast

Time disappears
Each step leads nowhere
The return is paired with receding tides
Rare moments where infinity graces subtlety

Troubled thoughts
Leaving the peace behind
Graced by the sunkissed afternoon
Headed home, to raging heart and suffering

I see all of the worst decisions I've ever made,
All of the wrong, that I have done.
It follows me, in the worst of ways.

But a dog, an especially this one,
This gentle, brindle soul.
Every bit of good I've ever done
Walks in each stride of her white paws.

The clouds of misery, which often find themselves
looming, in despicable ways.
Evaporate in the lick of a tongue on my cheek.
Or often, a toothy smile, which I do not deserve.

She is boundless, for who am I to contain her.

I came to this world,
             As a twisted seed.

Drifting along in a realm which,
             Did not belong to me.

But these roots have sprouted,
              Now suckling on lies

A foundation built on malnutrition,
               And a trunk full of wickedness

To be ingrained is a nightmare,
                This forest is for the ******.

These branches reach for home,
                But cannot escape the canopy.

Underneath the bark of the horrific crown
                 None are surprised to see how hollow...



                                      ....I have become.

A creature of principal
A being of habit
Ancient artifacts, loyalties
Ravaged.

I suppose you knew,
As they left your lips... words.

I am, all about the rules.
The biblical codex of do's and don'ts
Written matter of factly across this rage

Words, truth and lies.
Seeds are sewn, tensions rise.

I reflect on the monster,
Who fuels his hungry belly
On torturous regret.

And still, I smile,
Wicked, demise on the mind.

Let me tend to the garden,
Let the roots grab hold
Let the hostility erode,
Let the finality harden

Your heart too.

I'm a green eyed
Sharp tongued devil
Born for Heaven
& destined for Hell

The clouds overlap
Into cities of bridges
With rivers of indigos
Painted in the sky, as the
Evening begins, early now
Autumn has come.

As he walked about the world, it fell to shambles around him.

Buildings crumbled, the sky fell, the ground tremored beneath his feet.

He'd rub his temples, blink his eyes, and scream within his mind.

Then it would all reform, destruction undone before his eyes.

He'd walk about his world again and it would all fall to shambles.

Reality comes in flashes
Waves of inaudible screams
Weightless in a body of regret

I inhale this false world
Imprisoned in a vast beyond

I know that I am trying
To awake from this criminal comatose

All I have is a key
To a lock I'll never find.

All roads lead here, the Conduit says.
You cannot count the infinite paths.
To fathom every touch is madness.
But, brick by brick, time after time..

This place has written its own history.

How can it be so, in such a small plot,
To spin the tales of so many?

To be the grand hall of tears and joy,
misery and folly, hope and fear?

Who would we be without it?
How are we so bound to a singularity?

We must marvel at the commonness of it all.
We must marvel and be thankful.
We must marvel but not dwell.

All places, in all worlds are the shapers of creation.

This desert, dry as my lips, as my eyes
Which shed no tears.

This pale sheet of barren hell,
The voice of isolation.
Far, these days, from heaven.

I take a long drink, perhaps my last
Not to quench my own thirst,
Drawn from my own mouth.
But, to cure the insatiable thirst
That was my Father's.

Which has grown fiendishly in me.

But I drink, and I know
And I loathe, twisting
Myself into something mean,
Bitter and wrong.

I own this beast
I know his name
I curse my father
I devour his shame.

Though most of all, I walk forward,
Never averting horizon's gaze.

She pours her honey words down my throat.
It takes but moments to become drunk on her artful prose.
And the lavender fills my spirits
As she buries her head in my heavy chest

Yet, you'd dare say she's sleeping with stolen dreams.
That it should be your words which intoxicate me,
That your perfume should give me life as you lay your soul into me.

And maybe for a moment, some time ago it was your words,
Which set my soul aflame.
But on came the night where you made your great escape.

