The strands connect all things
Our dreams and our reality
So who are we to judge
What's real and what's a fallacy

We truely know nothing
Beyond our own sight
We even question ourselves
In the dead hours of the night

Whether I'm real or fake
Or part of some grand scheme
I can't say I really care
If it was just a lonely dream

They say truth is absolute
And I believe that to be true
But all that really matters
In this world to me is you

.
We made love as strangers—
Do when they eye each other
Separately intimate in a rush,
Our bed was a rack we made
Tortuous and flesh— revealed
As it gave into itself, the moon
Conspired in our dominations,
As we suffocated in the breaths,
Way down sips, of earthy heavens.

.
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?

Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,

Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.

When I lose the light and glow
When I am left to lie low

When the sky moves to and fro
Pray do tell that you know

I stood alone
on mountains of marble

I faced the fact
that made me startle

When the mists are in my eyes
When it's time to say goodbyes

When death's rattle grasps my breath
When I face my final test

I pass on beyond the stars
On the trail of those that are

Do not fear death's paltry touch
for beyond it's pall lies a sacred trust

the pulse of raging flame
sitting in wait           deep
within the core of light

the flicker of spark ignites,
like the screech of dead, cold metal
along your wooden floor
as I fight the need to scream
and break your vaporizer--

this slumbering dragon
sitting in my chest
with billowing wings of
emerald green and burnt-orange
like a whirlwind of autumn leaves twirling
crescent magic of destruction
pulling and pushing
this rage up and down
until the tendrils of flame simmer
and I stand on tip-toes to kiss
your soft lips, the smoke
escaping as exhaust and love, tender--

Perception can raise the highest bars.
Tiny, large, indifferent or common,
We all fight to fill the jars.
Loss and fall, stumbles and awe fail us all, jails to the lowest bars....
Until we crawl
"Stuck, struck and dependent" set the bar.
"Shrunk, drunk and indifferent" closes The Bar.
A hole is dug cause we're "toast" or "below par"
or dug out of, cause we're "so close" or have "come so far"
We cross a path Just or justly taken and bare.
A cross to bare is just a path once taken we say, feel or swear.
We all fight the feeling of the cost,
Or the aftermath we all have to share, gain or is lost.
R.Craig David- July 2014

This clock smokes a cigarette
     that tucks itself into my nest of a jaw
          acting as a memento of my most cherished flaw.
I can hear Fool's Paradise calling to me;
     it's hollow promises idle above me until I fail to remember
          whether this is a wedding or a funeral releasing it's doves to me.
You're a modern desolate suicide
     with your insides filled with fearful and uneasy pesticides.

I'm too exhausted to lose it.
     and too inferior to choose it.
and the restless clock stays awake impassively with your ballad
     like a phantom of my pallid heart which feels eternally invalid.
I pace past pit stops but I never eat
     when I've lasted this long already.
You're a modern romantic suicide
     with a heart that has hung itself out to dry.

Sometimes my heartbreak brakes,
     snarling as it painstakingly falters like the moon at daybreak;
          stumbling across a canvas to its haunted nest
               and sleeping beneath these ten-thousand lakes.  
I won't let the shine blast my shade.
I won't let the darkness begin to fade.
I won't let the sparkle ride my mind.
You're so rustic and piously unkind.

Paramour, you're not abandoned yet.
You're scrutinizing yourself and you're far too unfair.
You've got your crown all tangled up
     and I wish I could make you care.

No Paramour, you haven't been abandoned yet.
It doesn't matter all you've endured.
It doesn't matter all you've observed;
     sentimental daggers still seem to lacerate your brain.
I've acquired my fair share of knives,
     I'll guide you through the pain.
You're not abandoned.

So abandon me when you're not alone.
Let's abandon me so you're not alone.
Give me your fists because you're staggering.
Let me hold you still because you're staggering.