Gareth skimmed a stone
from the beach across
the incoming waves.

That's how you do it,
he says, following
the stone's ride.

The Prior sitting
on the beach
in his black habit
and brown sandals,
stares, unperturbed.

That's how
some people see life:
something to slim over,
not delve into.

I sense the wind
touch my hair;
a bell
from the abbey
bell tower rings.

She wanted
more of me;
I sensed her
**** me off.

The Belgium monk,
lights candle
after candle
by the abbey altar.

His tonsured head,
his deep set eyes,
scanning the high hung
Christ hanging there
by two chains;
outside
the downfall
of heavy rains.

Got 0 followers, but one tongue, and that's perfectly ok...

cause I got
two eyes
two nostrils
two hands
two ears
two ventricles

they all
follow me

all riders
on the one tongue
that speaks my piece

that finds poetry
on ***** streets
in closed places
and in the
if's of our lives
that makes writing
in one common tongue
so **** desirable

Silver coated glass
Painted to see reflections
Of one's self; one's soul
But opposite, reversed

So interesting, set against itself
But so utterly, perfectly backwards
One always sees what they want to see
That perfect reflection on glass

Light goes in and is lost
Not all, or maybe it is
Even light retreats in fear
That little bit lost to the other side

Stapled against the wall
Nothing ever disturbs it
But the evidence of battles
Come with time, months and years

Scars in the silvered back
Where no fingers touch
Show something from otherwhere
Something trying, clawing

That other place, where you live
On the other side, touching the glass
Dreams are real there, cut and tear
Only your face looks back so real

Look real close at your own eyes
There is always a hint of something
Not so real, a sadness reflecting back
The reflection of a reflection

Always looking back, mimicking
Almost perfectly, never perfect
The light is never right
Around the edges, reality is lost

Just out of sight, behind that door
Nightmares lurking, unsafe, breathing
Behind your back, while combing hair
A bit of something is there

Not quite reflected back
Light comes through that glass
Bringing you through
Not letting all back

Such is life, realities
Painted silver on glass
Taking your soul
Tricks on the mind

i wear my true
skin aloud
I feel comfortable
naked
I feel beautiful
this is true
love.