I see the signs so clear, the signs of WW3
Destruction Death and Woe, this will shortly come to be

The population by and large, ignores the signs of Doom
They scurry to and fro, without a hint of gloom

What is it that holds back? that restrains the coming War? [1]
'Till "He" is taken from the way, just a little blood and gore

Very shortly he'll be gone...taken from the way
The Man of Sin revealed, no longer held at bay

What will follow next, was written long ago
Seven years seven years, of Destruction Death and Woe [2]

You were warned you were warned, did you pay an ounce of heed!?
You'll be sent to Hell to burn...you'll scream and cry and plead


[1] 2nd Thess 2:4
[2] The last Book in the Bible

.

“The lunatic is on the grass”

Signs don’t really matter
Spelling corrects the mood
Dancing on the scattered blades
My word, he’s such a crazy dude

“The lunatic is on the grass”

Park place settings filter
In silverware and dreams
Sidewalks offer no relief
That’s when the pain excites the screams

“Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs”

Memories grow within the weeds
Flowers cast in sad defeat
Caretakers watch as footprints carve
Barking out orders, then repeat

“Got to keep the loonies on the path”

Herding shadows singular
Days to nights of gloom
Read the writing on the wall
This is the dark side of the moon

the leaves of my mind die,
without rustle, without why,
an incessant new season of direction
of spring, of beauty, of need,
orthodox and counterclocks
of bathroom stalls and
desperation calls--
in the tile we prove our worthwhile
as the hounds and haunts of yesterday
test our haul,
and I'm a magician and a *******,
a lover and a shotty terrorist,
the mad house rings,
sing, sing, sing
of yesterday--of fever dreams,
make me levitate to heavens,
push me away for doorknobs
and summer screens,
those are temporary,
lionesses in heat,
to be appeased
for the watering hole
and mouths of summers sought to soon--
we can romanticize the afternoon,
we can romanticize the mundane gloom,
but in the end we are nomads,
bouncing off shoreline and magazine subscription,
confused of endings
and brave in the face
of annihilation.
Rewrite the histories of our forefathers,
rewrite the reinventions of the wheel,
until it's all progress and simmering,
until the *** is full and festering,
when the now is soon,
and yesterday is dead,
the magnificence of misery--
hits like a runaway diaper truck
to add injury to insult,
to add scorpion to sting,
and if your mother is a dancer,
be not ashamed,
but praised,
she filled a primal need,
more than can be said about
Hemingway or Artaud or Bonaparte or the spring,
I have mountains to climb
and ****** rhymes to satisfy--
if you feel love,
boast,
if not welcome to hell,
a perpetual ****** roast
of ego,
of soul,
of every lover you let go--
the luck lies at stoplight kisses,
the luck lies in ***** sheets
and clean sneakers,
if sorrow is a gateway drug,
heaven is my fix,
if sorrow is a gateway drug,
I'll buy two hells a week for
the rest of my endless years,
if you love me,
do it,
don't doubt,
don't simmer,
ignite,
burn  brighter than former,
than the mourner,
than the funeral singer,
and make dinner on the ground,
we'll howl as the gravestones depreciate,
we'll howl as the stock market
solidifies in ice,
we'll howl as we realize the trite,
and I'm wrong often
but mostly right,
ask the machine gun,
and the sparrow hauling the olive branch,
ask murderers and the stain on your pants,
time is a circus of the three-ring variety,
too much to focus,
too much to bore,
too much to whine,
but under the cover of freedom--
enough to die in contentedness
and lie in the pangs of eternity
with a sigh, a slip of the tongue
and a pair of rolling eyes--
let not your daughter drown,
let not the horns on your head weigh you down,
the tomorrow is soon,
the now is ancient,
the promises to be fulfilled
will leave you begging-
bring on the fantasy,
the daydreamed celibacy,
the marooned integrity,
I've got a moon,
fourteen clouds,
and a headrush from nicotine--
drink of my youth, it's light, easy, cheap--
enough to get you drunk,
but lacking the dexterity of luck--
the burden, the burden
of always giving a ****.

Up high black walls, up sombre terraces,
Clinging like luminous birds to the sides of cliffs,
The yellow lights went climbing towards the sky.
From high black walls, gleaming vaguely with rain,
Each yellow light looked down like a golden eye.

