My head is hazy with darkened daisies;
There's demons in my room

To myself I lied about all that's inside;
Everything happened too soon

I swear to god I saw faces that nod-
I heard voices in my head

They warned me of lies and trampled butterflies,
But their word to me is dead

The walls are all liquid and my bed is infested-
I do this to myself you know

Seeming to be quite close to becoming full on ghost;
You might as well let me go

Muffled strifes of the blanched soul,

Pines for redemption to plug the hole.

The casing remains colorful though,

Mere existence, deceiving puppet show.



Malignant  now  once  benign,

Tragic waste of a grand design.

Delicious torments served each night,

Another day onsets another plight.



Deafening silence, everything torn apart,

Hot tears emerge from the frozen heart.

Quiet scream of the desperate mime,

Mourns the arrival of departure time.



Scythe begins to kiss the shell,

Heaven’s calling or may be hell.

Crimson  red  spills  to  shroud,

Darkest void now dreams out loud.

My warm coffee hug

warms me from the outside in

creamy bitter love



soothing my lost soul

coaxing it to come back home

fleeting though it is



A connection of

body, soul and of feelings

the warm sip takes hold



I am with you now

for that one moment present.

the next moment gone.



Till we meet again

in that warming silken kiss

adieu Consciousness.

Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
  This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people,
  Sick of the city, wanting the sea;

Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness
  Of the strong wind and shattered spray;
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
  Of the big surf that breaks all day.

Always before about my dooryard,
  Marking the reach of the winter sea,
Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,
  Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;

Always I climbed the wave at morning,
  Shook the sand from my shoes at night,
That now am caught beneath great buildings,
  Stricken with noise, confused with light.

If I could hear the green piles groaning
  Under the windy wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
  And the black sticks that fence the weirs,

If I could see the weedy mussels
  Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
  Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,

Feel once again the shanty straining
  Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
  Dread the bell in the fog outside,—

I should be happy,—that was happy
  All day long on the coast of Maine!
I have a need to hold and handle
  Shells and anchors and ships again!

I should be happy, that am happy
  Never at all since I came here.
I am too long away from water.
  I have a need of water near.