The photo on my dressing table
       will never hold the weight of
                                          my heart.

Only your voice lightens the moods
          of loneliness, even though
your here I need you closer than afar.

There are pieces of me that aren't
           complete, I cling to your pillow
wishing your head settled upon it.

"I miss you,

But you never answer back,
        I await your shadow to cling
to the doorstep and lighten my worries.


That moment ill cling to, never wishing
       to let you leave again, till the next time
you are called away   "I will always love you,

You looked at me father, weren't my
eyes the reflection of yours, did I not
     smile in glazed view at the words
misunderstood but still a vibration
of what I heard in the womb of mother.

Yet, just because I'm not of male,
                        but female without my choosing
you want me to be just a memory.
Like a conception of love was voided
                         at the moment of my birth.

Woven in a blanket, angers voiced echoed
              I felt the taste of the air linger in
distasted tears as mother picked me up.
            kissing my lips, her tears of
                        pain and regret I could taste.

But father had me now, I was in the cold
             I felt his love dissipate.
             Silence was his voice now.
Not even a gentle goodbye,
but like yesterdays newspaper discarded.

Tears cradled my face, not understanding
             why this cold night grasped at me
more lovingly than fathers last embrace.
My expressions silenced as I ran out of tears.

I heard a mumbled voice,
                           not of father or mother.
But a gentle one of age, more secure in
the visible definition that I was a girl.
Holding me tightly, I heard others words.
I wasn't alone any longer, but what was my fate.

My daddy, told me the tale of my birth,
           and the implications of what back
then seemed like weakness.
But I have shown the world, that no matter
your gender it still has equal worth.

The past is a scar that still hurts,
        Never knowing my true family,
if they could ever have been called that.
But this family, this gentleman and my
        my loving mother, kept me warm.

Now I'm older, old mistakes of culture
        and religion are melding with modern
society, no longer are girls left to fend alone.
We are seen through eyes of love and compassion.
Not through the eyes of an abandonment of love.

I am in a collision of dominos I fell on to
the dislike of one, words were etched known
truths but like puppets they suspended me on
the ropes of what was warned now I am
holding my own on a cascade of eventual obscurity

whims of singularity that delegate to the masses
fall on me with much weight but I am not of subtle
innuendoes, I care not for those doors shut for you
only impede yourselves of not reading my verses.

When one is the voice of many and all fall into the
oblivion of there words, I do not hear them drop,
I heed not there linguistically challenged sense.
Saying a true that you are not the master of me I will
ink more words. I don't care what ill winds you spread.

Though the waters
                           may fall,
evaporating like shadows
of what momentarily descended.

There is still a silhouette
left like a
               moment,
not seen but knowing
       it had been there.  

*"Tears always falling elegantly,

My life is stained
       with red wine spills

Even though I've wiped
       up most...

There will always be a silhouette
                   there to remind me

That no stain ever truly fades completely..

On the plains of silent gasp did it wonder
Its grace wisped upon the long grass, never
Seen but like the gentle breath of dancing.
It was never hushful in this place of breath.

Air did the grass sway to the movement's
Whispering upon the motions like a melody
Of ruffled motions, it played in this fluctuating
Gesture of tranquillity that always moved.

Swaying in rhythm as if the reeds did play,
As if fond of the others movements and then
Stillness till whispers graced and the plains.
All did dance once again.

On The plain of silent gasp, unheard off torment
As this was the exodus of lost souls, every motion
Brought a sting to the soul, as swaying grass, cured
On this plain of silent breath, silent screams quelled.

Withering in torment, never delve into the silence
As breath it exhales all and joins others moments
Where vessels fell and the anguish breathed upon
The grass. each huddling for away to serenities rest.

Collect me in moments,
          and then play a slide show  
on tattered white sheets.

Within the creases you'll find
          all that was hidden,
collected out of perceptions view.

I'm more that what is seen,
      in the ruffles you'll
                                  see the true me...

I think **** it, I am a repetition of my
last life I ***** a reproduction of
what my last lingering inefficient thoughts
expelled on last breaths that contaminated
me on to my new existence of caporal energy.

