Hell's demons are everywhere
If I could only convince you to see
Drinking gin and tonic with style
Sipping haughtily on lemon and tea

Their distorted evil frightening faces
Are masked from human sight
As they pass you with indifference
Grinning and nodding
Moving left to right

However
Without warning
As their vicious appetites call
Growing hungry for souls
In the silence of the night
They gobble up foolish sinners they encounter
That disappear forever from sight

So the next time you have the desire to dine in the  evening
Take a  moment or a second or two
Remember faces are not all they seem
A demon may be sipping a martini,
While smiling and sitting right next to you


This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby

I should say farewell,

but I'm the type of person who

can't forget about the crap you put me

through and all the feelings I

had for you, darling.

This is what I wanted--what I want, right?
To be held close with no escape
Tightly in the night?

With the stars desire burning above,
His once tender kisses turn into something rough.
What use to be soft nipping on his part,
Becomes wild, animalistic bites of love.

He tells me to stop fighting
And give in to his touch.
I yield to his voice,
My own lost in the rush
Of my heart beating against my chest,

My soft flesh against his--
This isn't what I wanted,
But you cannot change what already is.

Death of a Poet

Bittersweet, the whispers in my head,
Slugging tender punches intended to dismiss –
and yet they aggravate my sensitivities.

Calm, the winds that catch my sails
churning waters flow beneath my bow –
yet aggravate my need for comfort.

I witness beauty in the stars that hang their glowing spark
an effervescence in night's taut and endless hold –
yet aggravate my desire to endure another day.

On this Sea of Consciousness my shapeless form exists
to float upon its undulations and ride the coming storm –
knowing that sea's starving mouth
hungers to consume a ragged soul.

And knowing that this soul is mine.

Now sinking deeply to bottom's waiting bed
I close the final curtain
of a poet's pathetic act
this pretense that he existed –
as a poet –
at all.

Birth of a Poet

Renewed,
light beckons my arrival
spirit’s song still buried in this heart
its beating throb nurtures undying lessons
awareness courses through a sunken soul.

Returned to water’s restless surface
A vessel waits unscarred from stormy ire
I paddle, sensing land’s embrace –
encouraging my desires…
… to aggravate my sensitivities
… earn my comfort
… and encourage my desire to endure another day.

As this new act begins the curtain rises to reveal
a soul finding ground to call his own – and knowing –
that he never existed –
any less –
than a poet –
at all.