And somewhere within the field of weeds and shrub,  she smiled until there was nothing left but Roses.

The constant shrieks-each syllable overlapping one another, aiding to the utter horror of which their eyes have seen. A stream of red trickles down that lowly alleyway. And the victim still, who's eyes have seen all things, keeps her secrets well in death. And the blood! The blood itself has an empty accusing stare at the very assailant standing idly by within the crowd. I do not see his face, though a man stands beside me with his collar upright and his brim pulled well over his brows, keeping his secrets in the lining of his pockets,  twixt the stitches in the seams. The man is gone without a trace leaving only a letter behind without so much washing the blood from his hands, his skin stained with his own heinous misdeed. It seems this Jack has vanished into the night, a prowling beast who stalks its prey. Is he man or devil? Is he? Are they?

it's fun being different. Everyone thinks you're crazy and it really throws them off. THAT, is the joy.

.You know what rumors and fires have in common? Some people start them, while others spread them. And in the end someone always gets hurt.

My Dear
I beseech thine own gratitude.
Parting, be it spoken
Or be it a favorable token
Or adieu by the by
Who were thou once
In a matter of deliberate thinking
But the rose that wilts
While the Gardener tends to his own roses.
Be there no just cause
By way of reckoning with
My poorly based manner
I ask your hand
Love be it a thing of adversity
Or diverse confusion
To he who holds no compassion
Hatred still holds not passion
And while I cannot bring myself to love,
Love premieres itself to me.
How Heavens Gaze
Upon star crossed Lovers
And the tide holds true
To a Voyager on a perfumed Sea
Onwards his own own native shore
Love is blind to ties that bind
For you my dear I your lighthouse far
And you my anchor bold
That I ask your hand to hold

If we fail to follow our dreams, we chase shadows instead.

My blood flows blue
Yet is as black
As ink through my veins
I write mostly lies,
Yet still some subtle truth remains

Sometimes you wonder what the mystery of life is, then you realize that itself is the mystery.

What separates one from the thing
Which sets them free?

Not realizing they have the key.

Silence causes a series of horrible thinking, while thinking itself prevents silence.

If you insist on looking at the glass half empty, you will always be thirsty.

I can't promise that you'll be glad
I can't promise that you'll be sad
I can't promise there will be sun
I can't promise you will have fun
Who knows the hour or the day
When we will come into pouring rain?
And who knows after how many
Rainbows there will be?
People have seen one or two
Perhaps just maybe you will see three!
I can't show you trouble on every turn
I can't say how many bridges
That will be burned
And it's likely you'll fall into a hole
But its easier for people
To pick you up and say
"Ready, set, go!"
And just like that, you're on your way
You are farther than you were yesterday
The banners are waving the flags they fly
Everyone's cheering for you
Though you wonder why
The days are long
And the nights are cold
Thankfully you have a hand
That you can always hold!
And when you are tired
I'm sure you can sit on a porch
And when you are in darkness,
There's always someone to hold your torch.

Passion is making dreams come true, even when you're not asleep.

I enjoy the concept of writing using a feather quill, for the fact that some truth can be found in it. Like the bird who lost its feather, we do not know where it will nest, we only know where it's journey started. Much like our own story.

Darkness is everywhere.
But then again so is light,
As long as the sky is there
To hold up the stars.
It has a brave job, the night sky.
To hold up so much light,
Like the moon and the countless
Amount of stars,
When you're still surrounded by darkness.
But at the same time, the night sky
Doesn't seem so dark.
Just as long as the moon and stars
Are there to keep it company.

I sit outside more often,
Taking notice of everything
That I feel like I hadn't seen before.
The sun on my skin feels so different.
The birds sing a different song.
The grass looks a bit more green
And until now I never watched
A flower bloom.

I'd like to tell a story
Of a place that I once knew
That lived a loving family
As far as anybody knew.

They never touched a drink
And they hardly ever swore
Until Pa would come to think
There's gotta be something more

More to life,
More to this
More than the woman
Who gave birth to his kids

Well one night just after supper
Little Timmy wiped his hands
Off on his trousers
And that was where it would end.

Pa took a deep breath I remember well
And told those six people
Around that table
That they could all go to hell

Well you would think that it'd be over
That he had said all there was to say
He was nearly to the door
When little Jimmy started to pray.

"Lord give my mother patience
So she don't get too mad
And forgive my fathers behavior
Along with the six or seven drinks he's had.

Protect my sisters
And me and my brothers too
Cause Lord there ain't no telling
Just what he's about to do."

Now Ma told those little children
"Wash up and go upstairs."
Not one of them moved an inch
And Pa went to grab a switch
Wouldn't you know a car
Would show up there.

It was old pastor James
Who happened to
Be driving through that day.
"I wanted to stop by to tell you all
That we missed you in service today."

Now Pa was just about to speak
When a little voice came soft and sweet.
It was little Susie
Who grabbed the preachers arm
He stooped down to Susie's level
And aided to her charm.

