.

Set aside time for celestial night-
A million years to name every star,
Time in your eyes make them seem very far-
Preparing your soul for astral flight.
Tantalize your skies with your tailless kite;
While Orion is preparing for war-
And nobody knows just what war is for.
Discovery has been my life's delight!


To gaze into sky that's as black as tar-
Pinpoints -of- light... everywhere that I turn;
And the cage of my chest feels very tight.

You turn the key and you have the power-
Everyone wants to see Jupiter burn.
Ah! It's going to be one hell of a night!












.

.They extricated colors from my dreamsand splattered them onto canvas.Natural starlight rapped softlyon my chamber door,illuminating my life.Hopping to and fro, the ravenblew out each candle,one by one...as  starlight flooded the night.Suddenly brilliance met the brush.

.
Underwater illusions
rocked the
oceanic cities.

Jagged shark teeth
gnash  
at the darkness.

Gale force winds
hurl sporadic starlight
like anchors
through crashing waves.

A rocky undersea tempest
pitches a bluish-green spray
stinging the dying
pirates' skin.

Rabid waves foam
at the mouth
as lightning illuminates
every creatures eyes and teeth.

A vicious pitch-black
war waged
from the mouth of
judgment.

Then
an earthquake
swallowed
the ocean.










.

.





We stand fast
against the tyranny.
They will never see
the livin' fear in me.

They've noted all our motives,
and took down all our names.
They stripped away our freedom
as Washington was going up in flames.

They took away our pistols,
every thing we could afford.
Then they bankrupted Chevy,
from schools, they banned the Lord.

Guitar Hero,
revolution;
out of gas, now
what's the solution?

The raising of taxes gets
preached to the choir.
The pews will smolder
with martyrs on fire.

AT&T; towers loom on the horizon.
Start a revolution on your Verizon.
We'll succumb to flame, never the plow.
I've one question, "Can you hear me now?"






.

.Ancient forest-
wood and stone.
A doorway open,
a boy alone.
Summer's slumber,
a feathered choir.
Comparing her
to stars on fire.
Cracked clay horses,
a dried lagoon.
A place to sit
and talk to the moon.
Sweet Spanish moss,
roots in the sky.
Not suitable to climb-
I'll never fly.


"You cannot save shadows for a rainy day."-redbarchettadrive ♥.

.
The
puppet awakened to...

martyrs-

selling raffle tickets
to the resurrection of
heaven-


as
the dawn
came crashing through
the trees...


and the moon hung lifeless
like a wet rag,
clipped to a frayed clothes line.

To
superstitious souls-

wearing antique flesh
like over sized overcoats;

and eternity mixing
with dew
and flow i n g
s l o w

                l

                      y


into the holy river.

Who cut the puppet's strings?











.

.Womb paintings-merging delicate layers--of love and darkness.The water's warmthnourishesthe arousal of creativity.Restlessness mirrorsexhilaration--proving any phase ofmoonstill tugsat the new seed..