They trembled from coign to coign, and tower to tower,
Along high terraces quicker than dream they flew.
And some of them steadily glowed, and some soon vanished,
And some strange shadows threw.

And behind them all the ghosts of thoughts went moving,
Restlessly moving in each lamplit room,
From chair to mirror, from mirror to fire;
From some, the light was scarcely more than a gloom:
From some, a dazzling desire.

And there was one, beneath black eaves, who thought,
Combing with lifted arms her golden hair,
Of the lover who hurried towards her through the night;
And there was one who dreamed of a sudden death
As she blew out her light.

And there was one who turned from clamoring streets,
And walked in lamplit gardens among black trees,
And looked at the windy sky,
And thought with terror how stones and roots would freeze
And birds in the dead boughs cry . . .

And she hurried back, as snow fell, mixed with rain,
To mingle among the crowds again,
To jostle beneath blue lamps along the street;
And lost herself in the warm bright coiling dream,
With a sound of murmuring voices and shuffling feet.

And one, from his high bright window looking down
On luminous chasms that cleft the basalt town,
Hearing a sea-like murmur rise,
Desired to leave his dream, descend from the tower,
And drown in waves of shouts and laughter and cries.

A new year
A new day
What do you expect me to say
I have hope for the new year?
I'm overflowing with cheer?
Neither are true
I'm feeling just as blue
Nothing is different
Nothing has changed
Why do I buy into this hype
Of great things to come
Of a sweet stary night
Just another day
Not going my way
I'll have to wait till 3003
I'll be dead, I'll be free

December days
November nights
How i held on
October times
Harmful crimes
Committed gainst
This broken body
September saves
God bless
A peaceful rest
Storms rage
Caressing clouds
Tender tears fall
August leaves
Touch ground
Go away
Brown red mixture
Blood stains
Just to stay
July oh why
Pops round my head
Embrace left lost
Sparks flying
Newly weds
June bloomed
Loomed through town
May raised me up
Rain bled down
Storms rage
Pain fades
Deteriorate melt
Repeatedly stabbing
Every wound
Felt
April clown
Fooled with a kiss
Kissed a fool
Marched out the door
Remember me as i was
For i am no more
February valentine
Wished a heart
Was truly mine
Black roses
Maggots ate
January brought about new fate
Began a year
With much gloom
Knew a spell cast
Would end soon

Murray

Words are uncatchable, fleeting
Soft and sharp
To heal your wounds and break your heart
They can be smoothed and polished to perfection
Or sharpened to create a deadly perforation
Make them shimmer and glitter like sparks of light
Or cast a gloom of perpetual night
Weave them, hold them, string them up
Taint them, paint them, but never use them up
They can be cold and cruel and hard and dark
And kind and warm and bind our hearts
They're twistable, kissable, catchings of glee
Embrodiery in the mighty world tree
Enhancements which dull the melancholy humm
Of work and stress and all things dumb
I'll use them, abuse them, fill them with me
Pay people with words and words with seas
Of amazing knowledge and words of grandeur
They'll always be rich and never be poor
Words are my forte, my intricate strength
But for you, I have no words left.

morning dew does not exist
nor does river-like tears crawling down my face—
they do not exist
on gray days that drizzles liquid gloom
over lively gardens
            (we hide)

The sky cries—
a million jabs to the ground
that lands with a thousand shards scattering
like fragile, brittle vase fallen to the cold concrete
            (morning dew does not exist.)

gray gloom shades whisper thoughts of melancholia
on dried eyes; we speak in visions—(dead language on the rise)

There is no difference between generous serving
of the rain to the abundance of my tears. (morning dew
does not exist.)

No sunlight peeks through gray blankets of matter—
the gloom of the clouds covered me.

The loudest crash I have ever heard was from a single drop
of water falling to the ground—(the crash of bones breaking and screaming mixed.)

(I never knew
if it was
just a piece of raindrop
or if it was already my tear
from my burning eyes—
I never learned
the difference—)

Morning dew does not exist.

There's room for two?
     My Pit was my own, I thought--
A welcome spark blots out the gloom.

You don't belong here; this is where sinners rot.


      Extend a hand though, maybe?
            if I'm not too unclean
                  I might soil alabaster
                        or tarnish pearly sheen.

Aren't you afraid of the quicksand?
The churning, noxious mire?
      Sheol, purgatory?
            The sinner's pyre?
What is your glow
      that you do not fear?
Why are you bold
      as even demons near?

