Naked as snow was my birth,
a covering of innocence coating
                                           my eyes.

I was then a sapling, bursting through
and then capturing the nautical days
                                               I was alive.

Like an oak my moments long & fading
as the years fell like autumn leaves.
                     A chill of silence breathed upon me.

Her eyes see everything but
                                  nothing,
blind to everything but
                     her own beauty.

A mouth can
hurt more than
         any blade...

A tear is but a sentence of
                                  sorrows

Where a tissue is a novel of
                          life's  
failing moments collected.

Our shadows persist
whence we were collages
on times breath.

Elegantly dissipating from
the collection of momentary
fragrances.

Till we are silhouettes of
memories, notes falling
into life shattering within obscurity.

Knee high to a blade of grass,
he in kind verse took this friend
of four hooves for a stroll.

Telling of his Daddy, how he
was saddled with his Father.

Caressing the wind and earth
they were as one on the prairies,
sleeping together hooves held
him steady in moonlight slumber.

Your Father was there for my Daddy,
even when he parted, he slept next to him

He would put his hooves upon the
breast of my fathers grave, I swear
your father cried tears like life.
That's why their next to each other now,
                           riding into the sunset of life.

Our emotions are
                  badges
that shine or are hidden
from sight,
due to there dull nature.

Tarnished by others
                   blemished words.

My ink is your addiction,
       you just want to tear up
the paper and smoke it.

High off the metaphor
         syllables post illusions
of verse in your mind.

My ink is your addiction,
        and every verse gets
smoked, words are your high.

Hurt drives a car
        with no lights on,

And were walking in the road.

If words were wine
    poets would be syllable drunk.

If words were water
    poets would drown in own thoughts.

If words were silenced
     poets would sign language in whispers.

For words are the blood of humanity
and we each learn when words are versed.

Linage of pride as she howled towards birds
that curtsied in the presence of she unspoken in words.
All knew of her, this steed she rode upon, one
of a pride of brothers and sisters. Unseen none
left her side, when she motioned all would run.

The staff was her voice, with but effortless elegance
showing those who tainting the forest with inelegance
of self, ruining the balance for the deeds of ones own lack
of morality. Pollen seeded the air, hands did reach back
pulling forth a wand of bones perched in palm each did crack.

Not of the reflection she did gaze upon something was
older, more cursed than the shadows underneath, she pause.
The wolves did howl upon the air, each one a different tone.
Clawing the earth as if something were being harmonically sewn.
the illusion fragmented, the wand but apart of something unknown.

It was an abomination of times when shades walked unaided
but she knew the motions to bury its darkness till it faded.
Her staff whispered to the breeze as blossom like snow descended.
Like a storm of light cutting into this abomination now suspended
collapsing inward till only one onyx petal fell before it began it ended.

The night fell as stars wove the illumination on the figures below,
and shimmering around her tiny form was a necklace of shadow
petals, this wasn't her first or last shadow to fall like blossom alone
on the ground. The wolfs howled at the moon as she smiled, tone
of melodies greeted her ears as she rested her weary head on a stone.

My bag had a tiny hole in it,
are they neither here or there.
rolling in directions not seen
but I know I had a handful
less than a moment ago?
ever thought your losing your marbles.

They cling on false hopes
as they hear the illusion
of happier times coming.

The carousel slowing down
             horses like waves
up and down around unending.

But they are disorientated by the
thought that the finish line is on
the next turn, there reality now frail.

We miss many skips when jumping,
not realizing that they'd
       hung themselves on the old oak.

The playground was empty of smiles,
just mummified emotions
        buried within themselves.

Were just jumping off steps,
to the cold pavement awaiting us,
          Our tombstones of lives last jump

Do I turn off the repeats of everyday

          Like static of un-tuned channels.
My mind teeming in irregular haze...

Do I turn off the repeats of everyday

          I'm a cancelled reality, ill no longer
Be a rerun as my end credits fade to nothingness..

And the sand of many shores
were caressed to shimmering glass
reflective of there yearning.

As waves fragmented upon it perceiving,
reflecting what would repeat
like a whisper upon every moment.

Over time shores became broken
shards of time. Eloping upon them
grains were once again finite moments.

Our words are sewn into those
                           that hear our thoughts.

So make them pleasant,
                as ill words sow sour fruits

The praise of reflections were
but a mirage of recommended
                                          echoes fading.

