Sometimes it feels
Animosity
Is ridiculously
Portrayed
Displayed
For the sake of
Someone
Who is
A no one
In another's
Book.

But someone needs
To take another look
And see
That sometimes animosity
Is really
Creativity
Or a needful aching plea
That longs
To be
Heard.

Poe wrote a poem - quite tragic and sad,
About a girl named Annabel Lee,
Their love was so pure, it made angels mad,
In a kingdom somewhere by the sea.

They were just kids, but their love was so strong,
The heavens got jealous, you see,
They sent a cold wind, and things went all wrong,
And some illness hit Annabel Lee.

She died pretty quickly, was put in a tomb,
But her guy wasn't ready to quit,
He'd lie by her grave in the darkness and gloom,
(Kinda creepy, I must admit.)

He blamed it on angels, those heavenly jerks,
For taking his bride-to-be,
But that's just how a disease sadly works
Even in that kingdom by the sea.

His love never died, unlike Annabel Lee,
He dreamed of her night and day,
His dedication was admirable, you see,
But not in a healthy way.

So, what did we learn from this tragic tale
Besides that love grows more and more?
That Poe had a knack for the morbid and frail,
And making gothic folklore.

In short: It's a story of love and of loss,
With a dash of celestial spite,
Where Poe shows that death is no match for true love,
Even if that love's not quite right.

Her body swayed, night’s mistress, hips caged in silk’s heat.
I froze—her lioness gaze, her eyes undressed.
A temptress sculpted by shadow, my goddess—complete
She grinned—my name, her voice, a purr—confessed.

I froze—her lioness gaze, her eyes undressed.
She pawed valleys, mounds—denim mines skin.
She grinned—my name, her voice, a purr—confessed.
The forest awakes—her fingers explore within.

She pawed valleys, mounds—denim mines skin.
On swimmer’s blocks—wet lycra stirs lioness primal lust.
The forest awakes—her fingers explore within.
I bared my pulse, then silence under her tusk.

On swimmer’s blocks—wet lycra stirs lioness primal lust.
The crowd drank in my form—a hushed gasp, then her ******.
I bared my pulse, then silence under her tusk.
I'm caged for all time by her thirst—for love, or just lust?

The state returns
It was never gone
Forgotten

Forgotten under a garbage heap
In the deep West
Between head and skin

Of soul there is nothing there
Stones and sand
Neon-green acid

The state returns
From the pyramid room
Between wall safe and key rack

The shelves are empty
Because of the resident
Who dwells in the head of the West
Though the pyramid room was built in
The East of the skylines

Below the pyramid room
An avenue
Through it he wound his way
To ceaselessly get things done
Ceaselessly

The state returns
It firmly refuses the
Refusal of life

The state is back again
Down with the past
It remains a red door
Fading

The pyramid room
The state
My body goes to ground
The children stand around it
Silent
Counting
Illuminated

The state

All battles have been fought
A red door remains
The pyramid room
The state

There are people always out here searching
For something in which to believe
Certain there's more to the why's and what for
Never once trying, down on bended knee

They tune in and turn on the inside
Of themselves in which they rely
With a good yoga stance, they're hoping to chance
On enlightenment that comes with self-pride

Or maybe perhaps if they chant
A Mantra over and over again
They may find the way to heaven's gate
Bypassing their multiple sins

Some rub the belly of Budda
Or pass out Hari Krishna pamphlets
Never eating meat with cows covering the streets
With a god for every day and circumstance

There are ones that never venture from nature
Finding solace in the hugging of trees
Some look to the stars to find their purpose on Earth
While others might count the tea leaves

God has placed inside every one of us
The deepest in needs and desires
To be one with Him in the forgiveness of sin
But man, always seems to want more

Leaving behind what we were really made for...