**** this existence of what lingered in-between
every reproduction of my life, rinse repeat.
what's the continued use of what was played out
and repeated on a new field of conciseness this time.
I am a greyer version of what I was before.

Then I become aware of what lingers beyond the womb
a repetition of other moments. I take my existence
in my hands and coil the giver of life, suffocating
my pain before it lingers on for a life time and stale
mate my existence, **** repetition I'm dead by my hand.

The bugle's will blow one final time,
As we salute this brave solider
A purple heart,
A heart of gold,
Always there for others
But passed alone.

You were a brother, a friend
a son now a part missing part
In lives now your gone, no voice
on the other side of the phone.
Your scars were not just on the
surface but also underneath
Where scars did grow.

You were a casualty, a hero
Fallen in the battlefield of
life. We honour your courage
For the selfless acts that you
Did in your  short time in life.

The bugle will blow one final time,
As our heads down in respect of a hero
now gone.

It was the vessel  of thought it bled
Like wine from my fingertips,  scratching
Upon ****** white it did bleed.

It was consummated never to be as
It was before deflowered from white
To shades of thought.

It penetrated deep and pain was spelled out.  
It felt ***** used as it was like others just pushed
To the side scrunched up like yesterdays news
Paper then thrown away.

Thoughts not worthy, just lying naked in the
Bin for all to see. just laying there still, *****
Like tears of ink had spilled over the page.

Love vibrates at the frequency
                         of our hearts.
A mass of emotions that even
                          though a theory,
             its the building blocks
of a mathematical equation.
         That isn't totally understood.
But still we investigate the relative
                    mass & gravity that
our love is a theory of emotions gravity
                                  stringing our hearts along.

Whispers of aroma flood the room,
as visual acuity asserts its intricate
structure of pleasant blending's.

Monetary stillness is exacerbated
by the pleasure of its surrounding,
Metamorphosis tingle on the emotions.

Lingering on that juncture of this
Perception, it entwines within a
culmination of it greeting your smile.

"The deeper meaning of a flower says one thing,
                           It means
*"I LOVE YOU,

Suns beauty ensnares
Raging Inferno breathes life
Giant among stones

A cage of feathers, swirling
Never released, the calls
Of this bird long since
Faded, carried away upon
Now silent winds.

A cage of feathers rocks back
and forth, Dented, damaged
Knocking on the old wooden
wall. Two knocks for death
One Knock its to late,
You never hear the second
Knock as your already dead.

Bones dry and parched, feathers
Clinging on as if to give flight.
The bones shuffle around this
Tattered open grave, if you
were too read the signs, the
Movements. It tells you what
Is known, death owns this place.

She kissed my subconscious, tainted with but
a breath upon my dreams, seducing me with
lucid terrors that bled into thoughts as If real,
her breath was the sand of convulsions as I
Arched with confusion to why me she kissed  

Night embraced me, its talons penetrated softly,
Leeching upon a soul. Could I elate to what was
wisps and what was actually real. She gave me
breadcrumbs to follow but unknown mouldy,
Decay was the path I took unbeknown.

The trees tugged upon my dream self, but I bled
In the real world, like a drizzle my blood seeped
Slowly on to the sheets below, fingerprints are
Memories on my soul.  she relished that the terrors
That were shadows now scratching I wasn't alone.

She kissed my subconscious, tainted with but
A breath upon my dreams, did she want to steal
Me away, or feast on the darkness that's now like
A vine dreaming waiting to birthed in to my waking
Days, I am in transit neither asleep nor awake.

When it fades, its like a candle that ceases
to exist and so the flame was never lit..

You cherished a moment that was as
threadbare as the good reflections of us.

I look into your being and I see through
you as my heart now sees nothing within.

Words are
Never a
Waste,
They are
But a
Jigsaw puzzle waiting to be put in the right place..

I clasp at the thoughts of your passing as my
soul hinges on the occasion of uur never meeting
With not even a glancing of hands or eyes a glare.

Did we wisp in silent stares but we fell
soundless in that moment of whatever's, and
What if they were the one that I never chose.

My heart coincides with this paradox of empathy
Of one never meet but in my heart a light dims
In the preparation of what will be lost at any time.