That collected in the coroners,
that praised the failings of empty
                                         glorified nothingness

Lonely does it linger in a field on cobwebbed reflections
gazing in to the morning dew hanging low in my direction,

Sullen is the sunrise, not as it was the morning before, silent.
it rises upon the stillness of nature homage to its arising.

Caressing the landscape with radiant silhouettes that play
within the gestures given, twilight lingers within hidden shadows.

The morning has broken, and words hang between natures balance.
Birds sing the chorus, and nature greets the elegance of a sunrise.

Snow drops camouflaged
          expirations of summers demise
                              blossoms were silenced.

Tears melted on untried petals
           unfolding within
                           natures chilled breaths...

Nectar sang the vocalization
           of sunlight's shimmer
                                  upon everything's design.

When leaves were tears descending
             natures cycle
                           began anew again.

Cimmerian shade is a mistress
             that hides her face well,
for though we glance upon the silhouettes of her beauty,

We neither touch upon her obscurity
              only the features that hinder
our mortality and we shiver not knowing why.

Onyx painted upon her figure
as layers were laced with the
                          thorns of its creation.

Crimson fish nets bleed down her
legs, as the splinters from its inception
                           lacerated elegance beneath.

I wore a rose of wine nourishing deep within,
as the stem cleaved deep within myself.
                          We kissed the silhouettes of ruination

Misunderstood, that's what I say. I'm a muse
of beauty, of silk woven from self.  My patterns
entice the morning dew to linger upon my
creations of simplistic beauty, tears fall.

I do not invite your destruction of what was
versed from my being. But your jealousy entraps
you to destroy what you have not naturally woven.
Tattered strings of my nights work fall and I
tirelessly recreate what was portrait of my worth.

Weaving my creations, I will not falter from
my course. Heed my whispers for without
me flies would converge upon your dwellings.
But I take pride in my work of collecting undesirables.
I sit silently patiently, this is my life's work.

When I was knee high to nothing
I asked inquisitive questions...

And with those answers I became me..

I would want too, if now, I asked the question??

If you are which you say? why so many books!!

If reality was based, wouldn't one book suffice,
But you made conflicting interests, like baiting
a hook. Why do we have to be slaves to ourselves
always begging on knees. To those of confused
reflections seeing you in themselves, but all the time
wording it to make them hate, difference of man
and woman others not he same as me?
but you conflict with love and preach the other thing.

If I was to ask one thing?

"Were grown now, out of the cradle of insecurities,
"Are hand needn't be held, were stronger without you,
*"I am me, not a reflection of your confused morality,

Thanks all to those that liked and commented on
my poem of the day surprised but chuffed :)

Thanks all for reading my ink this as well as others.
it means a lot that even though I have little time to
write as well as read some do read my ink ;)

Lying at my feet the outstretched remains of where I was,
silhouettes fragmented beyond their holding.
Naïve in the realization that this could have been
retained any longer than this.

I kept it within this vase, never watering it hoping
it would wither, but somethings don't die.
Petals would dwindle and stagnate where they
had collected in the shallow corners of dejection.

Jagged portraits painted on the ground were fading
to nothingness. As I walked away that vase of
depleted meanings, of fading desolation now were
singular from me.
                     I was never holding it again, I'm now free.

Expressions of what grew,
                      but you felled it.


With  a singular word,
         love fell like a tree in a forest..

No one knew it was unheard,
except in the heart of the fallen.

Venom was collected within the vessels of my
beating rhyme, irregular of the  perception that
was visualized outside this vessel of reactions.

You held on to the visage of what kept you sedated
to the whims of a thousand whips. Lacerating on
the feelings bleeding deep within you.  

Your afflictions were textures that I fed upon.
You were a succubus that I  was nourished on.
All were  play things of loves gullible folly.

Sublime beauty hidden within the clinging walls
of a residence that had secrets unbeknown to the
outside world. Melodies were assuage in there
pristine composition, clinging to the wall writing
a brevity of afterimages beyond the veil of sight.

Luminescent webs were weaving within like a prism
conquering the veil, magnifying with each reflective
joining. Flourishing deep within were  blossoms that were
wording literal petals of beauty. But not everything
alluring is beckoning, dangerous are thorns untouched.

All things luminance aren't always the intention of bringing
light to the world. There are different hues audacious in
there devouring of the voids. Abstract  in there gentle rain
of reflective hunger. Their behaviour that of a spoilt infant
wanting more than what is given. But light always fades.

