That lamp thou fill’st in Eros name to-night,
O Hero, shall the Sestian augurs take
To-morrow, and for drowned Leander’s sake
To Anteros its fireless lip shall plight.
Aye, waft the unspoken vow: yet dawn’s first light
On ebbing storm and life twice ebb’d must break;
While ’neath no sunrise, by the Avernian Lake,
Lo where Love walks, Death’s pallid neophyte.

That lamp within Anteros’ shadowy shrine
Shall stand unlit (for so the gods decree)
Till some one man the happy issue see
Of a life’s love, and bid its flame to shine:
Which still may rest unfir’d; for, theirs or thine,
O brother, what brought love to them or thee?

The streets were bare and the moon was out.
Stars shined in the blackness of night, and the little girl held a candle.
A dull candle, with no fire giving it burning life.  
Her hands trembling in the cold, every breath she inhaled a wave of ice.
Her lungs straining to keep up the rhythm.
In, out. In, out.
Her hands shaking, her body trembling with fear of the great darkness.
Memories of the warmth she once felt tore her heart.
A bright fire once flickered on the wick of the candle, but the flame vanished in the wind.
The howling wind that came that night ripped the life from the candle.
And left the little girl to shiver in the cold, all alone.
Her eyes pleaded to all that walked by for a flame.
The warmth they felt stirred jealousy in her heart as she thought of the fireless candle.
A candle was all she had.
And without warmth, soon enough she would freeze.
Her eyes already drifting shut, her grip on the candle weakening, her heartbeat growing slower.
And people would shuffle past her and gasp, but continue on.
Nobody would help the poor little child that was dying in the cold.
For all she had was a candle.
And what's a candle without a flame?

A cigarette is just dragon spit, dragon spit
To tilt the world

Skull writing with ***** hands

Smear of words blind, dizzy
Onto walls of fireless caves

Out of the orange pulp of distant gerberas
Hopeful, and alone

Flick of sparks in air: dissolve
Downward around and everywhere

Like my thought

I wonder, if before me now were nothing
Would I jump?

There’d be no pain nor fear of end
There’d be nothing

I must transcribe this caved orange flower
Blindness somehow

Oh Kronos, you left me behind,
Speeding down the track to Oblivion
The seconds, the minutes, the hours fly by
And yet your hands pull further from mine

Dear Time, leaving me to wander,
What depths are there left to ponder?
Leviathan will consume us all
While you wait at the end with the glaring gall.

Speak to me through the threads dear tourist,
Lend me a sign, a clue, a hint you friend and altruist.
I cannot be left to drift in the futile battles already lost
My heart and soul are the final tokens to pay the dear cost.

You would leave your Rhea to suffer her children’s slaughter?
Eating the small things she holds dear, only to satisfy your lustful fear?
Time, hand me no more. Lead me elsewhere than your gut.
I am not to be fodder to the fireless man waiting at the end of time.

My alarm clock screams.
Been awake for three hours;
so ahead of the game,
unaware of my powerless range.

I’ve been tossing, turning, creaking,
coming up with new names;
another attempt to link together
all of my fireless plains.

Hey, I’m running on fumes.
Hey, I’m Eugene Tooms;
stretching, twisting, warping,
got you reaching for clues.

It’ll all come together,
posted up in my room;
just typing up a dichotomy
of life as a lifeless plume.

The baked boy that turned to a man at birth
The iron fist under God's protection
The balaclava to captain you sail past your brim of fears
I am a cocktail of a half cast
Punched half Ankole half Kiga
The wingless flyer of written wizardry
A fireless dragon with spits of love
An angry dream laughing at the past
Cabled brain with rain of thoughts.
I rose from s womb of typography
I am the telepathic soul of wisdom
That descended on crust as a glimmer
Am both you and I in a tender equation in ness
Am a broom to sweep your past tangible
The driver to enjamble your hopes.
The history yet to make your historyc
And spice your drab times in moments
Be all ears, one to make break what is of use to the moulded crashed in a jiffy.

My life is only a breath, the psyche of the fountainheads
Logos, you see me now but never again; the suspiration
Upon the flaming tip of Gods tongue, if you look for me
I will be gone like a cloud that fades and is gone,
Voidness cannot injure voidness - Orcus hath the soul:
Fireless smoke, the pneuma that brought forth the
Anthropogenesis of atman; the sparks of holiness lodged
In all things: the self-realization my happiness has already
Ended, that which dawneth the way of all flesh, the ghost
Hover over the grave; the qualityless cannot injure
The qualityless.
If a man dies can he come back to life?
The earth covers the flesh, for thy desire-body of propensities
Is void and the lords of death are supplications for the
Parousia of our own hallucinations; as too the dark art
Of necromancy! stars do the spirit crave and a heavenly
Exile exists until the light returns unbroken to its source.



ELEETE J MUIR

Two men stand where a glade meets a clearing.
They hold their guns strong in the evening,
Shaking shoulders attached to their stern arms.
They pull triggers to **** and cull the calm.
Hence smoke ascends in burning fireless rings.

The forest begins breakfast before and
During and after, with simmering dawns
Breaking like bubbles on the sea.
Boiling to leave a smoke which stretches out
His hand to cover his yawn for centuries.

Two men stand where a clearing meets a glade.
Their guns raised as to secure security,
And yet one watches his father's smoke fade,
Lowers his gun and extends harmony.
So the other shoots and clearing takes glade.