My demons lie
In minds I cannot control-

I love you,
I love myself,
I love them-

But two-to-one
I do not own.

I have loved you,
And I have seen you,
And you have aged.

I can only write poetry
When I am drunk.

It's 5:27 p.m. on a Wednesday;
The things I do for love.

Be a poet let the words forth.  Reach back and swiftly drag them to the open. Anything you like is what another ear would hope to hear and reasons can't be reason and her eyes can't be forgotten.

I've seen lovely things just get old unused and rotten. Fair or not her hair may be I shall not drown my misery. My sadness floats within my sight and when I shiver deep at night sometimes I wrap arms 'round my gloom and hold her closely tight.

Safe and warm now with my sadness I pry into her secrets and she splits softly sadly thankfully. She says, "I'm not all and never will be never was a say for me you keep me close don't think you could obliterate me give me room I need it baby it's okay when your happiness babe comes over let you walk in front of me I'll keep out of sight and watch the lovely way you kiss her from each shadow and I'll not rush you and as long as you don't try to ditch me or think you could even forget me I will be here when miss happy goes along her merry way and you will wrap your arms around me and remember you like my kiss more anyway."

A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
                    A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
                    Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
                    At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

                    She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
                    Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
                    Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
                    I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that I fall in love daily
Held under so many captivating spells
moulded and crafted by all walks of life
I find myself longing for all of you
the broken, the fallen, the bruised
the saints, the sinners
the righteous, the dispossessed
the holy, the unholy
all meet here
to speak of life
as they feel it
as only we know it.
Onwards, upwards
Downward spirals
kindness, cruelty
crashing through boundaries
bounding across oceans
carried on wistful sighs and broken dreams
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that it breaks my heart
Then brings me back to love again
All within an hour.