Thoughts are trapped trying to escape the four walls of a room
A fork in the road I say walk down the middle
Life is joy yet no one can avoid gloom
Do they know what Christ went through
Cannot have a couple of minutes since time keeps going this life thing we should have two
One with and  one without wounds
Thoughts trapped in four walls of a room
Tripping
Witness light in glimpses
Like partial blindness
Its a little dark in this room, light is pondered
Aware that God is the father
Even though this world treats him like a dog without a collar
What will happen if this room takes flight
Trapped in a room confused
Fighting chin kicks life lows
Round house kicks life highs
No humbleness so both hurt
Lay in the grass covered in dirt
Break through like an horizon sunrise
No knowledge mere humans only God is wise
Devils lurk in disguise
In secret aligned to evil service, suit and ties
No one is perfect
The reality of sin people attempt to mute
Life is not on demand
Some will be ******
Thoughts trapped in the four walls of a room
Shaking heads, the evil that men do

The moody greys;
The rain that stings;
A thousand random,
Happy things,
That makes me want
To leap and play;
To take in the splendor
Of this cold, wet day,
And revel in it's quiet gloom-
To watch it weave
On it's dampened loom-
For daylight does not at all compare
With this misty, freshened,
Dripping air.
Though all and sundry
Are brought down low
By the gift the heavens
So kindly bestow,
I feel instead Nature's kiss
In this, the weather
I always miss.
So while others may think to complain,
And shake their fists at the falling rain,
The soothing wind doth caress my cheek;
And so, inspired,
I thought to speak-
Of the drought of sun,
And it's absent rays;
And this,
The perfect, rainy day.
But an exaltation,
a prayer to none:
I do not wish this day be done;
Rather I would plead,
Sincere,
To leave this solemn weather here.

Po-hymn


To whomever you pray to,
And if there is no such icon,
Then I hymn-hum to you, this tribute


Let all my mistakes, my typographical errors,
Like writing poem and getting back po-hymn,
Bring delights to keep, to grow ancient on my face,
For from every accident, we grow and bend,
New tree leaning towards our collective inner
Sun Ra.

I am no David, psalms and hymns,
Unreadily exist, so dug deep Lord,
To write this prayer, for my brethren.
Just one day, someday, let heaven
Grant only poets births, no passings took.

Give us goodness and grace
All the poems of our day.
Shed special light all about our faces,
From our shoulders, rise up insight inside our heads,
Brighten, enlighten, give us eloquence and sanity.

Let our missives dismiss the gloom,
Polish, remove the tarnish, we cannot secret
From the all seeing confessions taker,
Honesties writ daily but never published.

Give us meter, yes, give us rhyme,
To make sense of the grey days,
The black hole invaders,
Given iris-shine be our responsibility,
But a sweet nudge, prithee,
Enhance our impoverished ability.

This Sabbath day your fog-hide
Your gift of bay and beach
So quiet implore, beseech,
Keep the sailors safe,
And your poets saved.

I ask much.
But I ask for all of us,
There are so many such
That are booster-chair needy
That I am succumbed, overwhelmed,
Enormity fearsome needs help even from a deity.

Small words, big hopes.

If you cannot grant it,
Won't wait for intervention,
Do it myself, answer prayers one and all,
Best I can, starting now with this
Po-hymn.

July 13th for always

Keep on singing through the cotton fields
Of life that come your way.
Keep on singing through life’s problems
Till the end of the day.
When the darkness creeps about you
When the hopelessness set in.
Keep on singing, for the light will return.
————————
The Man in Black was singing
For seventy one years of life.
He sang in times of trouble
He sang in times of strife.
He sang for the prisoner man
Who lost hope in his life.
He sang the redemption song.

All prisons don’t have bars
Made of iron to hold us back.
They come in many forms
Of our making, there’s no lack.
Addictions drag us down
To a pit of unknown hell.
But there is love in redemption’s song.
————————-
The Man in Black hit bottom
Of the pit of despair.
His life seemed not worth living
There was no love dwelling there.
He cried out in the darkness
Of the cave he went to die.
“Lord take me now, I want to die.”

