Like an Oriental statue
She sit's upon a volcano;
As her beauty errupt's........


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん

Silk blocks my ability to see
Soft pads circle my ears shutting me into silence
Music begins to flow coursing through my body
Jumping as hands grasp slender ankles
Fur circles one then the other
Turned around and around so disoriented
A hard bump knocks at the back of my knees
Buckling and graze the chilled feeling they land upon
Gasps escape parted lips
Melodic music seems to beat forcefully with each movement
Chills flow through naked flesh

A voice reverbs in my ears
"Are you nervous ****?"
"Y-y-eees" trembles out thinking it had to have sounded like some little girl instead of the mature woman kneeling here
Morose tones begin to play
Calloused palms greet soft ones
Pulling quick and efficient succulent flesh lays across
a thick padded cushion

The drums beat frantically, I realize it is my heart beat
No music playing last the time, my breathing comes through rushed paniced
Inhaling deeply filling lungs then blowing out forcefully
Soothing frazzled nerves, repeating the breath
Hands separate, one wrapped in something unsure what
then the other, they are pulled straight out
Allowing ample globes of blush coated tips to reveal to any that watch

Crying out at the forceful pulling,  rearranging of limbs
Thoughts run rampant scrambling calm with slight fear and confusion
Body jerks as the apparatus moves beneath my spread flesh
I feel my belly tight as muscles **** and pull tight and repeats
Crying out as booming dark music explodes in my mind
The movement jerking beneath again
Unable to fathom how I look I feel a breeze slither over pale half moons
Finger run along the inside of the restraint as something pulls it further away from the other, then repeated
Chill air hits my heated moist ***** sending goosebumps all over

My body fully supported arms up with back arched exposing glorious flesh
Legs parted wide as waist is supported by the bench
"Who do you belong to"? He asks.
" No Ones"
A slice of fire then a second close by erupts pain across the backside
Teeth sink deep into my lower lip as the same words come through the headset
Senses impaired heighten every syllable
Still ******* air from the first blows as four reign down upon my  
arched back, tasting blood as teeth cut through plump skin

Thick fingers grasp the hairs upon nether lips yanking
Digits knead the skin of my *** soothing the first marks
Feeling the tug on hairs again, squirming as the moisture flows the cavern, body begins to move
Yet again "Who do you belong to?"
"Myself" I say proudly
Again heat, white hot, kisses thee skin
One, two, three, four, five
Labored breathing panics me
Fingers grtip and knead the marks, it is not pleasurable but it hurts not either

Thin pieces dance across my body
I figured out it had to be as flogger
He was an expert, especially with this contraption leaving everything but my stomach bottom of thighs urtterly exposed to the wicked implement
The tongues begin touching all over as I strain to hear and see
Nothing but blackness and morrocan drums playing tribal beats
Lightly stroking, followed by searing bolts of lightening touch silk flesh,
Breathing raggedly, gasping for air, pressure building in the pit of my stomach

As the flogger hits every piece of exposed white
Fingers massage puffy lips that swell to protect the golden pearl
Not hearing him he chuckles knowing he has me
Thump goes the flogger, chains clank as I squirm
Pressing towards his hand wanting to be touched that special way
Pleading escapes, I cringe knowing I have made that mistake
Something slides into my throbbing center, stretching my walls
I know I am soaked as I feel pinches against flogged streaked skin
"Please" I cry
Again he asks "Who do you belong to?"
I form the y sound suddenly changing to once again "Myself"

The implement is left inside my love tunnel
Vaginal walls gripping and releasing
My breath catches hard in my throat as something cool
bites hardened peak,
Breath let's out with a loud moan as the other peak is trapped in the vice grip
Hair is cinched tight pulling the upper body up more
The clamps bite harder
He turned my head towards his as lips touch I feel an excruciating heat soar through my succulent peaks
Tears flow across cheeks gliding down until we both taster the salt

His teeth sink into my lip as the hand twists the chasing, the other the chain to the clips torturing my *******
My velvet reaches out to run across the teeth
He releases the bite as our tongues clash like symbols
***** throbs as it struggles to not drop the object
Pressure still building, traitor body plays to his tune
Rejecting nothing
Balking not at all
Wanting, needing, yearning for this
Our tongues dance as he pulls and releases that murderous pleasure wreaking havoc over the numbing rosebuds
Fiery locks are released
Fingers remove the implement deeply embedded in my sweet honey
Digits slide deeply into my well
Pushing against them yearning for deeper

