Life is but a song of sorrows,
Days can feel like miserable melodies.
Our heartstrings plucked,
Chords that resonate with tragedy.  

The beating drum, a dark percussion,
Can serve as rhythm to the chorus of our love and joy.
That which is memorized by heart,
In every generation, the song is sung.  

In every life, a note is played—
Lows entwined with our highest moments,
Giving credence to suffering,
Unifying our spirits in a grand orchestra,  

Composing a symphony of our very soul.

He smiled like it was the last time,
And I knew it, though I didn’t ask why—
The air between us shifted,
Unspoken, like a secret the sky keeps,
Just for a moment, before it fades into silence.

His words lingered like a whisper caught in the wind,
Unspoken yet understood.
We were two fragments of something infinite,
Touching only briefly before slipping through the cracks of what could have been,
But in that brief pause, everything felt complete.

Tallow

The candle and I bear witness
to the long, lone, and restless night.
With a match, we bring ourselves to light
brilliant reminders of finer days past.
brought forth out of love but not meant to last

We complement each other in our fading vigilance,
twisting, smoldering, struggling we fall,
exhausted or, dripping
We grow ever small.

Used, they saw the one true answer,
and so it was the only light.
No will, no arms with which to fight,
no rival to the endless stars
a sky that taught the world to dance.
Symbols of hope and knowledge
not brought into this world by chance.


We flicker and hiss and claim our right.
Wax sealed the deed and blinded our sight.

Born to burn and ever so fast.
Brilliant reminders of finer days past,
wrought for one purpose, yet not to last.
Illuminations were made, in shadow we cast.

We sputter and waver,
gutter and wane,
flee before storms, slip from the reins.
Yet from us, the lights still glow,
revealing the truths the Greats longed to know.

Here but once, and once alone.
Is it just once, and all from a spark?
Our essence is , YEARNING
not Dawn, nor the Dark.

What author ever brought stigma
To the metal meat of argumentation
Based on green fly baking pies
With themselves in them

The steady guillotine raises the mundane
To the the top of the pops
As Capricorn is still seen as the leading star sign/

Boombox tarries the accolhaud of prim, caught
Out of the corner of the eye
smoking signs

While vampires need to throw their teeth into art
Where they discover black chalk
And as my mum says ' some pregnant women crave eating coal'
And Become narcissistic mothers.

In the rudeness of the magic however,
There is a burst of both lazy
Equally inspired
But with the correct resources never aggravated tapestry.
As the galaxy sighs.

I pull up grass and feel guilty about it
I know it’s not bad.
So why can’t I stop?
The blade just keeps looking up at me
“Why did you do it again?”
“It hurts”

There’s scars on the yard from the last times
It’s fine.
I’ll water it when I feel better
So why can’t I stop?
The silver just keeps looking at me
“Why’d you do it again?”
“It hurt”

I pull up the grass and feel guilty about cuts
The lawn will grow back
I cover up my arms and legs
The ground is barren and mowed to dirt
So why can’t I stop?
The blade stares
“Again?”
“…”

it does not carve a place inside my heart and demand it empty. this hollowness sits beside me like an oak tree, overshadowing and demanding. I fear it will become so great that I'll forget how to feel as it towers over me. Even while the beating of my heart peers from behind the leaves. Still there but ignored in favour of the desolate sky.

Here comes another
classic case of
writer's block.
**** soft,
I spew
across the
white pages.
Maybe age is
catching up
with me.
Time has been
a friend,
but I'm only as
good as my last poem.
I long for the days
when songs filled
my heart, where every
part of me smelled
the rain and the
wet dogs, and the
streets of Spain.
The pain was always
fodder, the joy, the sadness
the madness of love and
*** and passion.
The rancid anger and rage
became the words of
a sage when I broke
out the notebook.

Not tonight, though,
I will wait for the
******* and the blood
to simmer in
the red dot on the
white snow.
Patiently waiting for
the hemorrhaging of
the soul.

A fragile glass of reflection,
I stand still watching it echo.
It shows a face being allegro.
He knows our presense very well,
That we have inevitable connection.

How could my face look?
Ohh! Such a innocent book.
Clean eyes, eye brows are high,
A gentle surface of beauty,
Is the heart express such purity?

Yet still, the mirror is a lie
How could you look inside?
On the truth hidden from our eye,
The gateway to the soul such divine,
Only to be lost in a hollow cry.

The Milky Way, a silver ribbon,
drapes across the velvet night.
Stars, diamonds scattered on black velvet,
twinkle, a celestial cacophony.
We, two amorists, beneath this grand display,
find solace in each other's gaze.

The moon, a pale pearl,
casts an ethereal glow,
illuminating the path
that leads us to this Elysian field.
Here, beneath the ancient oak,
our souls intertwine,
a nexus of love,
born under the watchful gaze of the cosmos.

Comets, with fiery tails,
race across the inky canvas,
leaving trails of stardust
in their wake.
These celestial wanderers,
like our fleeting moments,
burn bright and ephemeral,
leaving behind a trail of memories.

Planets, distant and mysterious,
orbit in silent symphony,
a cosmic ballet
unfolding before our eyes.
In this vast universe,
we find our own orbit,
bound by an invisible force,
a love that transcends the stars.

The universe, a vast and indifferent entity,
yet it conspires
to bring us together.
Under the watchful gaze of the cosmos,
our love story unfolds,
a testament to the enduring power
of human connection.

And as we gaze into each other's eyes,
we know that our love,
like the stars,
will forever shine bright,
a beacon of hope
in the vastness of the universe.

Pinpricks in the velvet night,
Stars, your eyes, a guiding light.
Each twinkle, a promise kept,
Your love, a beacon, forever adept.

The moon, a silver crescent, gleams,
Chasing the light, a poet's dream.
Your guidance, a steady hand,
Dispelling darkness, across the land.

The sun, a golden orb, so bright,
Warming the day, with all its might.
Your warmth, a comforting embrace,
Chasing away, the darkest place.

In every star, a piece of you,
In every moonbeam, a love anew.
In every sunrise, a hope untold,
In every sunset, a story old.

Forever present, in my mind,
A love so pure, so truly kind.
Lost without you, I'd surely be,
A wandering soul, adrift at sea.