The crowd of unknown souls
did not deter you.
I couldn’t take my
eyes off of you
as you floated
delicately on angels feet
to be by my side & so it is,
those times ended, but
not the sweet-memory
of that one day
you floated
to greet me through
the crowd of unknown souls.

I was soothed,
dipped in Styx
for immortality,
the reality of my weakness
makes me vulnerable to broken hearts,
usually my own.

Spinning endlessly
opening spiritual signs
I feel like the Hajj

I'm steel.
Cold & hard.
Honed by the hottest-fires,
tempered with much
broken-hearted pain,
I've tasted rain.

I've traveled passion-dunes,
scaled love-mountains,
crawled in sensuous-mire,
wearing my scars like a hero,
a tireless crusader,
lonely & blue,
I'm someone who knows
about weakness.

Under the darkening heavens,
cool winds endlessly blow
across the Nile,
between the sacred pyramids,
the sphinx lies in silence,
a testament to wealth & power.

Standing alone, I witness
the spectacular setting of the sun.
Ancient voices hum eternal tunes,
seemingly lost forever in
the mysteries of the universe.

At once I am overwhelmed,
feel a true connectedness with
Pharoahs & the countless stars,
twinkling their message
under endless dunes.

Sunlight snakes its way
into my open window
as I sit in solitude,
pondering
the distant past.

There is a stillness in the pines,
a hushed tone hangs, yet
I hear the crows crying
& I know it is a calling,
a calling to reach out,
to reach out
into the unknown
to cure my pain,
this thing called
loneliness.

A virtual prisoner
I am at times
to those demons trapped inside
my creative mind.

They claw,
they scratch,
they beg,
they whisper to me at night,
driving me to madness,
to the very brink
of my sanity.

I do not seek pity,
I need an escape,
a deliverance,
to find the right words,
to get these feelings out of me
before they get locked within
forever.

On the fringes in space
lurk the watchers,
with a darkness like leprosy,
disfiguring in their wake.

Once exposed
to the evil
in their hearts,
there is no cure,
but abstinence.

And that kills the poet.
And when the poet dies,
the world loses  
one more piece
of its soul.

******* fingers
in your sleep tonight.
Roll your tongue down my back,
let me feel your spirit,
bleed your essence into my heart,
seal me with your honey-kisses,
drip inside my soul.

Release yourself on me.
I want to hear
your silent-scream
as you impale yourself,
go down on me.

I want to feel
your grip pulsating,
draining me of my seed.

I want to savor
your hard puffy-tips
in my dreams,
scream your name,
forever.

My Granddaddy once told me,
“Jonny boy, when you see a falling star, a wish has just died.”
I never forgot his wise words.

Tonight, I’ve been watching
them all night,
this meteor shower,
hundreds of dead wishes,
wondering how many of them are mine.