But these flowers were the seeds of the universe droplets
of luminosity that breathed light on the worlds.  
Before suns shone in there cradles these petals shone
in the void. Some reflections still linger hungering for
thorns to pierce the void for eternity that sleep in twilight.

Broken razorblades haemorrhaging
beneath my voice, I tried to sculpture
the pain beneath my intentions.

To sew them underneath with blunt
needles. venting the devastation that
clustered beneath, I wanted to bleed out.

If I needed wings to soar they were plucked
before I flew, and the razorblades were
haemorrhaging beneath, I'd cut them myself.

Every sunset is one that bleeds within
my perception, I don't no why its
just like seeing my syllables dissipate
into a  hue of clarity. I'm a pill away from
ending it, to find its different in my mind.

My collected conciseness that rises luminous,
but then dissolving as its brightness
falls into a void of white stones descending
into the nothingness inside of me.  
I'm close to something beyond my perception.

I'm not linguistically challenged,
but I'm one pill away from ending
it. I've collected my memories upon
this discoloured white, and its just
a button from fading to nullity.

Go and braid ya *** fluff she said,

"I did,    

            "I used your tooth brush,

She gags,

"I thought that was
              morning breath on it?

*"It was a breath but it came out my ****....

My twin isn't what he seems, we linger
between each other shadows of a silhouette
not always seen,  impressions are everything.

But we wonder the realms of possibilities,
he is a night owl, me I'm a cockerel rising
with head held high at the yearning sun.

He wonders the untold stories of a slumbering
visage that others never see. Finding meaning in
the collection of echoes reverberating in footsteps.

We are opposites yet we are a collage of repetitions,
our speculations are façades of the other, silken thoughts
collect the subconscious dew of another's refection.

We have never purposely done wrong, survival is
a trait we have honed. The streets were a kinder-garden
of restless sleeps and haunting dreams.

But when on appearance, when finger caught in the
cookie jar, a reflection of remorse can set you free.
or the fact our finger prints duplicate reversals.

We survived through the trials of life, I became the
other side of me, I was a writer, I was a musician.
We thrived of each others impressions.

We do let the other have extended times, but the
plus side is we each only age when on the outside.
I look at myself and we both have lingering smiles.

A merging of two,
not unlike another,
spectrums of shade
                        and light woven.

Coalescing to become
more than the singular,
A marriage of differences
                         becoming one.  

Beauty is a footnote,
a visual acuity of senses.
This eclipse of submerging
                          within another.

Now hues are a new emotion
painted on the sight of others
senses, like a new flower
                                  blossoming.

Little monsters frolic
           pirate ships "ahoy,

Imaginations gift of play,

An invisible play-pal,  
     Creativity of a youthful mind.

Keeping monsters of night away

Savouring its exquisite tasting
                           you regurgitate it.

Some times,
              affection
can leave a bitter aftertaste.

A story is a motion of words
whispered many times,
each  syllable different for
                         those that hear it..

Pictures are emotions that linger
when others have passed
                                 into the distance.

Blemished puddles are collecting
within her reflection, they condense on
the walls of oxidized emotions.

Defective misgivings bathe within,
feeding on the algae of irregularities
that submerge beneath this glass figurine.

Unblemished words collect to swim on
the outside, perfection was bathing in smiles,
but inside she was drowning in insecurities.

Forewarnings were posted
on her eyelashes,

whipping weakness away.

She wanted a courter  that could
handle her, a cat of nine tails
lashing upon his
                             naked back.

We see a road but it never takes us
on the direction we travel upon.

The scenery is what makes the horizon
worthy of the distance to nowhere,

             but a road into our continued wandering.

Others swim upon the balloons of my mind,
a broken sea shell looking beneath a reflection.

We all exhale sunsets, innocence disguised beneath
locked within oneself, always within my gravity.

life is a stone lingering beneath little motions of
breath, motions of a separated moment.

Enclosed but burning brighter, if just for a day.
A shallow river hold more tears, blocked in innocence.

Her scent was ambrosia on his lips,
swimming within oceans
hearing the waters calling.

Waves gently lapped upon features.
As the ripples settled, he could taste
the essence of her, drowning in pleasure.

I abused my power of
                                  W.O.R.D.S

With syllables tightly woven  
of singular emotions. Tightly
rehearsed, like a play of characters
dividing her heart to where
she never expected it to go.

But words have a power to oppress
or release the binds that hold us back.
I versed my affections setting the shackles
to either release or hold us stronger than before
                                                                *"I love you,