The sweetness of dismal forth?
Space and a tapping heavy will of the wish
Greeting the dread, a host of silence, music for worth...
Naked real enough, naked felt to mention

Raises an eyebrow, raises a hunger
To the table of vestige, the tone of mystique
For a doting hope, dancing in the arms of thunder
Reach and purpose, in the shielded eyes of a lead...

Curious rhymes and times with a patronage's bag
Hurt feelings for a lore, in the needs of more
Had like a thought, in toil we save the cursory to add...
A callous few, the society of timid eyes, knows you somehow stranger

Lights that remind, you...
Three pigs and a wolf to tell the time
Have a mirror in mind, one for alienation
Two for a side of salt, and three wishes that should, a crying...

And a wolf in the first place...
Space for happening homes, the tale of synergy in grasp
That has the continue if not the view, of when a soon is sate
Is a requite of voice and its taste in joy, a new past to ask?

Exorcism of a priest, and a tale of youths?
Without the kindness of privilege, or the epistolary of count
The wailing and the stolen tryst, of powers that be our couth's?
In the dim and violent, misery we will note, is but a secret's pout

Passionate days, with a reason to be here
Aching eyes on the verge of unity, if not use for a cross
That has said, in a treatise of vice and quiet offering, of fear...
The none, the fulfilled song, and ourselves in an eye to toss...

someday I will live on a water,
it will love me
I will spend my days discovering it’s mysteries
spinning them into fantastic tales,
cinematic grays of storm,
kaleidoscope colors of dragonfly spring

I will live in the cocoon of its beauty,
in the folding space of beings from every world
I will story the breath of pirouettes,
the creation waves of slumber
finding uncommon lives
woven through fertile riparian fabrics  

the water will know me as no human could
it will absorb me into it’s rhythm
I will disappear from causation
cherished and protected the remainder of my days
I, devoted witness and biographer to a landscape

The thorny rose that no one liked;
It lacked a petal and had a thousand spikes.
The thorns that grew from its roots to leaves
Kept the people from touching it.
But, this thorny rose once had no thorns at all;
It just lacked a single petal, tho,
This was enough for it be alone
And cursed by all, oh, so much woe.
So, she cried a million tears
Which soon grew as thorns and nasty leaves.
Now no one gives it a second glance,
But it doesn't really need anyone's touch.

Some are like caged hens
banging there heads on the
        metal metaphors of desperations.

Non confirmative to the needs of seclusion,
as they were once free range.
           The eggs of doubt and walking in
secluded circles,
                 can drive one to
desperation!
or even to the moment of silence.

We all are meant to be free range,
             and now were battery hens,

running out of charge..

His name is Carter
And he’s all alone
In school
At home
Even on the bus because
no one sits next to him,

(But I’ve made an attempt
To be his friend
But I can’t break free of the honesty
That he is extremely annoying
So I will leave him to himself
Whenever I can)

One day his bag was extra heavy
And I could see it
But I did not ask about it
To not let out the brutal honesty
At the end
That I really did not care
Except my mind went there
Courtesy of the news
And I looked at the shape
Which wasn’t outlined as a rifle
So I looked the other way without paying attention anymore
And when I knew my safety was not compromised
I did not care about why it was so heavy

I stood behind him in line when
His bag bumped against me and
I pushed it out of my face because
What a nuisance!

He turned around looking annoyed
and quite frankly I did not care about his feelings

reassuring taps of gentle footsteps upon marble
lightly echo through the clean air and fluorescent lights

a step past one door, warmth encompasses me
comfortable space, people in this town are few and far between

stop a moment, think
before another door. enter

to a ceiling much too low
so much i have to tilt my head to avoid it
there are urinals along the right-side wall
Eve is standing before one, just to look
a shifting glance, attention is brought to me

my angled eyes set at Eve’s level

maybe this way i can see
why the fleeting phantoms stay just long enough for our eyes to meet

I've been in the rain
I've given others my time
time lost to the chance that being in the open would make me feel as so
would tan my pale demeanor
give my loneliness something to hold
turn my fear to boon

I now hold that that is not the case
for true nature is always an honest monster
how could I be so naive?
was it not the cruel world's air that sent me into hiding?

I should return to my dark comfort
my cave of paranoia
the only friend that always welcomes me
understands my need to be alone
to be fragile in a safe cell
guarded, protected
a perfect excuse
my reason to be recluse

Silence
O' which seals from me
The torment of thy thoughts –
Thoughts not meant to enter me
But sensed in mists of spheres.

In solitude
I'm dwelling hence
For'a hermit doth not lure the cold –
The thrusting cold o'that which
Is plaguing the foresaken.

Solitude, then to me
Is to radiate that ease –
That ease swaning circular and gracefully
on the calms of the Hydriads' waters.