but darling,

                  in the end
                  you’ve got to be
                  your own hero,

                  because everybody’s
                  busy
                  trying to save


                                *t h e m s e l v e s

Nothing is good. Everything's bad; there nothing but darkness.

*Then why does the moon and stars exist?

Love is like the measles.
Once you catch it,
it starts spreading like wildfire.

First, the itch,
then the ugly zits
and finally the scars.

Those nasty pockmarks
reminding you that getting bitten by the love bug
can cause serious damage to the patient.

I had a scrapbook deep and thick
I read it in the night
I burned the candle to the wick
A precarious light

In it there were photographs
And clippings by the score
Of every wrong and every shaft
That'd pierced me to the core

I kept my quill at my right hand
And in the margins wrote
My hourglass had lost its sand
My eyes began to float

This book was worn with constant care
The dogeared pages bent
I was constantly to share
Of those I did resent

Time came 'round to find me sick
Ailing from the frost
Of a cold poison dark and thick
I knew that all was lost

I bent closer, smelt the book
It was the book itself!
I'd recover, all it took
Was to place it on the shelf!

And so the scrapbook lost allure
I closed it with a snap
The health of soul I then assured
I placed on pen its cap


Close your books, my dearest friends
And in the end you'll see
Your spiritual health you will amend

You'll finally be FREE!



SoulSurvivor
(C)1/28/2016

we're traveling
this astral belt,
floating on this
makeshift rock
surrounded by the
vastness of galaxies
and cosmos--

why does it matter
if your job *****
sometimes?

feast your eyes
on the skies
and choose to be
above it--

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

i miss
cities that i have never visited,
the books that i have never read,
the hearts i have never broken,
the tears that i have never shed.

i crave
for the love i never got,
the thoughts i never had,
the smiles i never showed,
the person i never was.