It was I who was but a passing fancy,
with kind words and a gentle heart.
Was it not also your tongue
Which lashed it poison onto my breast.

She is fluid, calm and formless.
As the fire passes and I call to be healed.
It is not your words, but hers, which soothe.
So on your bitter thrown of curses, do not dare
Say that she sleeps with stolen dreams
For it was her words which rescued me
And it is her pen, which will write away this pain.

I am all the magic I have ever needed.
I am this thinking, valid creature.
And while not every verse beckons
Itself to be the grestest.
It does desire to be sang.

Magic is poetry, it is the nature of the craft.
Words are cantations whick evoke emotion.
By my bedside, is my own spellbook.
I write whatever I wish to be and it is so.

That truth is as real as you believe it to be.
I bleed my own words, I suffer in their truth.
I become ecstatic, and at peace.
That is my serenity, my sleight of hand.
My magic, my fortune.

The white banks have risen high.
The smoky powder fills the sky.

Blooms of consciousness are frozen still.
Consequences of dying on that hill.

Time slips, blurs, no longer stirs.
As thoughts dim, and pain confers.

Darkness consumes the glistening tomb.
Life gives in to the doom and gloom.

Recalling fanaticism
Angry eyes swollen into the night
Full and proud the lunatic stood
Offering a seemingly worthless soul
To the blinding light of the moon

Heresy became virture
As daylight crept onto the horizon
Helios and his knights purging
The shadows of the Lunar kin
An orchestrated arsonist's betrayal

The comfort of the evening air
Bitter as it now is, is tempting to some
Those enkindled with righteous flames
Bleed their religion into a new day
Wildfires spread to the ways of old.

I've not known the feeling

Nor can I even concieve

The notion of being whole.

Selling my brand months at a time

Interested parties holding auctions

Unaware, or unwilling to acknowledge

The stock in future  endeavours

So now I exist in 2nd hand memories

In the back of the mind, or the attic

Covered in dust, overexposed

A monument to my regrets

Solitude is the strength of separation.
The separation of self, from others, from all.
Within the crowds and between loneliness,
Solitude is power personified.

Solitude walks the streets in indifference,
Passerby’s smile or stare, no care.
The vacuum of isolation’s stronghold,
Breathes confidence, exhales ticking time.

Solitude is the mask of many,
And the face of few.

Solitude is the liar’s crutch,
And the King’s crown.

Be wary of Solitude, its power is profound.

I left all of my words behind.

Stress chiseled a weakness within me.
As my vessel failed, my mind did too.

Though..

I’m not quite finished.
Not quite drained.
Not yet.
No.

New Orleans, the French Quarter
Her eyes illuminate in the streets
Jazz bands dance with her spirit
As the enchantment of the night begins

Her soul, out of body, out of mind
Like water, boundless, dances with devils
Under street lamps, in our world
Marionette strings sever into liberation

Oh! What freedom, to be, to exist
As an experience, unable to be captured
Not by the words that bind her to the pages,
Nor world which demands of her

All the while she knows,
She doesn't owe it a **** thing.

The marvel of space
Is that much of what we see
Are snapshots of fallen
Wonders of cosmic creativity
The beauty exist in the moments
Almost frozen in relativity

That in the night
Looking up into infinity
Standing on this blue world
Nothing is as it seems

Fascination consumes me
The very idea that this instant
You or I are in constant motion
Hurtling through space and time
Galaxies exploding through
All that is and ever was.
Star systems racing around
This is paradoxical

To be stuck in a moment
Gravitated to the gaze
Of this divine universe
While simultaneously
Speeding through the canvas
In our own piece of the marvel

When the words
do not come.
And you stare empty,
onto the pages that
tell tales far more colorful
than any songbird singing
its perfect tune.

Then speak out loud.
Words flow with such
fluidity and solidarity.
Pouring out of me with such
beauty that my fingers with
pen clenched could never muster.