"Pastor James, I have a question
And I know I don't understand,
But how do you get to Heaven
To that far away distant land?
If you have a map
Could you show me and my siblings near?
Cause I know it would be much better
Than another day living here.

How do you get to Heaven
On that bright and Godly shore
How do you walk on streets of Gold
Instead of this old rotten floor?

How do you get to Heaven
Pastor could you tell me please
We've had a life of hardship
And now it's time for a life of ease.

A library is for those who have eyes to see what's there to not be seen, and the ears to hear that which is not spoken.

A somber sleep a quiet death
Unknown I draw my final breath.

Where have you gone?
Was it something they've said?
You've said "So long"
While there's still lines to be read

I miss your creative words
And the emotion that flows in you
They remind me of swords
Able to stab right through

You are a dreamer
A creator all your own
You are a father to your people
In times when you feel alone
And in our human right
A pool of blue flows through our veins
But if you were to bleed
Your blood would appear as ink

Have you put aside the pen
And pushed that dream away?
There's so much to write
About everything that happened today

You may be in a wrong place
Where nothing comes to mind
But there's another world for you
To just leave this one behind

You are a dreamer
A creator all your own
You are a father to your people
In times when you feel alone
And in our human right
A pool of blue flows through our veins
But if you were to bleed
Your blood would appear as ink

Another thought inside my head
Still remains a memory
Another step I take down this road ahead
To me still seems a mystery

My feet are worn I can't go on
My heart it beats just like the drum
The place ahead seems so far
But its better than the place from where I've come  

Godspeed down the road that I must travel
Godspeed in the mountains I must climb
Godspeed through my body in the battle
Godspeed my way to my home into the sky

My body's weak and I feel wounded
Searching for someone to save the day
I've lost all hope I'm stranded in the darkness
Waiting for someone to light my way

Godspeed down the road that I must travel
Godspeed in the mountains I must climb
Godspeed through my body in the battle
Godspeed my way to my home into the sky

Godspeed down the road that I must travel
Godspeed in the mountains I must climb
Godspeed through my body in the battle
Godspeed my way to my home into the sky

Godspeed down the road that I must travel

Vivid dreams
Of my lover's screams
In sickness and of plight.
Try as I may
To rid these dreams
I will have them again tonight.
Every morsel of tortured sleep
And each moment of poisoned thought,
I find despair, no comfort there
And no greater anguish my soul has brot

If one is to understand poetry, then he must remember this one thing; Poetry is not to be understood.

And, as we grow,
While time passes through the glass,
May we always remember
That, with time, people change.
Of course, even if they don't,
May we always remember
That it's ourselves
That we hurt in the long run.
For one cannot forgive the past,
The odds of history repeating itself
Are inevitable.
And if one cannot forget the past,
They cannot hope to have a future.

Why do people love
            what they fear the most?

Because it makes them realize
               they are still alive.

Do I really want to fully figure out
What life is all about?

Not really. Why?

It would take away the rest of the mystery.

If I figured out what I want to do in life,

I wouldn't have time to make new dreams.

The secret to knowing everything is knowing nothing at all.

You wouldn't throw stones at your own home if other people were, so why are you throwing them at yourself?

What is it about a tattoo
That I love?
The pain? Maybe.
I love the way it hurts
When it's actually something
That I want.
Or the way the needle
Touches the skin
And I become the canvas.
My body becomes the canvas
For the work of art
A display for all to see
And some to admire.
Perhaps I enjoy the way
The hand moves in a way so graceful
That the artist
Actually becomes an author.
Perhaps because the piece
Becomes a background of who I am.
And who I am is different.
Different is the same as beauty
In the eye of the beholder.
Or to those
Who only see it as more ink
On a blank piece of paper.

A boy only knows when to speak, while a man knows when to be silent.

Look, for death has cast its shadow
And Reared its head.
Now my love that lies before me,
Has left a feeling filled with dread.
How her eyes
That has seen all things,
What a mood of macabre
Over my soul it brings!
And her lips,
That have still much left to tell,
Now lies with secrets
Which she knows all too well!

I do not fear death. In death, it is not about the journey. It is the destination, and the path set for you to take.

In dreams she spoke to me
Tho In life she never glanced
Her velvet touch what draws to me
Yet awake I've not a chance

So now I sleep again
For in dreaming shall I find
A way to take her hand
Long before the sun shall rise

Hold me near
Through the passing of the night
Call to me with your voice so sweet
Until the waking light

And in life are we strangers
In dreams there is no danger there
For love is in our nature
And no more fear shall we bear!

In dreams I've felt her gentle hand
I've often heard her voice
And it would be, always be!
If I only had the choice

She bids me go
With the coming of the rays
She'll pass me by without "Hello!"
Until the passing of the day

Woman Sweet woman
The gentle temptress of my dreams
Won't you dream a dream of me
And you'll find nothing is as it seems

I'm only able to see the world through one eye,

And yet I see more beauty in it than those who see out of two.

