There is a poem that awaits
To be discovered,
A seed of thought that wants its
petals in the wind.
It was born of a woman I made
Impossible love to,
Heralded by her missed touch.

The verses are kissed with her
Destinies and embraces,
The light she left in my soul
Tells me of a place
I will write;
A Nightingale's dance under
The tranquil Moon's glow.

And only I know the words,
But they slip into dimensions
Unknown to me;
As though they take flight in
All my dreams.....

Under endless recollections
I sigh a thousand times from
A fountain among highest heights,
That of the waters of  memory
That evades me.

Woman forms, beastly forms,
Crystallized forms of memory,
Vague but fluid, luminous forms
And a knife at the alter....

Forms of Poet Saints in a mist
Of wandering brilliance,
The beauty and the sorrow
Of bloodstained carnations.

Transcendental harmonies
On lips of Virgins,
Dawn's hesitant light,
Sobbing in the psalms.

Ethereal emotional spirits
Scattered among the tombstones,
Suspended hearts in memory
As a Mystery says goodbye.

And the verse of the light
In the final stanza reveals all
Purity and chastity of the soul,
Saying goodbye to a fellow light.

Like cigarette burnt to the stub,
Like an empty bottle of Jack,
      Kinda the way it's been.
Like reruns of Seinfeld on a Saturday
    1a.m. slot.
And nobody notices, yeah my days
Have been like that.
     Like bloggers on a subject like
Star Wars and little
Pimple faced teens arguing lightsabers....
     Pertinent subjects have lost
Their way out of my life.
      There is a whole lot of nothing,
But like cigarettes burnt to the stub and
     An empty bottle of Jack,
Like days fading on a memory card
With 300 pictures,
      And the ashes that get swept
Just this side of the puke
Of the armchair.

A room, a bed, a closet,
A familiar setting,
A window and a storm.
The night without stars
And a thunderclap of wonder.
There are many people like
This, all around me who get
To know the storm.
The sunrise, the mist,
The birds at song under
Wet trees, lukewarm morning.
Here there is a woman alone
With no man, many like me.
And all that is and was
Or will be wants what the heart wants,
Love.
The night comes again,
A room and shadows long and
Madly the same.
I swell with a thought of a woman,
My dream comes to me awake,
I am alone but she accompanied
Me through many lonesome nights
Even in my imagined reality.
We had loved and made
Love many times now,
I don't know her name
But I know every curve of her face,
Her transparent slip....
The rolling curve of her thighs,
And while so close seems
So very far away.
I see her ****** in the shadow,
I long for her body,
No I long for her soul with me.
I love her more than I know,
But I don't know her,
Her wings clipped like some
Fallen angel,
Her flesh deeper than the touch,
This is more real to me than
Anything else I know.

Tonight, in a room, in an insanely
Familiar room I stand alone with her
In my thoughts,
I sweet song arises in my head,
We dance in the pale moonlight
And then I was interrupted by
A passing car,
And I knew the car was real.
Illuminating from my mind
I return to the last dance,
Forever the first.

I write her into reality,
Every lonesome verse filled
With an unknown woman,
She that I love deeper than
Any abyss,
She carries my soul away from
The room, the closet,
The familiar night.

One:

She sings in her bed
While she stares at a picture
Of her daddy.
On her lap is a razor
And her monsters cut away
At her lap, laughing.
The girl sings her song
In the empty house.

Two:

Her sky was a daddy,
There were birds and clouds
And the air was pure
In his hands.

The clouds caressed
Her face and her face told
Of a sadness,
Like a cloud her daddy
Wasn't there.

Three:

Heart full of dreams
And eyes filled with water,
I will share the girl's secret:
Daddy was taken away,
Her daddy was locked away.

Unfastened in her defenseless
Blood, she annoints herself interrupted,
She has the scars,
You can see the scars.

Her song sings:
Daddy do not abandon me.
I am alone
In the tears and the blood
I am home, alone.
You are not here,
And it hurts me truly,
You are not here.

Torn into pieces
Every bit of you complex-
Desirous nature to please

Come one come all
To the show
Of pleasing others eyes

Be it far from yourself
To be yourself
For retribution is swift
On originality

The world calls you,
The one that pleases the others,
Not you but the other one

If you are not yourself,
There is no other
To be accepted outside or in

And when I spoke her freely
My words,
The cage became a bird.
And my heart a frenzy because
It longed for death and
Now howls at her life.
      She smiles at the reflection
Of my words,
What shall I speak to her now?
And the light dances in her smile,
Her seasons burn lilies into
My ideas,
******* my hands
That were gone without hope,
She brings a poet from death.

She punishes the darkness
And all the monsters that ****
Away the blood of life.

In the hour of her fullness
Condensing on my lower lip,
I breathe life into words,
Though it was her name that
Condemned my sorrows to the gallows.

And I am young again,
My eyes speak,
My mouth listens,
And all my life has come to now.
The end is a rebirth
And I fled the dark side of night,
The worn out lonely poet
Has come one more into the light
And for her,
Because it was inevitably her,
It is not too late.

I remember my sorrows
When I destroyed flowers,
The flowers withered in my hand
Because the joy still lingered
In them.

But she has devoured my chaos,
Caged my fears
And loosened the words.

And though I was lost in the abyss,
Surrounded by a prison of regret,
She loosed me from that place,
And the cage became a bird.

All that I do
Is in review
To his enamored mind
I know his eye
Where e'er I ply
Is pushing close behind
Not any Port
Nor any flight
But he doth there preside
Whai omnipresence lies in wait
For her to be a Bride.

Emily Dickinson. 12/5/2015.

Am I accepted here throughout
The poetry world?
Though I am a liar
(But you all know my pain)
And a sociopath,
I still love the make beieve world,
Like dreaming I was naked
In an NFL stadium
And had to run across the field
To a door that kept on disappearing
And reappearing on the other
Side of the field.

I know myself better than my
Psychiatrist does,
But the truth of the lie is
I love the words more than myself,
And the mass darkness I live in
Is filled with a universe of
Make believe.

So I write the Galactic Sea
And yes I am a crazy person,
So I defiled my name and the dream
Became reality.
I believe in my words
And I am hungry for these truthful
Poets who sieze poetry
At its throat and follow
Their scripted verses.
(I hear repetition has much to do with insanity)

Sure I am hungry for love
But Im in a relationship with sedatives,
The sadness of these poet saints
In a mammoth sized disproportionate
Reality,
Ive read my psychanalysis
And it turns out Im a poet with dreams
Who knows the difference
Between a star and a lightbulb.

Heavenly body,
Unseen like the unwritten,
Unkissed like the eclipse,
Down the pit of the universe....

There is a person here,
Alone in their sorrow,
Wishing on bright lights
And stuttering prayers,
They are alone in a dark
Few can see,
Alone in a way where no one
Can understand.

They opened the eyelids of the stars
And found there a lonely star,
Without beginning,
        Without end,
Without planets,
Without any friends.

And here a lonely heart does wish,
The star unseen like scripture
Cracked on a tablet of stone,
They have branded a star,
With a darkness so bright,
It matches the sadness in the heart.