Beautiful lyrics and words
and rhythms escape the confines
of this screen or the paper prisons
poets use to capture them.
The best works the truly inspiring
and jaw dropping, tear jerking
sentences and phrases will never
be seen to the world, when spoken
out loud.

What is a song, but a spell
A lyrical incantation of wonder.
Capable of transcending from
One emotional ecstasy into another.

Spring decided to take this year off.
The winter was brutal, blanketing roads,
Living up the mayhem of snow and ice.

There was maybe one day, green grass,
Wind between a whisper and a scream.
Ending as quickly as it had began.

Freezing rain to Summer sun.
The heat beating, sending the cold packing.
And Spring nowhere to be found.

No April showers, or blooming flowers.
Just the ice and fire, no place inbetween.
Autumn, will be long overdue.

Where is everyone off to in a hurry..?
Why am I still waiting..?

Consequence is the Heart of Belief.
Whether a Truth .
Whether a Falsehood.
Whether Virtuous.
Whether Vice.
Conviction alters Reality.

Human existence is a stream of consequence.
Flowing through ebbs of Right and Wrong.
Of Heavy currents of deceit, which overflow the banks.
And pools of Stillness, in stagnant paradigms.

This Race of Fact and Fiction rampages.
The Powerful and the Hungry.
The Weak and the Proud.
All caught in the Tides of Creed.
An Undertow which swallows all.
Indiscriminate in its Finality.

I wish I could go Supernova
To explode
And burn up this crippling anxiety
The chest pumping
Immobilizing pressure
Weighing me down

The dream thickens and my eyes grow dim.
They drown in darkness and light becomes thin.

The lids become heavy, and I cannot swim.
I sink below the surface, sleep begins to win.

Farther I fall to madness and thoughts are now grim.
Prying my eyes open, as penance for my sin.

I wanted to go home, it felt like it had been ages
Having been on the road for so long.
But we stopped, because they insisted.
Two nameless faces within this dream.
"Let's get out, stretch our legs."
Begrudgingly I complied, approaching a bridge.
Down below a shimmering river of blue,
Ran silently along the banks we traversed.

This is the point where one thing, turns into another.
As I sifted through the steps and boulders beneath,
The world which was living around me, began to change.
Walls of high water rose, as I descended farther down.
And the two, who so boldly encouraged this adventure,
Left me alone to this vast maze of sunken wonder.

Exploring this labyrinth, brought me to a city
Fallen to the depths, hidden through dreams and fate
Along the perimeter as if bombarded stood a broken wall
It too, could not withstand the pressure of misfortune
Finding myself, at the bastion of this watery grave
I knocked on the swollen door, to find myself drowning
All the walls began to fall, as the river started to overtake me.
In a flash, gasping for air, I washed up on the quiet banks
With the Sunken City, ever existing in the memories of a dream.

Hot Springs bubbles
Like acid melting my skin
Deep breathes dissolve away
Any memory of a physical being

I ponder this existence
Brought to a boil, in transience
Like magma, I am liqufied fire
Reaching out as far as I flow

Head first, nostrils flaring air
As it rushes up, I dive deep
The weightlessness of freedom
An expansion robbed in flesh

Narrow eyes surface at
The impending departure
To the land of the living
To the land of rotting

I stand frail as water drips
Down a tired composure
Only wishing to return
To the bed of lava beneath

I drink deep from the reservoirs beneath her tulips
Soft is my sweet demise,
As I follow her eyes
To the cherry blossoms,
And that babbling brooks
Reassuring me, that I'm far away home.

I smile, with sun kissed cheeks
For when the music drifts away like distance
The tenderness of words on my ears
Rewrite all of this pain into poetry

Fireflies luminate in wake of a setting sun
Tiny beacons becoming a river of light
Riding the current into the dusk dreams
The delicate drink of the evening affairs

Night owls, inspired by the twilight
Screech a verse with midnight maddness
Acrobatic arms orchestrate sunset tunes
Big booms serenade noctournal beast

Dark now blooms with wild music
The New Moon offering her acoustic
Play on, play on, before they wake
The Sunset Symphony, until day break

Two crooked razorbills fluttered past
The old oak tree on Bell's Grave.