I feel the pumping in and out
Each ****** grows harder and goes deeper
My hair being used as an anchor
Burning the scalp as it pulls
He must be able to hear the music as each move is punctuated with the caressing noise
The headphones are removed relief flows over as I can hear

He whispers "Who do you belong to?"  He asks again
I feel his fingers pull out causing a sense of loss
Something presses sat my entrance pushing lightly
Trying to glide over the honey
Lifting on tip toes pushing back
Feeling the thick mushroom push into their tight entrance
Gasping for air as he growls loudly trying to fight plundering
Needing my answer first
The tip teasing me without mercy
Pulls and releases my hair

I feel something strange being smeared in my thick juice
The warm presses against my clenched puckered hole
Crying out as he teases both orifices
My body strains tight like a bow drawn for firing
"Please oh please **** me, take me"  
I feel both openings being pushed against more
Knowing he won't do much more unless I give in
He pushes the egg deep into my tight ***
Cries of pleasure float over the music still playing in the room
His hard length still teasing the slippery tunnel
Leaning over pressing my body hard against the contraption
Growling out "Who do you belong to?"
You! You! You!
His **** rams home plundering my overly taut well
Buried to the hilt my cries louder than the night

He begins to move in Ernest
Taking and consuming His
My body being played like a well oiled machine
Slamming into me, our bodies slapping
Skin to skin
Pressure building faster as I was already close to exploding
He knows I am close
Salt from the sweat drips into my mouth
His hand yanks the egg from my *** starting the spasms
Rippling over his rock hard length
His growl rumbles within vibrating upon my back

Pace grows faster, frenzied
I feel juices dripping down my thigh
My love tunnel overflowing with essence
Crying in frustration I scream harder
The machine moves as he pumps in and out
Loud moans flow out as the movement let's him go deeper

The music is crescendoing cannons errupt
As he plunders the chain is suddenly ****** based
A reaction like dominmos begins
Hips buck against his as sdpasms caress his ****
Floods of honey burst free coating his implement
Flowing down my thighs as the explosion rocks through my body
Riding every ****** as his teeth sink into my neck
The shooting **** hits my wall spewing until empty
Laying against my body, his sweat mixing with mine

Both breathless and satiated for a spell
Blindfold and restraints removed
Lifting me up as my legs give out like they were jello
Cradling my head to his chest
He lays me upon silk
Eyes close as lethargy begins to settle
Soothing ointment is rubbed into red stripes
"Sleep Mine". He whispered
" Yes Master" she says sleepily

A smile crosses his rugged features
Finally he had pushed past that wall
She is Mine he thinks
I won't let her forget, took way to long for her to admit
Next time perhaps he would try a cane
Moving her on through
The joys of pleasure and pain

Dear tired soul,
I have been on that couch many times before
The empty sheets that sit at your feet
Before falling to the floor
The empty pages of memories you flip through every night
Before gracefully falling asleep as the last tear falls on the pillow cases
Stained with liner and half-met dreams

There are moments you stare out the window
The sky so bright you close your eyes and go back to that all too familiar place of darkness
The same hiding place you've led yourself in for years
Thinking no one could find you and your imperfections there
But praying that someone will

I have lured myself in the same corners you've cozied up to, tired soul
Made a home out of the shattered pieces
Of distant, repeating glimpses of the past left after the free fall
My heart has sunk deeper and deeper
But take peace in knowing that as it sinks, it does get stronger
And that one day it will learn how to resurface itself without you even trying

Dear Tired Soul,
Despite the world's constant feeding of negativity towards their conjured up idea of selfishness,
I want you to know that it's ok
It's ok to put yourself first
It's ok to let go
It's ok to take a break
You can not move forward if you do not take the time to pry yourself out of the chains that have dragged you down
Seek consult from those you want to emulate
These things do not make you selfish
They make you better

Do not force yourself to pretend
Your bones have quivered long enough
Your muscles are tired from holding up to their "perfect" standards
You were never meant to be perfect
You were meant to beautiful
You are beautiful, and will always remain to be

Dear Tired Soul,
You are loved
Beyond the stars and the skies above
Your maker has caught every drop of sin from your body
You need not to worry any longer
Seek rest in Him who gives you the strength to open your eyes each day
Take pride in these little accomplishments
Cover your ears from those who tell you otherwise,
For they do not know the excruciating ordeal you go through each day you get up from bed
The sudden battles that errupt within yourself
Whether it be 10 stories high looking over the city or on the ground when you look over your scarred wrists
Of whether you should give up, or give yourself another chance