Not all depressed people wear black.
Depression doesn't only come at night.
Not all of them listen to metal music
Sadness often comes without a sound.

So late the hour, so sweet the tune
I find my solace neath the moon.
While the village sleeps, and all is sound
Such a place where love is found.

Our talks were civil
And our feelings glad.
Tho the white dwarf stars
Had left us sad.

At rest upon
The crescent brim
I lie and sing
My somber hymn.

And the moon
Who has heard my somber tune
Would permit my soul
All too soon.

Tho the moon's own light
Begins to fade,
I must depart and return
On another day.

A fool chases his dreams
And leaves himself behind.

Never be ashamed of your past.
Your pain may be the key
To someone else’s cell.

Each unsettling measure of nerve that remained, shrieking, longing for acknowledgement. Dulling my senses, shrouding me placing me in a situation and a relatively deep and dark abyss where my once every joyous memory my every childhood dream, residing in an area that even I wasn't sure existed, remaining to be seen but had I journeyed long and far to find that land - My mind.

Where others were,
I was not present.
While others spake,
I was silent.

As others were,
I was not.
And what others saw,
I could not bring myself to see.

At what age others were,
I remained a child.
And the things they so heard,
I had covered my ears.

While others loved,
And had shared love
With one another,
I loved alone.

The man who has only one eye will not need both to see the destruction caused by the man with only one hand. And the man who is deaf will not need his ears to hear the lies coming from the man without a tongue.

A very rich man
Came walking down the street.
He saw a lowly begger
Clinging to his feet.
"Spare some change sir?"
He said with no remorse or shame.
"For just a dollar I'll share my story
And you will know my name!"
The rich man, annoyed, shoved him
"I'm very late! I've no time to debate!"
And he went on his way.

But little did he know
He would meet the man again
On the very next day.
"Spare some change?
I now have asked you twice!
For just a dollar I will share
Some friendly advice."
Again, the rich man angered
Shoved him and went about his way.
Little did he know
He would lose his job that very day.

In few months time,
He was down to his last dime,
Little did he know
He would meet the man one final time.
"Spare some change?
I'll never ask again!
And I will tell you
How we are the same within!"

The once rich man
Tossed his dime
On the ground next to him.
"Alright!" He cried.
"I'm giving up the fight!
Do tell what about me
Has captured your delight!"

The beggar laughed.
"So easily you forget!
Tell me has it crossed your mind
That we have somewhere met?"
The man puzzled for a moment
About the people he had known before.
The strangers on the street,
The beggars at his feet,
Or the salesmen that came in numbers
And showed up at his door.

"Say no more,"
The beggar sighed.
"I can see you don't recall
My name is Fred,
You would know me more instead
If I still worked in a suit and tie.
You couldn't recognize me,
Because you couldn't
See yourself in my position.
But now you do, and so it's true
That we're only the same
In certain situations."

"So what about the lesson?"
The man asked.
"What about that crack?
"I learned that when you fired me,
When the world has taken everything,
The only thing to do
Is to take something back!"

A kindred spirit in a dying hour
Such a fate is not my theme!
For a life deprived of an earthly pow'r
On Earth only hope is found in dreams!

Still, I can hope
Though that word since from me departed
Hope is a thing of a passing hour
And desire has left me broken hearted

Desire! What is desire
But the things in life so undeserved
What then if not desire
Has life been better served?

Life is the ultimate mystery. It has no purpose until we create one.

Even the greatest books have a blank page between chapters.

They came and stepped on
Our sacred land
Took our way of life
Before they took our hand

And the huts and houses
That we built
They burned them down
And had our people killed

And to this day
We still don't understand
The wicked ways
Of the crooked man

They do not listen
They do not see
They ask no questions
To you or to me

But maybe one day
They will learn
That not all bridges
Must be burned

And all you white men
I've got to say
We were here first
When your ships drifted away

And still we will
Make our final stand
When you return
To your own native land

There's still good to be had in this world if one only remembers to search for it.

Turn your gaze
To warmer days
Alas! Winter is dawning fast.
Perhaps memories
Shall keep you warm
From yesterday and summers past.

Should your candle flicker
And your heart grow worn
And the sun forbids to show its face,
Then I hope you should recall
A familiar smile in a warmer place.

People like us don't change. We just do a little better each time.

No title, just a verse I wrote inspired by Jack The Ripper

Eight poor women
With not a chance in life
Are in good company
With a man and his knife
Seven poor women
With no idea of fun
See a shiny blade
And now it's time to run
Six poor women
Who are so sure hes through
Meets the same fate and stranger
With nothing else to do.
Five poor women
Who try to run and hide
Board their doors
But its he who turns out the light.
Four poor women
Who beg the police to take
Their scream is short and dare I say
The last little sound they make
Three little women
Who try and stick together
He picks them off one by one
And writes another letter.
Two little women
Who will no longer try and fight
No will , no run,  and thats no fun
For Jack always loves a fright.