In the evening twilight,
where my love's awakening dream
would travel far across the heavens
to beseech a heart before
the waning of the moon;

And that if heavens would grant me wisdom,
from the deepest thoughts of every soul;
and if this love conquers the moonlit night
within all that is black and white
is that which sits behind our dreams,

Clinch my eyes from mournful tears,
solitude is all I behold, if our love disappears;
I would bestow nothing
but the resemblance of truth
to the heart, where my dying days belong.

& The guy with the
:) eyes
took his pistol,
to his head
& Bam.

It's a brain-blow-out!  

Or a
beautiful- bouquet
of blood-black & red roses.

It is for sure,
An Ode To.......
  
Blowing up Billionaires
By the Billion.


& SO the guy with the :) eyes
Blew out the first
half of his head.

While the last half.
Well, it just bled black.

A child sits crouched behind a wooden fence separating him from the abuses of his home. The winter night in the northern hills chill his breath as well as his heart. He doubts that he will survive the night ahead, but what he doubts most is that you will stay with him. A sad and weak heart is born this night.
Hidden from the world, he disconnects and tries to forget who he is. Though the child's tears and reflection of memories cause him to choke, and the screams from his broken home return him to reality.
He asks himself "what can I do?"
All he knows is to direct the sadness and anger inward for he has been powerless in the passage of life. Though an unknown strength moves him forward from that night to experience the next day. Liberation is one day closer.
He asks himself "is this the day?"
He knows it is not.
Days will go by and nothing will change. Not till the day courage is restored back into him will he be able to take up arms for a better life. He does not give up and he strives on for his mother and siblings.
It is an ongoing battle, but he will lose himself in the quest for change. The memories harbor a distorted child with confusion and resentment. As I said a sad and weak heart is born this night. He forever becomes a shadow of his former self.

I soak you up
As If I could save you for later.
I know I won’t see you tomorrow,
And you look so handsome today.
The scruff on your neck
Leading the way down your unbuttoned chest
Your eyes all sparked up
From the brief spurts of sun
They all turn to stare out the steamed glass
But I remain fixated on those candle lit globes
You gaze out from behind them with utmost politeness
All white and glistening from withheld information
You smile as if it proved everything you feel
I ready myself for you, wishing for even just a whisper
But you only spit out those cliché fixes
So I make my way around again
I have number the last few visits we will have
And all I need is an answer, specifically, a yes.

When I die,
bury me under a tree,
large and spreading,
so that I may give again to life
and be a home for breezes
and whatever birds
may please to make their home there.
Then climb the battlements
of my old and crumbling castle
in the air
and appreciate the spectacle
of a speck against infinity.

Go to my oak desk
and burn all love letters,
pure and singing though they are.
Let others learn love for themselves,
as I did.  It is best.

Then celebrate, inebriate.
Divide up my possessions
and sell a few to buy fireworks that burn
brilliantly and fast.
Raid my cellar, eat, drink, make merry and enjoy,
for tomorrow is unknown.

And when the revelers stagger home,
remember only that I loved incandescently and enjoyed.
Yes, there were futile crusades, furious fusillades and
wild charges against the windmills,
but I did love. Yes, desperately.
That's all.

So goodbye, my friends. Don't grieve.
Please believe that
the gift of love and
this scatter of words
is all I want to leave behind.
See - they flutter from that great tree
that stands against the blustering sky
out there, beyond the mist,
along the pathway to
forever.

So let's have a night of poetry and wine.
Let's bare the soul
and lust with artistry.
Shut the doors,
light the fires and
let the truth roam free.
I want to feel it's tongue
search deep
in you and me.

Love.
Of course, the great spirit said that word
when he set down the majesty of mountains
thus, spread curling softness through the seas,
sending little creatures wriggling, crawling, mewling, howling,
oh ye little fish and fowl, doodled up the dinosaurs,
a lumbering jurassic joke, then unleashed leviathan
from just a speck, and made some others walk *****.

Love.
That word we need to hear
and the word that hurts so much.
It comes crowned with garlands, glistening
with the dew of pleasure. And underneath, the horn thrusts up
Dionysius and Venus, processions of Priapus, frenzied satyriasis
blind Baccus, luscious Pan and Zeus.
Ah yes. The juice.

Love.
And who has not recklessly ignored this word
or squandered it on abandoned, neon nights
that paled before the coming of cold mornings,
and who has not held back this word
from loved ones,
cowards of commitment,
circumcelliate, averruncate and absquatulate?

Love.
That little, mighty word that dominates our lives.
But what can we require of life and how can we survive
indifference in the barren waste and stay alive outside
without its whisper, without its cry and shout? And how can we aspire
to ecstasy without the tumult and whirlwind of its desire,
without its warmth, without its fire? So, we must turn again
to love's softness and love's pain. Again. And yet again.

Love.
It's easy, really. So go on, say it.  
It's time. Why not?  It's for the mothers and the lovers,
the fathers, it's for all the children who blindly seek.
It's for the teenagers and trembling old and the outcast and the isolate.
Even the soldier with the gun. Especially. It's for everyone.
The grave is lonely, deep and cold. By giving love before it's too late
those soft wings of the dove of peace unfold.
Love is the playmate. Enjoy, reciprocate.
This is the message I communicate.