Open your heart to what He tells you
And wait for the day when the suffering is over, and the crying shall seize
You are tired, my dear
But you are far from being defeated
I hear your pleads, as I have heard mine sounding the same
You will be alright, tired soul
We will be alright

and the planet bleeds from
a volcano of angst
and anger

refugees from the
black heart of fire
errupt on the scene
sending the ashes
skyward
in gouts
engulfing
Paris
like
Pompeii

wars errupt on the Main Streets
of Middle America
carrion for coyote
drug dealers
the PTSD
persuasion
has newly
vacant veteran's
tenement
bodies piling
like cordwood...

I hear the newscaster
announcing;

COULD WHAT HAPPENED IN
PARIS HAPPEN HERE?
WE ARE NOT PREPARED!
@ TEN!

duh.

in a country that
has forgotten its soul
we say goodbye to God

while Ol' Faithful waits...


soulsurvivor
11/19/2015

there is nothing real
your nostrils are one wormhole
and the pores on your face
are small hidden volcanoes
they can errupt any time
though they are just bunch of inactive ones
there is nothing real
not even your fears
that keep you awake for seven years
under the stars who let you burn
in the cold nights when
owls decide to sleep
------
yes i do
i love you too
------
there is nothing real
the bats, the crows
the knife, the bubbles
instead of pearls
flowers are growing out of tears
it makes me happy
like smiling never felt this easy
paint my face pink and orange
dunk my head in stale milk
i am growing peacock feathers
and claws of a phanter's
falling out of a window
there is nothing real

My my my
how time has flown
fully grown
cities living organisms
concrete equivalent to soil
buildings burst through the layers
windows errupt
beautiful
slower
wind in grass blades
everglades
marshes of alligators
chomping at nobody
publicity stunts
running for president
he shall be
doing
so grand a guy
sweet, heat
low and usually
a bit
timid
nevertheless
combustable.

Sometimes you must
take a stand, even if you are
just a grain of sand
in the ocean of life,
so you can get
inspired.

Inspiration comes
not from memories
or experiences
but from within and know
that there are no
mistakes only
lessons.

Growth is a process
of trial and error
and lessons
are often repeated
until they are
learned.  

What you make
of your life is up to you
and the answers
that you are looking for
can usually be found
within and you just have
to know when
to begin.

Like the Ocean
carries grains of sand
words carry my love
with sounds and syllables
borrowed from foreign
lands.

They errupt from
a broken heart
or unhealed
wounds and shattered dreams
or forgotten memories
and missed
chances.

I can't speak of yesterday
because there are
so many things
that I could say
but there is no good, bad,
malice or virtue,
only time and
circumstance.

So many loves have
come and gone
that I just let
slip through my hands
like grains of
sand.                        Jon York                                   2012

I weaken at
the gentle touch of your lips
against my sultry skin
My inhibitions escape
as you run kisses softly along
my stomach, directly
above my waist
Your hands slowly roam my frame
showering me with feelings
of peace and serenity
My skin sweats out all my secrets
while you intently listen and use it
to your advantage
No longer shielded against you
my body begins to tremble with ecstasy
You make me feel this forgotten desire
that's awaken the passion imbedded
deep within my bones
I surrender and lose all control
My body is no longer mine
but now yours as we lay engulfed
in one other, perfectly intertwined
I anticipate the warmth of your touch
and tremble before you reach
your next destination
for my skin has memorized
that tingling sensation
Soul to soul we face each other
You look up at me as your
eyes intensely relay a message
my heart already knows
I throw my head
and feed my love to you
I moan and tremble as you travel
through my veins
             I'm addicted to you
The affect remains even after
I errupt and not just with raw passion
I drift into a deep sleep
while my body still
twitches at the sensual touch of
your fingertips

When we first met
Both broken apart
What a good fit
So i thought

A friend to confide in
We built ourselves up
Fun and laughter
Volcanoe in sight
Soon to errupt

A chess piece unknown
Soon to be played
Not knowing the plot
I happily stayed

Years gone by
Beautiful highs
Heartbreaking lows
The sound of your mouth
Erased your lies

3000 miles away
All i wanted was you
Yet blamed for your sins
After waving goodbye so soon