I want to know the real you the one my heart feels
Should have been touched but was just a thud, a
Whisper in my heart saying why, why, why.

I knew you even though we never glanced  a look
Upon pools of white silk, I know that you are about
To swim the eternity of silence and will be missed.

"I love you though we never meet in this life,
*"Waiting is half the journey hoping our hearts next don't miss,

The silence is after a broken thunder in a
Place where lightning always strikes twice.

They run for cover for it rains in their direction
Others not touched but this storm opened up.

This is, was precipitation of clouded thoughts,
Anger not spoken but ventured in moments  

With a resounding silence lightning struck twice
And then the rumbling of wheels then muteness.

Then the quietness fell to screams of a instant now
Pasted, lighting strikes twice in the place of no words.

Such a strong branch holding up the
fruits of so many seasons but then one
winters wrath did the wind pick a fight.

Though it fought against the odds, it bent
within the breath of failing and yielded to
                       the chosen fate and befell its birth.


Falling silently in a wood of mute descents,
           where nothing was heard, but everything
knew that something was not as it was before.

Even thought strength held it at the yearning of all
below now it was stagnant. Then eyes pondered upon
its elegance. A fortitude of worth now meant for other means.


And though cleaved it was meant for a purpose,
             not one that it knew, now sewn on to
metallic wows. Sharp edges flowed like breath.

And so many times did it fall, not as before
                       this time it drank a different dew..
    teardrops flowed upon its eternal falling.

But it never grew weak, feeding on the nourishment
                                   of each diminishing stance.
Though it fell from the tree it still grew in depravity.



What was once a yearning life, growing further than
any other. It fell and became contaminated within
                                  earthly pleasures which it drank upon..    

A moment falls that severs ever moment before,
                     and what falls in moments after isn't
confused.  
                             It now has a purpose of the death it felt.

Ashes of life permeate
       through shallow tides,
weakening as shores of
                   white undercurrents
collect stagnantly on white shingles.

Corroded within each grain
          that swallows all hope of
                                          elongation.
Life is a moment crumbling to an
inevitable ending, buried beneath times silt.

It felt like a dream the
love between us, scared
that I would wake and
this feeling would fade
just like my dream, slipping
away replaced by a feeling of
lost feeling and love never seen.

I don't want to wake up, to
sleep eternally in peace as
long as I have you next to
me. A night mare would be
awake  in a place that is with
out you never to be seen.

I would be lost alone, searching
for that place we called our own,
I want to know if this is real love,
not just a dream to be awoken
from and alone.

Time is a raindrop
      Falling separately
Never landing in the

Same location.


But puddling in an
    Inevitable
gathering
              of
         Singugular continuity.

The warped woods were unique in there standing,
as when a certain assentation was perceived they
would no longer reach for that unattainable  
objective of what was beyond there ambition.

So they would seek in sense the joining of there
aspirations to be more than what was perceived.
When one of such long longevity was to be entangled
with another then a connection was implemented.

In the holds of a veil, only stars shine on the appendages
that wait with leafs of needing of daylights caressing.
But as night slept within that moment a conjunction
of seeding woke upon the dawns yawning.

The aurora swept over the conjoined branches that while
separate were void of happening. Upon the moments
that the rays of sunrise kisses caressed everywhere,
then the destitute became vibrant and what wasn't was.

The Woods were of two root systems, when conjoined
whisper's of the planets  echoes where opened and a
footstep was a milestone of miles instead of impressions.
the animals were like children playing upon this system.

Always making sure that when the sun decided it was time
for its rays of life to sleep that they were back at the focal
point. Those not lost were sleeping well, but those that
were eclipsed as night suffocated the land of sight were stranded.

With every motion of the warped woods, each day was a
verity of randomness. But each was cautious of there time
so not to linger in lost solitude, to never taste the air of there
homeland. The woods of everywhere but steps to the unknown.

I saw you through the
window staring through
the glass, your eyes transfixed on
my face I couldn't just walk past.

I bought you home, the first weeks
were tough, training you to do things
was really rather hard, but in the end
you got it.

Was rough going for a while,
peeing in shoes, chewing my
slippers now both trained to share
our love.