Then he felt the “Sweet Presence”
Flowing through his body that day.
The bars fell from his life
And love came in to stay.
Hope returned to his heart this hour
By the grace of the Presence there.
There is hope in redemption’s song.
————————
He found his Personal Jesus
When he called out in despair.
He was lifted from the darkest hell
When Jesus met him there.
He was set free from addictions arms
The light came flooding in.
There is freedom in redemption’s song.

His wife of many years
From a family that prayed.
Was with him through good and bad
Through the night, through the day.
Their love together stood the tests
That came their way each day.
They would keep on singing, the song.
————————-
Now he’s singing with the angels,
The baritone comes through.
They’re singing songs of praise to Him
Now June’s beside him too.
I can hear the music floating
All the way down here.
They are singing of a brand new day.

Someday you’ll be singing
With a heart full of love.
A love song of redemption
That comes from above.
So keep on singing
That song in your heart.
That moves you from gloom to light.

————–C1———-
Keep on singing through the cotton field of life.
Keep on singing ’til the end of the strife.
When darkness creeps around you,
When hopelessness sets in.
Keep on singing ’til the light returns.

———Tag————————-
Amazing grace how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now I’m found
Was blind but now I see.

crimson mistress
(crimson flower
in the swooning gloom)
tell me
why against thy sharp
prickle
(eyes of lynx)
my heart I’m pressing
(æt the nihtegale)
and don’t understand that
freedom
(like the archetype of Moon)
of the kiss
with laughter devoted
in the broad gardens

---------------
(with the nightingale)

The original:

*(тъмночервена господарке)
тъмночервена господарке
(тъмночервено цвете
във припадащия мрак)
кажи ми
защо във острия ти
шип
(очи на рис)
сърцето си притискам
(със славея)
и не разбирам тази
свобода
(както и архетипа на луната)
на целувката
със смях отдадена
в широките градини


*Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird

(and I don’t know why we are mongrels in our heart,
but hell… Lets ask em-

Roman nose.
Broken.
pug shaped unheard of thought ******* away cos
its been awoken by high rising spirit,
but call it anything, call it the breaking of your phone
that’s replaced by another when you feel a chorus stretching
into your ***** gut when they speak, just calling…

blown away from thalidomide arms of private growths
death from long ago neither feminine nor masculine
posture of slumped morning brighter than split stare
of obliterated ***** hit gently hard and lit
my heart knows: my sheets are a poor excuse
for where the room suffers our corporeal rage
in our calming conversation

within country stare of effortless green, some:
knowingness, perceives madness from outside
its woven hands so accepted in the city as it cries,
and walks together; shed upon from all parts of its locking voice
a union within the falling parts, of islandeque love
when rising to hard abyss pardoned when nurtured,
fate, a toothless, small, finishing chew

smothered out from car fume; Buddha can’t speak anymore
birds can’t speak anymore, even the locksmiths have words
without need; i stop in a graffieted place, my veins happy
to just sense: home: proto – home, before…

with whom there is a consensus in the lewdness, rabid as 6pm
is; opened by wild cooked silk until it is made, and
ready, I’m shattered, my bloodiness has no body, none,
worth me jacking it all in, or talking, about new governments,
ours-

explosives walking through arcs of dimmed light
intoxicants highlighted in fading windows, brimming and walled open
beneath my feet, i would run, i would strip
open, the exhausted car parts
yelling, but the impermanence, of us, is the grey ebb
and flow, of engines colouring, this city, impassable
by our actions- full of Bachiacic choice, stopped at the
gate dead, when anything wants to speak inside our home,
apart from your voice, and mine

and i did not know, that cities were so moveable and
pleasurable, and that madness is always correct when animals cling
in agreement; Karma of infinite silence between them when needed-
rebearing low glance into imploding music
down past eye, oesophagus, stomach gently reseeding
hands of movement, dust spokes of haphazard drivers
like the proof in the wetness of the most lifelike dreams that
humanise the raven infancy of the winters blood

insight baked by the sun’s finally accepted sea
in clay, where we must adore what we create from our hands,
and adore the cinders of its coldness as things that can
be anything with any touch; the holograms choice in emotion
the: ‘I’:

only a background chorus
of floating crickets when we whisper, torture moons losing there grip amongst
the unsolid shapes, passing, us, as we walk through,
universal… ‘axioms’, summiting, to a peak, near the soul, when raw, but never there;
we must speak about ‘all or nothing’, in a different way, instead
as the pattern is completed by: ‘immersion’, two servants of the
womb, a judge, and a convict, and the jury broke and sprinkled
across the horizon where we walked like my grandfathers ashes