You played your games
Made new friends
Black and white
Numbed your head

My friend moved on
Easch night and day
He made his choice
What could i say

Days with no sound
Conversations ran thin
To hear your voice
Where do i begin

You said you tried
You never went
Another lie
You chose to invent

You had no choice
So hit the road
Not even realizing
You are a fraud

You had your fun
Till u had no choice
The wall torn apart
Now has a voice...
... Kelcee All

My life goes crust to core.

explain

my skin my voice my hair, I.
My crust. hard and rugged, rivers flowing,
valleys blooming.
My people and love and life walk here.
And sometimes earthquakes rock me and volcanoes spew my magma.

what is in your mantle

Hot.
swirling and pushing and molding my crust.
inside i am
pressurized,
liable to errupt.
the minerals here closer
to what i really am.

and your core?

in nature:
inhuman, immortal and intangible


in being:
I Dont Know What It Is.



I,
The Globe,
am floating out in space.

A quality in frost
that bites a sun-
drenched landscape
brings movement
about a body
causing reaching
hands to shake.

Toward an object with peace
inside a glass coffer.
It's pith displaying
A delicacy thats offered.

With a tension to shatter
what is tenuous to touch,
illuminating
one thousand more reasons
for trembling hands
to clutch.

As memories errupt into flames
Burning in a torrent of grace
The fire carries away
the glass coffer case

Inhaling short gasps of air
breath stolen by the flame
crawling along the carpet
the ash case sustains,
a sensation of annihilation
creeping into fate
Of becoming self-aware
In a glass coffer case

"Prey for eyes"

Soon the sun will shed
and give way to the night
Where frozen in position
A new glass coffer
will collapse and arise

Hiding behind a smile
She is broken
Losing everyone she loves
Everything's falling apart
She stays silent
While fights errupt
Wishing to help
But afraid to speak
Nights filled with tears
And days hidden behind smiles

My life that's just so hectic
Is far from calming down
Stress levels overflow
Aggravated by every sound.

My head like a volcano
ready to errupt to the max
what I wouldn't give for
Just one day to relax.
                                                      
No kids yelling, "Mommy"
Laundry that's already clean
A house so immaculate
Not even dust is seen.

Dishes washed and put away
The floors all nicely swept
Everything in its place
Exactly where its kept.

A massage for the body
Jacuzzi for the mind
A drug to make me stressless
It doesn't matter what kind.

Slave-free environment
No duties to acquire
Living just ONE day of freedom
To do what I desire.

Perhaps I wake up feeling lazy
Or I wake up wanting to shop
It will be my choice to do
whatever until I drop.

If the house turns to chaos
Or crashes to the ground
At least I'll know that when it did
ONE day of freedom I had found.

well, you never swipe across to get a smilie and a
equator all at the same time, do you?
unless you’re chiseling the hunger
for a sir lancelot affection in
ordinance affirmed in cataract contrast:
usurper of the empire neglected,
by hanging ha ha!
also termed hong kong... labour government victory
was the preferred choice in terms of what
the queen would have ate had she ate charles i’s head first;
hey... we’re being invocative of the victorian gentleman
being the necessity of attire in what’s defined as asia
content to be europe given england be iceland...
and europe be content with northern africa as sanded plateau:
if england take ben nevis to errupt in hawaii,
and call it the utmost height of clustering & suffocation;
i'll call something else something else, and not
chanel la manche, the english cufflink, rather than sleeve attaché ruban:
oi v. ode of pauper's elephant trombone impression in #a
of the carving of celestial globes alongside orbits
into the pythagorean universe: triangularly stanced exempt.

i love winter for the sole fact
i can invent living
in alaska or honningsvåg,
and never see the sun for four
months - it helps that in england
the skies are blissfully gray
at sunrise in this ideal season;
i'm adding to the cult of the moon,
a subplot of islam you might
call what i'm doing - no cult
of the sun, copper skin and
the cliché holiday in the bahamas,
no dream of all-you-can-eat buffets
at a holiday resort - tatar steak
for me and a chance conversation
over hákarl (kefir meat) watching
a volcano errupt in the night.

p.p.s. (pedantic post-scriptum):
the diacritic a in hákarl
is a sign of elevating the k, or at
least prolonging / exfoliating it,
stressing the two syllables -
well at least in my optic theory
of interpretation; or interpreted
to ensure the first syllable acts
like a definite article (the) in hebrew,
e.g. ha shem (the name) - not that
it does act like a definite article,
i'm sure in icelandic the definite article
is not spelled like the hebrew articulation,
but it's about the distinction in
the presented syllable compound
with the diacritic mark over a - also
inverted using a different notation
akin to compounded words,
id est ha-karl.