Time moved on years went by,  you
showed me companionship when
times were really rough, I couldn't
have a better friend if ever I did
try.

The time has come to say good bye,
a part of my life you were for so long
but now we must say our good bye.

You were just a puppy when I saw you
for the first time, but now you have left
me and my heart doesn't know why.

My friend buster, you were there through
all the times, I will miss you more than
any thing your bed now empty and alone...

You said you would
               climb mountains
for our love...

But that was then..

Now you will not walk steps
                to hold my hand.
Our mountain is but a puddle.

My tears now linger untrodden...

When the chains fell silent, the gears stationary
Once more. When sheers where as they were.

Everyman's ideology fell soundless on the
Breeze of once tainted obsessive thought.

Bullets were but pebbles now taken by the
Shores of time, stationary no longer tainting air.

A rose grew through the white bleached remnants
Of what exhaled life now motionless and still.

Man was many things but his temperament
Grew to strong, now earth heal now he's gone.

The pretty birds perching,
          I stared chalky .

I was just a pendant waiting
                             to be worn.

But I just sway here loosely,
          gravity is paused till
I intend to collapse into
                           breathless

Nothingness..

But the birds are my friends,
           perching here keeping
me company, I feed them...

Not of wanting,
                                but of necessity.

                                     I stare blankly,
I've nothing left to give..

But the flock, they keep me company..

Wastful wishes of one
that never listens, to
words said at a bed
side.

Sundays wasted sitting
on a hard bench hearing
the words from anothers
mouth, beliving words
that have been repated
a thousand times.

Money given to Telivision
evangelists, saying that
he speaks through them
to heal the sick, but the
one they prey to is the
almighty dollar sign.

Ventriloquist thoughts permeate from
Myself, actions not of my own.
I am but a puppet on strings of red,
  .
My mouth is sewn shut in silence, yet
Speech infringes upon the molecules
Of air, I am spoken with no sound.

I am awake, lethargic are my moments,
Cognitive relapses as I feel I am neither
Myself in this fractured place my mind.

Tip toe here I go, in darkness I aim for
the prize. Floor boards creaking, old
warped through time, like a mine field
of noise keeping quite as my feet one
step at a time.  

Lowy in stealth I walk, past the creaking
darkness covers my shadow. I slowly
reach the stairs, I must be quicker so
others not to know, walking the corridors
and be caught unawares.

Leg over the banister here i go WOW,
Whoosh I go down, an Inch or three
a painful end to where I wish to be.
Tiles like ice my digits now like tiny
ice cubes, can a floor really feel like
I'm walking bare foot in snow.

The door I open thankful of reaching
my goal, but shock meeets me, as ajar
I open to find not one but all. Sitting
quite as a mouse, all had taken the
journey not to wake others from
different parts of the house.

We laugh and joke of what we had
done to get this snack of midnight,
all tummys had rumbled, now full to
the brim. Good night all, a midnight
feast a memory as we all dose of to sleep.

We are the "What if's, could we
have done better with our lives,
"What if, we had thought with
our mouths not with our minds?

"What if's, they plague our ever
moments of give and take. "What if,
we didn't rationalize our every
constructed moments and were like
a breeze of I'm going to do that.

Not held back at that moment of
indecisions and descend
statically on our conscience.

"What if I hadn't wrote this?

But I went with what I knew was
needed. Never once A given thought
except in words on paper that
"What if,
No one reads this, then that's their fault.

Thy crows loiter on mornings
fever, blossom brightening to
thee. But when  petals awaken,
onyx lullabies tear each asunder.

Woeful of the beauty of years,
            thy fallen moments collect
like tattered curtains of life.
   Crows sing sirens of despair,
joyful of the passing beauty..

And still they look upon thee,
        no longer petals of years stand.
they wait till your stem of life wilts.
With but a moment of silence when all
has fallen, they bow, wings dispersing life.

Tears descended in a silent abyss of loss,
you were a reflection on my thoughts.  
I still hear your voice when I'm outside,
carrying our last conversations and the
echoes of your laugh.

Missing you has no meaning, you were a
friend through everything, If tears were shed,
your shoulder would gladly soak them up.
Your words of sympathy settling my mind at rest.

