In the mystery of its soul
Light holds a soulful secret.

When darkness casts its conceit over the horizon
in monochrome shades of melancholy,
it resurrects as a Firebird
in golden silhouettes of flame,
illuminating the warped convictions of a
perverted darkness.

Light once knocked
at the stony tomb of your conscience
calling out your name.
But you feigned, refused to leave
the comforts of a pretended ignorance!

You didn’t realise you’re my thoughts
incarnated in charming colours of a conundrum!

How long will I call out your name
before you allow the light of my resurrection
to shred the shroud of a deathly pretence?

Earth is entombed with body
and blood. All sentients are
indeed candles in God's eye.
No matter how far, no matter
how young, we become mere
vapours as life goes on.

                                                               ­         As uncharted the future is,
                                                             ­         as dark as the world can be,
                                                                ­       I want to be a speck of light
                                                                ­         here. One who lives well,
                                                           ­              one whose steps won't be
                                                              ­     forgotten in the sands of time


                                 As the river flows...

Plucking nails like petrified petals,
each one tipped in faded gloss.
And they fall silently,
                 this life is now morbidity.

Wood has splintered within this carcass
of holding, she plucks hair and manifests
a brush,dipping it in the empty socket
                                                        of reflection.

Visual metaphors adorn the now
                                                       sullen silk interior.
Now hanging like drapes in a
         still wind of putrefaction.

Death is a void less experience,
         where one must entertain oneself,
for eternity is a long time to captivate myself
               in a six by two tomb of introspection.

everything in life has symmetry.
your warm tender lips and the olive green oak tree
i can't tell you how much you mean to me
you render me completely helpless yet free
when i am with you i feel so complete
please, please never leave me.
you are my sweet symmetry.

The devil rides the tomb of our thoughts,
       only to hold us back from intentions

       that cleave even at his morality.



"We are always much darker that the devil
               on our shoulder, he holds us back,

A caster of mimes and mimicry
Stilts a prance
About the tomb full of guests
It's a mirrored jest to ease discomfort
Visitors present their cards of invite
And go swiftly about the social wetwork
Their practices and manners
Interact and ply
Pulling teeth of the guises
Harvesting an imflamation of words
A baffle of tongue chorings
There is an hour
A second
Then a third
Whittling time
Taming code
Resorting to a little physical...
And then they take their leave ;
Prizes into the nights snare.

A quarter-life is twenty years,
Forty marks a half,
In forty years you’ll be a stone,
With a stick-on epitaph.

“She was a force of nature,
Brave and bold and bright!”
They’ll say - who never knew you -
As you’re borne into the night.
When really you were old and tired,
And didn’t care to fight.

"Wet Green Rock"


The wet green rock
That is our world
Floats round and round
A flaming torch
That sends its rays
Through cold dark space
To warm the air and land
And thus is formed
The womb and tomb
In which we live
Our mortal days
And pained we dream
Of other realms
To lay beyond this sphere