With every word
The rush of night waves lapping across my mind
turn quiet
Your light enters the dark room of my soul
And I am redeemed

A low hum turns into a roar
whispers become chants
thunder drums beat into the heart
of all that needs telling

In a slow
carefully woven tale
An old moss-ridden porch
longs for company
in a deserted neighbourhood

A refugee
has found
Home

Bodies lying here and there,
torn clothes everywhere,
Some little girls crying near the bay,
Some little girls hiding behind the hay,
It's the month of May,and
I still remember this day,
When I refused to use my stength,
Gave up, laid down,
Could no longer fly high,
I was forced to drop on the ground,
Just because some hands pulled me down,
And swept me across the room
To fulfill their needs,
When I come to think about it now,
I should have stomped their throats,
When I had the chance,
I should have fought,maybe
I could have saved,
Others and every one,
If only I roared.

I am a house cat,
Roaring in the lion's wake.

I watch the yellow grasslands growing slow,
safe inside my window frame where heartbreak can not reach.
I'll remain the captured queen silently content with my small space.
My conscious clean, no blood to stain.

The golden beast of the sahara soaks in the open fields.
Afraid of no one and nothing but hunger.
Crowned long ago, his reign will outlast the wars, the floods, the drought.
Hands enormous enough to ****, gentle enough to love.

I remain, eyes fixed on the beast as he belts a roar.
The sound vibrates my glassy outlook, coaxing a scream of my own.
Salty tears and shuddered cries, break the crusted lips.
Pain erupts, long lodged deep in the gut.
The broken wail of majesty, shakes lose the inner me.

though a joy, a laugh,
for lonely forms.
on grim evenings,
he craves control....

his soul threaded to countless strings
all tugged and ****** by his woeful skin
after several flawed attempts
his burdened psyche
gives a clamorous roar

for he believed
he had been, the puppeteer