You hold upon your lips lines to poems I have been trying to finish for years.

The man that stood in black.
That man that was there,
When I always turned back.
He, That man,
Was there,
Standing still.
Cold as ice,
But eyes warm,
And mind so nice.
The Man In Black, and I
Spoke thru silence.
We stood there.
Eyes growing wilder in violence,
But yet the conversation
Was so sweet.
Tender enough to the point
I needed no greet.
The Man In Black,
Was hard to make of.
I couldn’t see much of his face,
Except that his teeth and eyes
Was as white as a dove.
He showed much remorse
Thru smiles, and love.
He covered me thru all of my
Hard times.
When I had to push and shove.
But The Man In Black
Was a scheme and darkness.
Every talk we had,
My silence grew angry.
My silence was violence.
My silence became a riot…
It became a riot.
A RIOT!
RIOT!!
RIOT!!!
RIOT!!!!
I couldn’t hide it.
I loved The Man In Black,
But why couldn’t he stay for long?
Why when I had problems he
Seems to always be gone?
WHERE’S THAT MAN?!
Why…
I thought I had a friend.
I just wanted a friend.
That man in black,
Was a trace of myself.
My guilt.
My conscious.
My trend.
I no longer had a friend,
That was in all black,
That man became me.
Every time I turned back.


                  Marci H.

when the bird is living,
the bird eats the worm

when the bird is dead,
the worm eats the bird

He was not cold and callous,
But warm, quiet, and kind.
His breath smelled of lilies and he kissed me softly,
Until I fell asleep in his capable arms.
You may ask what it felt like to be touched by death,
But it was I who reached out, grasped his hand, and willed him to take me away.
Instead he smiled, kissed my forehead, and promised he'd return for me.