Dare I confess the black stain on my soul?
No, rather, lets tuck it in conscience
No need to feel sickly an numb.

Tuck it away my soulless one

What if I could pull the hands back of time?

You can't sweety, it's done.

Can I make it fade?

I don't see how? It's a dark, dark stain,
And you've been trying so long now.

Even with all my good deeds?

There aren't enough good deeds
To wipe it clean, the lead in your soul
Forever drags your feet.

I don't deserve anything. Why do I go free?

Because you are destined.

Destined for what? A life of misery?

No dear, no, a life of greatness.
None of clear conscience strive
To erase me from their minds
As I would not exist,
and neither would the gift,
the necessity, the change.

But I don't understand?

Your stain is a gift,
The journey of the holy grail.
Where others strive and fail,
You have already failed now strive.

But I failed?

You have failed, but now is hope;
The ever charging fuel of your journey.

My soul is ****** isn't it?

You have nothing to lose,
this is the secret of life's journey

But what of hell? Surely it waits?
I hear it screaming my penance?

Hell? You're already here,
Perhaps one day, you'll make it out?

You think so?

It's possible but
I'm your conscience...
What do I know?
I only know why I exist
And I in turn, wish I loved my existence

So there's no hope?

There's always hope,
I'm still with you aren't I?

Yes, but I don't understand?

You don't need to.
Just keep hope, and in us,
Never forget where we've come from;
You are destined

But I am stained?

No, you are marked for greatness.

the darkness comes as it goes

the dread however, seems intent on staying.

falling to my feet only ends up a ****** mess

theres no soft place to fall,

no solice to take.

...

there is only the act of hardening

and tempered steel,

though, when cold to the touch

is savagely barren

it can still in the heat of fire

take on the attributes of warmth

and melt and become something rather inept

though slightly beautiful.

...

what then, is there to do but reform our selves

and invite anguish and pain and then harden and soften again

till we find the shape of our hearts in the mould of the future

we once dreamed of

if we can still remember it.

...

and dread will be our constant companion;

the third wheel in our fortunes.

which was never handed to us in any decent form of fate,

but that in that fight of going anywhere

somewhere hidden in the violent struggle

is our often ignored love

beating its heart out for the tempo to temper

and

both beats to trigger each other in all our love states

simply to be recognised for what they are,

invincible.

I won't pleasure you with spit and sputter,
but you will be outed,
cause you didn't cover your tracks that well

one question
before you are deposed.

when you ******* after
you steal somebody else's poem,
do you *** in you hand
or all over you keyboard?

sure hope its the latter.

I see they are deleting your poems, even your
Semi-Original *** shots.

But you said it best your self:

Here's a little secret
I just want to mean something to somebody. I feel so worthless nowadays.

even If stolen from Alice Baker,
I applaud your self selection,
and via your theft,
introducing me to many other fine poets

Love like it was brand new
Turn out the lights
Just for tonight
Let's forget our slights

Take me in your warm arms
Let me feel the heart I long for
Forget the words that cut our souls apart
Hold my world up one more time

Turn out the lights
Just for tonight
Let's forget our flights

tomorrow the let pain come
But tonight, let that ring stand for somethin again
I just want to hold you tangled up
crawl up inside you one more time

Turn out the lights
Just for tonight
Let's forget our spites

Let it crash and burn in the morn
but give us that chance to bring it all back
Touch my soul again as if it were brand new

As clear and full of hope
as the day I left heaven
and fell for you

as if there aren't
enough ghosts already
i hope
you hang your dreams
on the front door
coat-rack
and your noose on
my
hope.

hopeless scrawls on dogeared paper
holding on to my paper love
folded and unfolded
again and again
the words you sent me
mean nothing now
but oh so splendid
when they did
the worn folds
and turned edges
fluffed and whiskered
simple words on a note
held for many years
and what you wrote
lay in my hands
a thousand silent
times, and perhaps
a thousand many more.

in my single days,
when I was honey,
to the honeys,
there were the ones who
wanted money,
strange, how they were always
the ones I didn't sleep with.

the women I didn't sleep with...
liked them ok, fine,
but they wanted to,
to borrow, not much,
a thousand or three.

Some i gave.
got promises of
eventual return,
which didn't happen,
shocking,
yeah, baby yeah..

the ones I slept with,
all, no exception,
became lovers and friends,
never asked,
always offered,
forever refused,
though they really needed,
could of used some.

I give thanks this day,
that I gave my
most precious
gift to the good ones,
my loving, caring,
my always there.

so I gave them,
what they needed,
until they wanted all,
which I was not ready,
too damaged to do well.

for this holiday is a reminder,
yeah, baby, yeah,
that you only be thankful
for what you give away,
give away, give away,
and not for the having...
yeah, baby, yeah....

The Greatest of Gifts
The gift of friendship
is most precious and rare
rare is the person
whose heart is so open
loving and generous
open enough to offer acceptance
loving enough to offer succor
generous enough to offer time
rare is this gift
bestowed upon me
from the most precious person i know

Recoil from the unclaimed toil
Back-lashing at your Now
events past Elbow forward
muscle through the supernatural blue night's bustle
to you, to you, to you

The zizz of machines
the eager Hums of moonbeams
and train steam
upload pesky echo's live stream
To you, to you, to you.

Discharge the memory burdens
The tomb stones inside
you lug up the flights
to last door's deadbolt on the right
Then Subdivide my pride to tiny bits
Super-collide dustified then broom aside in clouds
,of specks held in new dawn sun beams,
probing through lace curtains and velvet drape seems:
the atom of time, caught in full stride
Coming
to you, to you

Our deep core sample of memory
in forgotten ice.
Why, for what? Why? For what?
Why infinity times why plus why.
It's simple.
I died.
Between that death and my final breath, I reside.  
Living ghost ever ready an endless Snide
Comment hurtling from another time  
to you