This skin that I live in
Has not always been home
When people ask me why I have turned my body
Into a canvas
Into a picture printed piece of art
I respond
With a smile
And a shrug
But I know that the reasons
Go much deeper in me than the needle has
That there is
A volcano explanation
Waiting to errupt from my mouth
But it is not worth the energy
So I lift my shoulders up
And let them fall back down
I am often asked
What I would do
If I woke one morning
With regret burning inside of me
Filling my lungs like smoke from a wildfire
What I would do
If I learned to hate
The self-inflicted artwork that adorns my limbs
My response to that is not one I can cover with a laugh and a movement
Too many times
Have I awoke with a hatred for myself
So strong
That I've had to water it down with whiskey
Too many times
Right before my eyes
Have I seen my skin morph into alien green
Into stranger's clothing
Unfamilarity becoming a familiar concept
When people ask me
About fear of regret
I want to tell them
That my only fear
Is not having any
That if
A drawing on my skin
Is my biggest remorse
Than lucky I will be
I am told
That when I get old
When my skin is
Wrinkled and worn from
Years of experience
I will be embarassed of the photo albums glued to my body
But if I live long enough
To tell the stories
Of my limbs
If I live that long
I will know that
At that young age
It was
And
They were
Exactly what I wanted
I would rather have
A painted complexion
Than a vacant blank page
Rather have
An ocean of color
Than a sea of scars
If the filling of ink in my pores
Is a step towards
Learning to love myself
Then who cares
My tattoos do not read ****
Do not read rebel
Trouble
I have hope written all over me
And that is something
I do not plan
On regretting
My body
Is something
That I do not plan on regretting
I am trying
To make this house a home again
I am determined
To find shelter
Under this leaking roof
I am determined
To become
A masterpiece
Because I know
I am
A masterpiece.

in a downpour of rain.
the world fades away in a flash
of white.
the rain slants and drizzles,
Beginning to fill the gaps of potholes.
And crooked cracks left empty
against the pavement.
the drivers behind
the wheels of their cars
turn their windshield wipers
on high, to no avail.
Their wipers constantly beaded
down, covered white.
Fading away.
the downpour is too heavy.
the rain is too heavy.
It's thuds bead down
against the metal car roofs.
my heart too sways in the wind.
Pinged and drenched,
caught in the downpour of how your
heart's whispers have turned to screams.
rain-soaked tears unveiled to fill the
gaps of all things missing.
including the distance between you and I.
Soon, I too will errupt and overflow.
Fading away in a flash of white

Her lava shalt floweth
And her volcano shalt errupt...

I want to live a little bit longer,
Love a little bit harder,
Feel a little bit stronger.

I want to bask in my emptiness,
Then fill it with you.

You make me feel like I can fly.

You allow me to be myself,
Let me feel comfortable when notes errupt from my core, flowing out in what ever Melody I desire.

You love when I'm in nature, because that's when I'm closest to you,
You let me vent out and be real with you,
You never gave up on me and never will, and I'll never give up on you.
You let me live.

I know if the world goes down how you have shown me, you will be with me and they will all know.
They will see who you really are, not what those ******* books say, not who those preachers preach, not who my father says you are...

And in return, I will let you be you,
I will give you a break, I will be your friend and I will listen and look for you, because in the end there isn't anyone who can fully understand us, that's something we have in common.

I feel your sorrow for the world, but in the quiet moments I feel your peace.
Thank you for standing by my side and giving me my imperfect, hectic, interesting and beautiful life.

Everyone has this darkness within them waiting to be revealed
a darkness that no one can ever imagine
it takes a considerable time to trigger that feeling
for those who are away from it are lucky
but for those who know, always suffer
it is infused from the day you come to this world
and with you it exterminates
pain is what causes it to errupt
it chains all your feelings and extracts your emotions
you eventually become oblivious to pain
all you know is how your life is in shackles
how slowly, piece by piece you die out
like the incandescent light of a candle
it flickers in the darkness
and illuminates until someone blows it away
that is exactly how the life within you is blown away
your soul lifeless and you all alone

