These are the children of love.
They burn like a swarming inferno,
Tending flowers of passion, of loss.
Born just to fade.
They are beautiful as spun glass,
Clockwork concoctions.
In an instant they’ll be here,
In the next they’ll be shattered.
They are all just children of love,
Living in the Kinderfield.
They wait to be picked up,
Knowing it’s often for not.

Experimental*

He was a beauty in a dress.
Fallen
He was the queen of all that he saw.
He never knew of the hate.
Goodbye
Born of fear so obscene.
They had tongues like hemlock
Halo
Knives dripped in atrophy.
He became the man in the coffin.
Ignite*
A transvestite stripped of all meaning.

Today i noticed a metallic spot upon my hand.
It was cold to the touch,
And as i removed it i noticed it was an needle.
A needle of impossible length for the space provided.
When it was removed i discovered there was a third eye hidden in my hand.
It opened slowly as if it had been asleep for an immeasurable time.
As it opened i saw things beyond my wildest dreams.
I saw great cities beyond me in all directions,
People above and beneath me,
The wars of past and yet to come,
I saw the beautiful awakening of the ocean of stars,
And i saw it all end at the hands of the glass toothed beast.
Before the eye had wholly opened, i reinserted the needle.
I didn’t think i could handle all the reality laid out before me.
I felt that being a spec in reality would be safer than the alternative,
to be enveloped by its crawling chaos.

All those lost nights,
Waiting for nothing to save me.
In this cold shell,
A casket in it’s own way.
Pale and empty,
A porcelain doll of displacement.
Eyes so cold,
That nothing i saw could dismay.
Left in silence,
In hollow and empty salvation.
Nothing for me,
But a calla lily in hand.
Sad though it seems,
I’m saved from utter destruction.
From the one who sends dolls to their grave.
This abandonment is the the truest peace.

There are four walls in all.
Six if you include the ceiling and floor.
It’s all i have here,
these walls.
They are what support me.
There isn’t any door.
There isn’t any sound,
Just thoughts in here.
I don’t know of the outside.
If there is one i haven’t seen it.
For me these walls are the world.
In here absolution is everywhere.
I am everything in this place.
I am everything in this world.

Silence
Silence everywhere
A world of myst and trees
A world of no one, nothing, not a solitary dream
A creature walked before me
It’s skin as grey as stone
A creature of no gender
A creature of no home
It was naked as the night was cold
Veiled by an inverse wing
Not metallic nor of feather
A transcendental ethereal thing
I asked it all my questions
And it spoke not a word
I asked it for redemption
And i heard just the sound of birds
It took me by the hand in silence
Warped me in its wing
I finally saw the truth of all
As the Albatross did scream
It was no messiah
No god with beard of white
Just protection of the watcher
The Albion in the night

Do I know the strength of me?
I doubt i do.  
I sit in the wake of a tide; amongst the ebbs and flows.
As i sit upon the grainy sand i wonder what strength do I have in this life.
What strength do I have to exist and to change?

Am i the thread in the needle,
Weaving ever forward in the faith that the weaver knows its course?
Am I the pine that towers tall in the forest,
That is lost in my brothers never blooming?
Or am I the paper boat,
Sent on its mission, etched with purpose and on a course?

I’d like to think i am the third or at least a prelude to it.
For the paper boat is filled with its own hopes and dreams.
Without these things do i have the right to exist?
I’d like to live among the paper boats.