we don’t gibe, the rest, if we get there
we won’t look across the heard and pick out the
leprositic ways that are outside of our own, there is no
pride, there is no ‘knowledge’ of pride, there’s only
a proto-home, there’s unsaid gasp of what we shall eat
from the flawless flow of the weeks hard work, where we asked for no
prairie, hell, we didn’t even ask for a ticket flattened into a card
that’ll pay for it all
but hell, that’s ok

it’s a while till pay day,
but hey, i’m happier than a slave being paid in the rip-tide of several
monks and maidens authoring where i’m sold
in awesome gloom- one finds themselves a violin
even if they can’t play, even if, they have no limbs
most times, those too
go, or jitter when you don’t want them too in the middle
of the gala
i have already trusted them to you, however;
so, i’m sold, and happy.

As our grave has no flowers yet.

And we are the flowers upon that grave.

And we are the owl howling.

At that grave.

And we are the grave eaters.

And the only.

Animals.

Who can stop them.

I wore my frilly frock,embellished with stones bright
Tying my hair into a pigtail
I came out of my room like a strong gale


'Father!' I called out loud,
Again and again with a merry voice
I lacked patience and many other virtues
But all of it was unseen
For that day was my birthday

Mother came rushing to me
Held me against her *****
In a creaking voice she said to me..
'Ssh,my child.
He is out
He is out to make our country proud'.


I was 11, a child lost in her own dreams
of colors, dolls and things pretty
Never did I understand my mother's message
For I was a child void of the world of war
of blood and death.

The radio played,
My mother cried.

'What is happening?'
I thought.
The surroundings sulked in gloom
I shook my mother's arm
Tears gushing down her face,she looked at me

'General Smith , died a martyr..'
The radio played
'..served his country till his last breath'
it went on playing.

My world of pretty things bright
was no more bright
For the pall of darkness battled and won over all things nice.

Everything echoed in my ears
My father's name was being played over and over again.
They were singing praises of my father
'He was out to make our country proud' they said.

He finally came
Draped in a white sheet
He was there,sleeping.
Many faces unknown crowded my home
Cried they on the occasion of my birthday.

I went up to him and cried
'Wake up Father, its my Birthday.'
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
For he lay there silent,eyes closed.

'Oh' I muttered
and ran down the hallway
Shutting the doors behind me
I buried myself on the pillow
Praying to God for everything to be a nightmare
I wished for nothing but to fall asleep forever.

My world of pretty things bright
was no more bright
For the pall of darkness battled and won over all things nice.

I was 11 and innocent.
A stranger to the world of war,blood and death.

sadness.
twisting and coiling its way,
around my frail heart.
sending its deep poison in
through its jeering fangs.

it numbs me.

sweet numbness,
take me away,
to the valley of all things
unfeeling and
uncaring.

i want to know no strength
i want to feel no pain.

sweet poison,
infiltrate my heart,
make me numb.
i am nothing but dead to the world.

because that is what dead people do.
they open a void that ***** people in,
wrapping their hands in chains of gloom.
they cry for help,
beg for mercy.

fools.
wasting their time.
the numb don't feel anything.
only a cold that spreads
through their body
like a virus,
or some sort of
disease.

spreading through them,
filling their arteries and veins,
until they are numb,
like the cold, grainy sands of the earth
they are numb.
they feel nothing.

sweet snake of sadness,
send your venom.
straight to the heart,
send it quick.

for before death,
there is always a great sadness.

but is death ideal?
do i want to eternally
wander the earth waiting for
the mystical hosanna to call us
all for our last judgement?

is death the only means of permanent numbing known?
i mean, there are drugs.
but do they last?

do we last?

what effect do we leave
on this coccoon,
this shell,
of protection called earth?

what do we leave?
do we leave hatred,
unsettled feelings,
and people in chains of sadness?

or do we leave a sunflower?
a sign of hope, peace.
a sign of looking towards the brighter light?