They buzzed and crooned, in perfect pitch
For the necromancer's song.

Not to be outdone by the deathsinger's,
The skies opened up in torrential hymns.

As the Earth drowned in sinful peace,
A young man began to dance his fortune.

Feathered fellows, pouring rain, innocence.
A tune long forgotten in this worn grove.

Yet still, it was good, it was grand.
The honesty of death was pure.

I sat down for a drink
With the catalyst of my suffering
Remembering the ages
And the eons in between

This time roles reversed
Power which eluded me
In the niavity of youth
Returned to  its proper mantle

But I know all too well
This dance with the devil
So I've resisted this temptation
To crash and burn

I'm thankful for an awful lot
But where do I draw the line

I'll be thankful for my family
I'll be thankful for their memories

I'll be thankful for the friends I got
I'll be thankful for the things I've been taught

But where do I draw this line
When people tell me what to be thankful for

To be thankful to live here
To be thankful for freedom
To be thankful we're better off than some
To be thankful for things without considering the cost.

In good conscious. I cannot be
Thankful at the cost of misery

I will not be thankful at the expense of innocent lives.

I will not be thankful that things could be worse

I will not be thankful for this complacency

And while I'm **** sure thankful for the miracles in life.

I do so ever aware and never neglecting the cost of such things, that I am demanded to be thankful for.

One Thousand burning suns rain down from the heavens
To bring my worthlessness to light.
On a dying world with setting skies
This mere fragment of existence
Prepares for its demise

Stars break dusk
Swooning, empty tears
Shed in remembrance of time

Hands wither into the broken hour glass
Stolen from Death, with her sinister kiss

The bellows are ringing, the ancient apparatus sings
The bellows are ringing, and it is time to go home.

She is my song
That sweet melody
Always ringing between my ears
I haven't the fantiest clue
Of the words that her smile sings

She is the true verse
Sending shivers down my spine
With honesty dancing as I'm mesmerised

She is the harmonic tune
Syncompating heartbeats to my best days
Hopscotch run around, I embrace the bliss

She is the rainy day playlist
Overwhelmed and under fire
Sit back, relax, listen, I've got my fix

Through silky darkness, with
Whispers of twilight tearing at
The fringes of a forsaken veil.
I kneeled before the crown,
With tainted adoration.

For once, I fought between the bleed.
Betraying the rot of time against flesh.
Drawn to a broken throne of dead gold.
Eyes awoken to the fabric of her majesty.

A curved sword, a jagged dagger,
Quick to slip, slit and seep.
Armed assassin, of her corrupted right hand.
The pleasure, mine for the taking.

Dearest Queen, sing of death most damning,
I'll abide, leaving none standing.
Drift onwards, lightless legions,
Abandon hope and all your reason.

Pour the painted words onto a canvas of self.
Let them overflow in a cringing nightmare.

Allow the darkness to be the backdrop of pain
Fill foreground with the light of life.

Feather the details of first love,
Between the fine grains of heartbreak.

May this portrait of vibrant existence,
Be all the suffering and joy it is meant to be.

In the valleys of mediocrity, complacency,
Cultivate brushstrokes of brilliance and wonder.  

The shades of blue sorrow, the reds of rage.
The green envies, the white serenity.

All of it, all together, the beauty of togetherness.
The good, the bad, and every bit of it you.

I wear my cloak of crows
With a sly eye to the door
Hanging on the thought
Of leaving because
I've never really stayed

The black feathers flock to the window
Beady eyes survey my inaction
As the pitter patter of raindrops
Hum along the glass

I'm comforted for a moment
By my new ****** of friends
Gazing into my past
And the uncertain future

The rapid beat of my heart
Regains my attention
To the clutch on the armrest
My eyes have since shifted
Back to the door...

