smooth
as marble
strangely warm
are her
alabaster arms

benieth
long bangs
a curve of grace
is her
piquant little
face

a waif-like
gamen little thing
she is a fairie
with no wings

a smudge
of feathers round
her head
she lies on tile

almost
dead

the world saw
her wounds and scars
but we don't
care unless they're

OURS


now her
pain is
in the
past

now
she
has
her
wings
at
last




(c) SoulSurvivor Aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc

From fascism to fascism,
Through a softer, sly disguise,
Under Satan’s dark baptism,
Tiny worlds meet their demise.

Genocide and degradation,
Artificial to the core,
Spirit’s death and mind’s stagnation—
Drowning deep in filth and gore.

Fear and blind submission lead us,
All foundations cast aside.
From fake plagues to beasts they breed us,
Till the herds are stupefied.

Fools don’t set the night in motion—
They need sheep, not hell unleashed.
Empty heads find full devotion
If their coats are soft and sleek.

But what path is left for moving?
Hell is here, it’s not ahead.
Hellspawn rule us, all-consuming,
Feasting on the souls they bled.

Politics is just a circus,
Where the clowns obey commands.
Truth is drowned in lies on purpose—
Crowds don't bite the guiding hands.

So, they earn their fate in measure,
For the madness owns their breath.
Not for years, but times unmeasured
They have worshipped lies to death.

The temple bell stops -
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers.

Matsuo Basho

I heard you moved away
to somewhere warmer
where memories won’t
scar a wounded heart
I heard you’re writing
more often in a
positive light
I heard you found
faith in the solitude
of the desert
I heard you are still
drinking our favourite
red wine
I heard your father
took his own life
I’m sorry for hurting you
I was stained with the
selfishness of youth …
Clay.M

I can see you staring at me
From afar
Watching my every move
Every word I whisper to myself

I know
You write down
Every name
Of every person
I speak with

I know you are watching me
I feel your eyes


And I hope you know


I will stare back.


I can see you watching me.

and where he lives
his favorite color cobalt
blue, the bars he'd visited,
and the few women he went

there with. I know his breathing
when he sleeps is uneven and
the secrets that he keeps. Because
he talks in his sleep. I know

the musk he wears, and
that he hasn't underwear in his
bedroom drawers, just a bunch of
mismatched socks. I know the

pounds he can bench, his favorite
food, Indian. And who he voted for
president. I know his name. But today
as he walked by he didn't stop or say hi.