When the ****-shot kills not, the dead lions don’t roar. They become the ghost in the dark, silent yet present. Like power, real power, stealth in tall green grasses, they watch the victory dances and gleeful prances of deluded preys. Beware!! Be not carried away. Look into the eyes of the golden flames, See their manes –Alive!! In the fog of night’s peaceful fade.
I’m in my stealth jet circling the planet at mach 25, every minute means a new orbit, light into dark, dark into light as no one can stop me, I’m ever so fast. I ain’t human, I ain’t alien, I ain’t a ghost, I’m the Aurora, the spirit of the northern skies on a speeding flight to the heavens in my silver skinned craft, as streamlined as a bullet and as graceful as a swan.
I'm interested in the prospect of exponential growth and often wonder how some people are able to cope when they find themselves in favour with all the hope of realised dreams in life due to their efforts or oath.
Or where there has been a sudden increase of wealth such as those we hear of who rise from rags to riches for there are many true stories told of people's niches and the way they have acquired a fortune by stealth. __________
Disconnected is black blurred into white making grey; He smells like black licorice coffee, And tastes like an old piece of candy corn, Forgotten... Left to go bad... Unwanted... His mother is as light as the sun on a warm summers day; His father is as dark as the moon on a solar eclipse... His best friend is like summer rain, blurring everything around... He carries black spotted white roses in his pocket, faded blue converse on his feet, his toe sticking out the end... His hair, jet-black hangs past his ears and falls into his eyes like tangled ropes... He eats dispaire for breakfast and forgotten dreams for dessert... Disconnected loves lost and broken people... His dream is to dance in the night away from the light and out of sight... He moves stealthy like a wolf; Watching... Waiting... For his next victim...
I wrote this while I was in the hospital going on my third week.
At your place You suspend my coat and my ethics By then i'm entering my stealth Working on selflessness Because you may hound Because you may roam You may find these unskippable moods all alone You may find that i'm not a bird lifting trees and stones
The older we get the wiser we're supposed to become, such is the general result of experience in life for some. But with age there's also the prospect of the deterioration of health and the wisdom that's gained is used to maintain the body by stealth. _________
From "The Quatrains" ongoing writings since the early '90's
As I took a fresh breath, I realized for how long I’d been holding. I understood I’d gone into stealth, Immersed in the depth of thinking, Influenced by emotion, memories; A glimpse of the future possibilities.
My chest had tensed and tightened. I felt some kind of unusual pain. My senses had intensely heightened, By the idea of losing all I’d gained. My stomach had been churning, Digesting how I’d been hallucinating.
I’d heard that we as humans, Never stop wanting. How distinctively we stand in unison, From other creatures wandering! The reality we know of and imagine, Shows how wild our minds run during famine.
As I test my tolerance of turmoil, I also test my strength in giving; In being so far from my mother’s soil, Knowing what fuels my living and loving, Will connect all the roads I now roam, To just the one that leads me straight home.