You are a silhouette that will forever be in my heart,
its only been moments since you left.
But to me a lifetime of your voice will i miss,
I'll look above, the breeze carrying the breath
of your reassuring voice.

Breath was exhumed from the corpses
lingering impressions.
   But all were merged beyond
                           the futile emotions of the flesh.

For where reflections were void,
             only true deliberations stigmatized.
                                    Everything of before,
               that  were psychedelic illusions.

Reminiscing of stained windows,
                recently cleansed of the memories of
                                                                ­yesterday.
Only now were remnant fallen dreams buried
                                           beneath falling stars..



                           That crawled like maggots
                                                 in the heavens
burrowing deeper the more they fell...
                And still though falling, there breath still
                                          gasped as death only exhales.

When searching for the lost remember 8 things.

1.
We are vessels. We are circuit boards
swallowing the electricity of life upon birth.
It wheels through us creating every moment,
the pulse of a story, the soft hums of labor and love.
In our last moment it will come rushing
from our chests and be given back to the wind.
When we die. We go everywhere.

2.
Newton said energy is neither created nor destroyed.
In the halls of my middle school I can still hear
my friend Stephen singing his favorite song.
In the gymnasium I can still hear
the way he dribbled that basketball like it was a mallet
and the earth was a xylophone.
With an ear to the Atlantic I can hear
the Titanic’s band playing her to sleep,
Music. Wind. Music. Wind.

3.
The day my grandfather passed away there was the strongest wind,
I could feel his gentle hands blowing away from me.
I knew then they were off to find someone
who needed them more than I did.
On average 1.8 people on earth die every second.
There is always a gust of wind somewhere.

4.
The day Stephen was murdered
everything that made us love him rushed from his knife wounds
as though his chest were an auditorium
his life an audience leaving single file.
Every ounce of him has been
wrapping around this world in a windstorm
I have been looking for him for 9 years.

5.
Our bodies are nothing more than hosts to a collection of brilliant things.
When someone dies I do not weep over polaroids or belongings,
I begin to look for the lightning that has left them,
I feel out the strongest breeze and take off running.

6.
After 9 years I found Stephen.
I passed a basketball court in Boston
the point guard dribbled like he had a stadium roaring in his palms
Wilt Chamberlain pumping in his feet,
his hands flashing like x-rays,
a cross-over, a wrap-around
rewinding, turn-tables cracking open,
camera-men turn flash bulbs to fireworks.
Seven games and he never missed a shot,
his hands were luminous.
Pulsing. Pulsing.
I asked him how long he’d been playing,
he said nine 9 years

7.
The theory of six degrees of separation
was never meant to show how many people we can find,
it was a set of directions for how to find the people we have lost.

I found your voice Stephen,
found it in a young boy in Michigan who was always singing,
his lungs flapping like sails
I found your smile in Australia,
a young girls teeth shining like the opera house in your neck,
I saw your one true love come to life on the asphalt of Boston.

8.
We are not created or destroyed,
we are constantly transferred, shifted and renewed.
Everything we are is given to us.
Death does not come when a body is too exhausted to live
Death comes, because the brilliance inside us can only be contained for so long.
We do not die. We pass on, pass on the lightning burning through our throats.
when you leave me I will not cry for you
I will run into the strongest wind I can find
and welcome you home.

To honour
           ourselves
      we must exist.

For without
             purpose
       of being we are empty.

But life is the
                aspiration,
       for we only endure one.

Live it without
               the shackles
        of others, we alone are free.

She is blessed with the light,
it shines brightly through her,
but now she is bored of the light ever more.

She craves some darkness to penetrate her,
to creep over her absorb it into her pores.
The light now tarnished not as bright as before.

She was too pure, but now she wants it in her,
deeper than before. She hungers for its touch
she cuts her self to let it in quicker soaking in
the darkness. the light fading just a lamp in
darkness, a shadow of what was once before.

The light craved the darkness, what once
shone bright. Only a spark now nearly no
more. Beauty faded, scars now permeate
as the craving for darkness led to the
slashing of light now darkened scars.

light falls to darkness, darkness will open to
light, the cycle of both entwined for eternity
one will crave the other and then they fall.