By the time you hear the shot
it's either too late and fate's dealt a blow
or it's not and you live
to fight another day.

Sounds only get in the way of the silence
precious moments
when silence is the sound of the shot.

Doped up with ***** is the only hope
left for men,
we
take a concubine
or a glass of wine
think that things are fine
and
then the shot.

A  belated "Hallows Eve" poem
I dare you to read and sleep well tonight
he he he !!!


...Wisp of the willow
waning of sun
Sounding breezes
in "Willow-Wisp-Run"

Sail on the night air,
phantoms will scare
with gathering of night clouds
in darkness of air

Moon on the dark side
as dead leaves fall,
visions of shadows
embracing us all

Phantoms caress us
on a dancing wind
Their breath be of coldness
upon your goose-bumping-skin

Green eyes of burning
night phantoms we see,
your body will shiver
your soul to be free

Night specters in black
in "Willow-Wisp-Run"
like black-widow spiders
and sticky-webs spun

Down the dark basement
a slithering spot moves
enticing phantoms
to eat of its ooze

Death now surrounds you
in thickness air
Flies on the ceiling
and foul smelly air
Blood splashed in crmson
like a phantom's stare

Screeching of night things
hooting of owls,
the sound of these spirits;
the dancing dead,
breath comes in tremors,
feet cannot run
feeling the night air;
wishing the sun

Whispering willow,
waning of sun,
voices of phantoms
in "Willow-Wisp-Run"

Humanity, in all its dreadful shades,
Shall shuffle and leap to its varnished doom.
It shall grind and break its very bones in selfie congratulatory glow;
A sickening dance of death,
Salty and twisted and sweet.
Tear-stained and hating, it claws the wall as the stairs fall towards the blank.
Laugh in fear, embrace yourselves and believe that we are climbing,
Whilst onwards, onwards unto the abyss.

I want to write about the strength of your hand when you held me before you left,
I want to write about the way your voice broke when you tried to say you were sorry,
I want to write about the way you sounded when you cried.

There are so many things I want to write about -
but I'm afraid.

This desire of mine will hurt me more than anything else.
It will hurt me because to write about you is like wrapping my heart in barbed wire and taking it out of my chest because it doesn't belong there anymore.
This desire of mine may **** me. But, don't we all die in the end?

You already know that.
The pain will last for only a moment -
but I do have a reason for being afraid.

A moment can last a lifetime.
I've been living in the moment of your absence for my entire life.

When it rains, I see your tears. When I'm in a crowded room, all I hear is your voice. When I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, I can feel you holding onto my arm until it begins to hurt.

This is what I'm living in and this is what I want to write about.
After all, I will die if I decide to write and I will still die an even harsher death if I continue to live this way.

Ripples of clouds
Layered like whisked milk

A glimpse of gold

Birds, beaks down
Picking salty offerings
Of low tide

Sleeping boats lie
Exposing their bellies

Brave ivy clinging to railings

Silver hairs decorating
Narrow skin of a man’s temple

The green of widening veins
Drawing maps on my hands

Outside there is mist
Everywhere

In here a collection of silent travellers.

We know this road too well
But do we dance at our destination?

Life goes beyond the grasp of our expectation
And we are suddenly decades collected

And if storms can be weathered
There will be collections of memories
Experiences of treasure
And life, lit well by the lanterns of joy

All things come and go in circles
Everyone can be pulled together
For the heart is the most magnificent *****
From which all power emanates

They scorch with blistering beauty
Not with the madness of towering flames
But with the glimmer of a candle's glow
Its light melting the coldests of hearts
With a single glare

Your eyes
Your irises
They are rings of fire
But they only burn for a single second

Before we kiss
Before our souls touch