Like I'm there once again
Such a persistent memory
The one where it is too late
When regrets manifest
Into demons we carry
Through the mud, these burdens
Never letting you forget that instant

So I sit in this chair
In this room focused
On the door ready to run

At the end of the day
All the convincing in the world
Cannot change true nature
Not when it counts
Not when it matters

That was no ordinary lightning,
I knew that much for sure.
The walls shook with violent vibrations,
Echoes of the beastly ritual below.

Through flashes and thunder,
Archaic broods of badlanders rose.
Each strike tore open the seems of
Conceivable imagination.

This is not the first time.
This storm is without end.
Some will know it for the darkening it is.
Others will hold it secretly within nightmares.

In pondering the blues,
Of folk music, writing, and culture
I began,
"What is my celebration of sadness?"
I thought.
I reveled.
Rebellion and the fall of man.
The toxic man, the cancerous man
Who filled me with hate, behavior
And most of all suffering.
I celebrate this fall,
In the beauty of change
In the beauty of self-love
And as I loved myself, I became
Able to love others, as I always had
But without borders, an empathetic truth.
To understand, accept and to struggle
With the human experience.
Which I imagine will always be the case
Struggle breeds change.
And it is that I am most thankful for.

Rocks fall with each bey and beckoning
That stone hands shutter, dying
Rigid time, makes bone brittle
Pebbles of broken pieces
Stain crimson into the urn of the Earth

Chanting inaudible death hymns
The mother of rubble weeps
Her tears churn, with blood
And the sediment of the fallen
Into the blackened mixture
Exploding with fire and magma

Rising now, half broken and devil
With a narrow cage of brimstone
Twisting to a swollen brow of madness
Reigns down hellfires and Infernos
Laughing as the ancient muses
Strum the Fire God's Libretto.

Stone slabs descended down,
forming a staircase straight to hell.

A sea of screaming miasma suffocated
either side of the winding venture.

The light of the world above no longer
registered as darkness swallowed this place.

It seemed that whether forward or back,
this road was infinite.

Finally, after endless time, the monument
of this suffering came into view.

The blackest Obsidian rose beyond
comprehension and without feature.

Voices wailed and tension bloomed
in ominous agony.

And as it called out, a liquid wave of
familiarity poured in and around me.

The door, once unmarked, split down the seam
as I came within the final stretch.

Understanding drowned my mind,
as I pressed my palm against its surface.

Instantly, with a deafening boom,
it swung open on ethereal hinges.

Walking through, in bewildering clarity,
what was one became two.

Words drift, past the pages and recollection.
Some skip just above a stream of consciousness.
Others hurdle by, accelerating into shapelessness.

A fisherman of thought.
Praying the last of his bait,
feeds him, just another day.

As the days blend together,
and the current thrashes on,
hope is a face on the water.

He’s filled his belly with persistence,
but the need for creation lives on.

Cast the line.
Spin the rhyme.

Feast on the dreams of tomorrow.

A flame in the ominous dusk
Smoke rising, exhaled from forest green
Cinders flicker in the silhouette of the Oak
The wise Arbor God of this sacred plane

Inhaltion of softer days invoke peace
Contrasting violently to this portrait
A work of art, painted in wild hues of red
Ingrained roots swallowed in a blaze

This pen
This ink
Leaves paper trails
Ready to ignite
Eyes aflame
Words written in combustion
Fadinginto the wind as ash
Intangible

The crescendo of my muse
Strikes swiftly on heavy eyelids
Vibrating the hypnotic frequency
I transmute into reality

Humming machines scream out
Calling me from an aquatic slumber
Preserved from a dying world
To become prisoner in a land of dreams

Delusions immobilize my captive body
Force feeding lies, an unwilling glutton
Heretics of day become prophets of night-
Mares, praying to awake the awoken