Silent carriage with no sounds,
Is it real?

I can see it, touch it, but still can't hear.
An empty voice directs my journey and affirms my belief,
no soul,
no thoughts,
it isn't real.

No shoes on the sleeping man,
with strangely odorless feet.
Nobody smells here, it's disturbing.

Bright, buzzing, neon-fluorescent lights of gold or yellow.
Burning my eyes.
Now i am blind.

This senseless, lifeless bubble is my ticket home.
$6.20 should get you more of an experience.

Not long now and my vision will return.

Hearing and smell too..

He's a stone statue
on the old wire fence,
onyx eyes staring
as I sky-gaze..

Too white for rain,
too grey for snow.

I turn, tread noisily
and his heart's
a remembered flame
in the dying bush.

To the enemy you cannot forgive
You shall be bound for as long as you live.
Only forgiveness can sever the bond,
Can set you free to finally move on.
Though to forgive can be so hard to do,
Forgive not for your enemy....but you.

For a long time
I wanted to tell you
but I seem to miss
every opportunity
to tell you this
and every time I see
you I want to
tell you.
But I can't.

The night had come over the place,
and the stars and the moon looks as if they chase.

The stars were twinkling,
but the moon was still shaping.

I waited and waited,
and finally I saw the moon drafted.

The blue sky was slowly on it's verge,
and the day and the night both merge.

The constellation had gone,
but the moon with its half smile was still on.

The day has risen,
I wonder,to us, what God has given.
more of odd and even.

Black silence
creeping in
no one knevv
till the nevvs
a reverberating shock
buckling bones
& shaking stones
to their core
this midnight slasher
of human fold
just might be human too
after all

So I haven't had time
To read many prose and rhymes
Sneaking pretty words like drugs
From all the **** poem writing thugs
Hide up under the bar
I've only read two so far
Work is cutting in to my addiction
Reading and writing, my affliction
Maybe I can hide in the storage closet
That gives me time to write one comment
Jotting rhymes on my arm
Who said poetry didn't cause harm
Its my obsession
This is my confession
I cannot hide it anymore
I recognise I'm a poem *****
I go from one poem to another
"Feeling" them up like a lover
Then on to the next
For more word ***
Yep, I'm a ******-poemac
Addicted to poetry crack
Your pretty words are my drugs
And you **** poets are the poem writing thugs

Our hearts,
So much like trees
The heart dies a slow death
Each hope,
A leaf
They all blow away,
One by one
Till nothing is left