In the stillness of a fractured night,  
Where shadows whisper and darkness bites,  
A world once pure now bears the scar,  
Of horrors hidden, cold and far.

In schools where laughter once did ring,  
Now echoes of despair take wing,  
Little lives, so soft and small,  
Entangled in a cruel, dark thrall.

From babes too young to understand,  
To youth whose dreams are slipped from hand,  
The innocence of ages lost,  
To brutal hands, at tragic cost.

The weight of evil, deep and vast,  
Crushes dreams and shadows cast,  
We stand in shame, our spirits torn,  
In a world where hope seems worn.

Bloodstains on our hands and hearts,  
In a world where cruelty never parts,  
Kidnapped souls and tortured cries,  
Silent pleas beneath darkened skies.

Yet in this abyss, we must ignite,  
A fierce, unyielding, blazing light,  
To rise above the pain and cry,  
To mend the world, to fight, to try.

For every tear and every scream,  
For broken hearts and shattered dreams,  
We vow to heal, to shield, to mend,  
To stand for justice, to defend.

In the face of darkness, we’ll unite,  
To cast away the endless night,  
To reclaim humanity's lost grace,  
And bring back light to every face

I call myself
I fall myself
Too tall of a mountain
to climb
to be bookshelved
without a reason


I paid the price
There's no doubt
the flames burned out
All that remains
are the ashes doussed

All alone in the dim
Where all my fantasies
seem so slim
Where all chances
have evaporated
Full of nothing to the brim

Missing the someone's
whispers of night
Takes out the control right ?
But the "you" memories are made
The music played
The sorrow displayed

The ache soothed by
the medicinal *****
Watching the moonlight
fade away as it moves
Finding all my madness
in the black of blues

when the bars close down
I walk through a silent town...

an open window
a song is playing...

and you whisper in my ear
telling me everything
I long to hear

you chase me with your Cheshire cat smile
know all my failings

you come to me in sleep
and in sleep I hold you in my arms

such sweet lies
this crazy blue night

my memory

I m 5 or6
in the bathtub

I hear the little girl next door
calling my name

I run down the hall
out the front door
down the steps

*******,

I'm naked.

"I never felt as free

that summer
5 friends drinking beer
at the lake by the railroad tracks...

...the leaves were frozen on the trees.
the snow covered road
and a Robbin above
and the hawk dropped from nowhere
and the robbin fell into the snow, dead...

another puff and i go
deeper into dream.

"she was almost pretty.
the right touch of almost pretty."

sadness walks into the room.
I'm talking to the walls.

"summer and we held hands.
the moon lit the path
down to the river

and the days uncounted
and i had walked the high wire without a net.

all I ask is don't tell anyone
I know her,

eyes as black as coal
and with her heart of stone
she bites to the bone

but her sad eyes had looked so pretty to me and..."

and sadness tells me,
but most times it s just the luck of the draw.

"and when she smiled,
that crooked little smile...

sadness grins,
walks around the room.

"I was never as free...

...she was almost pretty.
the kind of almost pretty
you fall in love with.

please, don't tell her i love her."


standing in the corner
looking into the mirror
sadness says,
"it was just a bad dream."


author's note:

(...I just loved
the way  "gargoyles and  ***** dreams" sounded... gargoyles
does not have anything to do with the poem, but what the heck)


"or does it," smiles sadness, "seems like old times,"  
and sadness winks at me.

The old poets haunt me
they taunt me from the shadows
following every keystroke I type -
they’re critical of phrases,
they demand narrower themes
and mock the very clichés they invented.

I remind these frightful spirits of how tenuous
life was, how I’m blindly living these experiences,
how prevalent desire is, how human it is to chase
the things we’re told will fulfill us, like goals and love.

I try and explain this Internet thing,
how the more copious my writings,
the more people it says are following me.
How I really don’t want to sound paranoid
but as hard as I try - I don’t see anyone.
.
.
Song for this:
Too Much Time On My Hands by Styx
Reelin' In The Years by Steely Dan

Vintage Chanel lives rent free in my mind
the colors are deep, subtle and magical.
Over time, the originally soft textures,
become luscious, like a lover's caressing touch.

In college, you dress down,
you want to blend in, not stand out
gods forbid you flag entitlement
and draw envy's barbed compliments.

The simple styles bear the twin burdens
of camouflage and practicality.

In Paris, fashion can be capricious,
but elegance is a silent conversation,
with its own intricate vocabulary in drape,
line, fabric and in painstaking choice.

In places where fashion matters - Paris, Manhattan, the Hamptons,
it can signal position, the way uniforms signal authority everywhere.

A splash of fashion can not only have a fabulous effect
on how its wearer feels, it can tell important stories.

I’m told that, in back rooms, where fortunes are awarded or lost,
fashion can announce arrival, rank, and intent.
It can whisper new wealth, in upstart display
or a threadbare, silent duel with mounting debt
.
.
Songs for this:
The Way It Is by Bruce Hornsby & The Range
Read Between the Lines by The Bingtones

Boardwalk beach goers
Strolled in ball caps
And in wide-brimmed hats
And in flip flops
And in cover-ups casually tied over low-slung bikinis
Lining the railing of the weathered pier
Eyes half closed, hands folded, heads atilt
Shoulders squared to a fading sun
A familiar form among the silhouettes
Twenty years hence
A cascade of raven hair
A billowing summer dress
My single breath
Then across rutted planks
To finally slake the thirst for another and
Be free of the malfeased heart
The lilt of perfume
Light, breathless, familiar
Transported back through time
To burn white hot again
Only to blanch at the precipice
Before the gray water
Silent