at what point has the fight
for the freedom of speech,
derive itself from:
having to invite more
joke, and less dialectics,
by passing diacritical
regards...
how many more times
will this, couch-outlet
of a formerl repressed,
medium of the masses,
dictate to me,
that...
             no...
  i din't like plagiarising
foreign cultures..
   hans zimmer
can do his ****...
     spectres in the fog...
but
i get to do my ****,
via
krzesimir dębski:
the hussars' death...
i could have written:
                the hussars die...
now, every time i go back
to Poland,
i have to succumb toward
an expectation,
a facade,
  a...
  oh, you know,
back in in England?
  no problems.
  do i ******* look stupid?
this base-*******
of shim-sham-shimmy:
quick, hide the problems,
let's all look
like a ******* postcard
gimmick...
it's killing me!
to obtain the posession
of owning a heart,
one must first
express the capacity
for uninhibited pride...
which, post-colonial
societies
fail do teach,
their kin...
             savvy?
   i've lived in england
for a better part of two centuries...
first were the irish...
then were the scots...
i might have
expected to seek-out
more english people...
but then...
  i never managed
to mingle with the welsh...
but hardly the english...
it's like...
they were "there": i.e. england,
but they were never "there":
and there's no i.e.
so support that statement...
that the asiatic people
are only smart
as far as their plagiarißm
allows them to be?
so... what's new?
   i guess the last step
of integration would
be to bang some english lass...
oddly enough:
  'ard to find...
   she's having an prgy-fetish
with her
    afro-saxon
****-buddy...
and all i'm doing
is... sweeping
the remnants of letters...
which could have
been words...
but were decided upon
as being, merely remnants
of text: C U L8ER...

it's not even hierogylphics,
rosetta stone...
pyramids...
it's ******* stone-age
crass...
   bone arithmetic of
Muhammad
  (yeah... apparently
he knew the exact number
of bones, in a human body)...
bone arithmetic dodo:
do this: me
reads: |||,|||,||||, |||
no chance that's ever
going to be a rigid
example of:

             Y H W H

so let's revise
   hand-writting
   to pixel: punch-dot?
how's that?
  too dumb, i guess...

no... i can't read
the Chinese phonetic encoding...
but seeing it's so complex,
and the translation
results are so base?

sure... they're smart...
they're smart by
having to plagiariße,
but i'm sure the arabs
will defend them,
by importing more
Bang-Lang-Desh-E
"tourists" over...

       you want to know what
i think?
  no, you don't,
but this rant,
alongside:
      was already over
to begin with...
   drunk, peasant...

you know... when you deviate
from the male, female,
consonant, vowel
instigators of rubric?
when... simple arithmetic,
match-sticks...
ascribed to letters.
does not work?

what do you have?
||: T
W: ||||
R: |||                      (i'm talking,
             bending the rules,
revising the existence of
handwritting)
   Y: |||
O: |
P: ||
H: |||
J: |
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i missed a letter,
i missed a letter...
  but having forgotten...
what... my script,
in print, looks like,
"one-sided"...
of a pen, held,
by my right hand...
to a piece of paper...
and instead...
a mind...
orientated by both
hands being in synch.?
well...
           chess and
counting matchsticks...
expecting
no fire to errupt
in, less a home,
      and more: the soceity.

Dazzling eyes
Silky hair
And a captivating smile
But behind those eyes there's a girl
Battering emotional incontinence
Behind the silky hair
Is life not so glossy
Behind the smile there's a girl
No one knows is broken
About to errupt like a volcano
About to have yet another nervous breakdown
How sad they don't know
Look closer, perhaps you will see
The real me
The girl behind the mask
Yelp! I'm drowning
Desperate for satisfaction
Craving to breathe so desperately
Yet all I feel is the weight of water
Clogging every single orifice
Please don't be long
I just may expire
Because this girl you see
Is certainly not me

nearby a tree,

well-acquainted from each passing season flowing into the other -

through smudged glass, inside a bleak chamber

where aurora timidly enters past the all-embracing shutter

seldom seen by the sun herself, let alone a neighbor

a lack of amiability, a lack of sanity, perhaps a lick of calamity

for the ego is a famished beast, emerges viciously from the pits

of torment, quelled fleetingly until high time for a feast strikes:

it errupts and errupt it will! - so let it dwell within once more.



nearby a tree,

on the comfort of concrete across ever so slight damp meadows -

to ponder the cracks and wildflowers, the wind gently soughs

in harmony with a sonorous choir of boughs

curious cattle - a herd of cows

listening; listening to distant calls of birds -

to the cries of my withering soul and my words sealed still

for the ego is a famished beast - lurking nearby this tree