I can see hollow places in the hedgerow.
There are voids from stalk to stalk, but they shield each other from the outside world. An aegis of natural kinship forcing me out.
Safe, inaccessible, inviting, shadowed loam hints of escape.
Keeping to the public path is compulsory.

And there are parched things here maintaining their drought despite the deluge as the fountain grass keeps watch o'er the spillway below their wall. The rainwater doesn't wash out all the antiquated, little, abandoned pennies discarded there with facades slowly being worn away.

A dozen blunt faceless men stare up at the bridge with no mouths with which to share the careless, one cent wishes which flung them here to be forgotten.

I know it's wrong.

But for a second it smells like wild onions--like home. Life's intoxicating perfume floods, impairs good sense. Amidst Cassian's Choice, October Skies above, below staining a gray skyline with hidden life--

I had choices to; decisions too late to undo.

I uprooted myself from that silken touch and holy embrace. I remember the first time I felt lace. Now a cassock hangs void hinting of a bypassed path. Now I lay fallow like a spillway waiting to be stained with another year of shadowed hopes.

There are hollow places in me the rain can't touch. An aegis of broken kinship keeping the world out.

I lament the days to come

they’re empty and look

so useless without



your words they moved

my view of things and

anointed the way



I look towards life

and living in a broad

perspective it’s seems



in vain, so now all

that’s left are forgotten

words memories of



brightness and a

sun that fades into

an ocean of emptiness



no flowers please

acquisitions are not

appreciated

Numbness spreading like a creeping wildfire,
Carrying heat along the wave's crest,
And that's when it hit,
Ideas spewed forth,
Everything was clearer,
Everything was bright.

The Trio were on fire,
Immortal in their success and youth,
On the rise ever higher,
To some their words were truth.

To be loved by all,
Their following seemingly limitless.
As was their potential.

Look upon thy creation and shudder.

A hiss as pressurized fuel escapes as a gas,
Fumes escaping into the atmosphere.

The crackling of steel scraping on flint,
The cacophony of sparks following,
A fountain of brilliant orange light.

The ignition point is a dark blue,
As one of the sparks finally ignite the billowing fumes,
Spreading almost instantly,
Eating up the latchkey mixture of oxygen and fuel,
Produced in such a violent reaction was...


a singular light


Its flickering warmth
Dancing across the winds as they pass nearby.

The heat deflects off cold steel,
And soon a change was being made.

The Frontman took forth the Elixir,
The gift of the very helpful spider,
Providing him a way to save that which had been lost?

The Frontman looked at the Elixir,
Multicolored & unintelligible patterns flashing through the post mortem aqua vitae.

The Frontman drove the cure into his body,
Hoping to fill the long bleeding wound in his heart,
Hoping he could just speak to them again.

Too late to realize that the Elixir was gilded,
That the game had been rigged from the start,
The flashing covering up the milky white venom,
And the cure?

A nail in the coffin.

It had followed him for most of his life,
Sitting patiently,
Waiting still,
For the Spider knew it would eventually get it's chance,
A cruel judgment bestowed upon him by the fates.

The Spider's legs were long,
It's beady eyes glistening,
Milky venom dripping from a maw of  nasty little teeth,
Shivering with anticipation,
For soon it would be time to strike,
And then it would finally feast.

To our hero's who were celebrating,
To the spider they were completely unaware,
Hiding amongst the guests,
Some of them the Spider had been feeding on for years,
But now it was time for a new dish.

The Bassist had turned in early,
The Drummer in another room,
The Spider closed in on the lone Frontman,
Who defenceless and alone was introduced to his doom.

Their message was sent,
The people,
They had rallied,
And at the front of this force stood The Three,
They traveled far,
They traveled wide.

By now The Frontman was a full adult,
The face of a man you'd trust,
Well spoken and confident,
Ready for anything that could come.

Their faces we're everywhere,
Their voices and sound being sent on all the wires,
Bound for History were The Three,
The only factor was time.

The call went out,
The people,
They answered,
For it was something they all heard in their heart of hearts,
The outcry of "ENOUGH!!!"
Enough of the tyranny that was the monotony of daily life,
Like puppets on strings,
Or the marching on of drones.

The call went out,
Both far and wide,
And the people,
They answered.

In the blink of an eye the lightning flew across the ocean,
Flying far and wide.

The room was lined in foam,
Several microphones littered the booth,
Like corpses abandoned on a field of battle,
Grave markers of bands who came before.

Their hands sweaty,
Emotions tumbling about like clothes in a dryer,
As a small red light came on.

A lone guitar starts out,
Steadily rolling on as more and more instruments join in,
A vanguard to the symphony of rock to follow.

The Frontmans vein's bulging in his neck as he comes into the beginning of the song,
An outcry for those of like mind to join,
A rallying call.

Their sound was influenced by their city,
The Denizens of such a royal city,
Giving it an edge of steel as they tore into the instrumental,
Then suddenly a lull,
Only stopping long enough to catch ones breath, before it plunges back in for another round.
Ebbs and flows,
Until it is back to just the one guitar,
Destined to plod along alone.