Contemplate all this work of Time,
  The giant labouring in his youth;
  Nor dream of human love and truth,
As dying Nature's earth and lime;

But trust that those we call the dead
  Are breathers of an ampler day
  For ever nobler ends. They say,
The solid earth whereon we tread

In tracts of fluent heat began,
  And grew to seeming-random forms,
  The seeming prey of cyclic storms,
Till at the last arose the man;

Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime,
  The herald of a higher race,
  And of himself in higher place,
If so he type this work of time

Within himself, from more to more;
  Or, crown'd with attributes of woe
  Like glories, move his course, and show
That life is not as idle ore,

But iron dug from central gloom,
  And heated hot with burning fears,
  And dipt in baths of hissing tears,
And batter'd with the shocks of doom

To shape and use. Arise and fly
  The reeling Faun, the sensual feast;
  Move upward, working out the beast,
And let the ape and tiger die.

The house was always empty
Three roads over, two roads back
Never saw a light on
Windows painted black
Fields were always empty
Never saw a sign of life
The gloom that hung around it
You could cut it with a knife

Haunted, yep...it's haunted
Said the people of the house
In fact they always whispered
And were quiet like a mouse
When talking of the cursed place
Just in case the house could hear
You could feel the hair raise on your arms
When ever you were near

Haunted Houses, ghosts and ghouls
They exist and break the rules
I believe, and I'm no fool
in Haunted Houses, ghosts and ghouls

Every year at Halloween
The house is on the news
They film it from a distance though
Because they're shaking in their shoes
For almost ninety years or so
It's been dark and void of light
And somehow it seems darker
On that one October night

Stories fly around the town
Of how children disappear
It's just a nasty rumour
Based on someone's healthy fear
The house is just a building
Nothing going on I see
But, go and knock upon the door
Ask anyone but me

Haunted Houses, ghosts and ghouls
They exist and break the rules
I believe, and I'm no fool
in Haunted Houses, ghosts and ghouls


Even in the daylight hours
The house has people scared
I've never been out there myself
And I've been triple dared
I turned it down and ran away
I'm not afraid to tell
Because the noises coming from the house
Sound like the hounds of hell

I know there's ghosts and beastie things
Living in the place
And every year on Halloween
I'm afraid they'll show their face
I know the stories that they tell
At least half of them are true
I believe in ghosts and ghoulies ....and
I need to know...do you?

There’re times I pause,
And ask for the cause,
Of the way I feel inside.
As I ponder for insight,
About my status quo,
I realize no liquor
Had by me been drunk,
That could take me a rung
Down my happiness level.
Then I purpose to shovel
Mine self to the top most
Height in the midst
Of the those who thought
They could make me fraught.
Oh! There’s no cause to feel bad
Reason why despondency I discard.

Elijah worked at the further end
Of the Port McDonald pier,
His job was simply to keep the light
Bright burning through the year,
All he’d see were the seagulls who
Would swoop and dive in the spray,
As the sea beat up on the jetty piles
On a cold, dark winter’s day.

His mother had died of a broken heart
Long after his father fled,
Had loosed the chains of his fatherhood
For a life on the sea instead,
They’d put him into an orphanage
Where he learned to abide the rod,
And found that his supplications and
His prayers fell short of God.

The universe was an empty space,
A vast, unseeing sky,
There wasn’t a presence watching him
As they’d said, in the days gone by,
He ached for a revelation that
Would show he was not alone,
A single soul in the firmament
In front of an empty throne.

He’d never managed to make a friend
In the long, sad years of life,
And women, though they avoided him
He longed for a sweet young wife,
His isolation was made complete
When he walked back to his room,
After a night on the lonely pier
In the early morning gloom.

One night a waif from the city streets
Sought shelter from the storm,
Huddled against the cabin wall
Where he sat, both safe and warm,
He heard her shuffle and took her in
And gave her tea from the urn,
And fell in love with her sad, grey eyes,
A waif from the city, spurned.

She came again, and again each night,
They talked until the dawn,
And weaved their dreams and their fantasies
Of a world they’d neither known,
But then one night the Inspector came,
A grim, ungiving man,
Who frowned, and he told the girl to leave,
He said that she was banned.

She waited, shivering in the cold
In the lee of the old sea wall,
Til he came hurrying from his shift
As the dawn spread over all,
He wrapped her up in his coat, and cried
He could do no more than this,
But she clung on to his lonely form
And she gave him his first kiss.

He took her back to his room to stay
And he watched her as she slept,
If she had opened her eyes that day
She would see Elijah wept,
‘I won’t go back to those lonely nights,’
Was the thought that gripped his mind,
To lose his midnight companion now
He thought, was most unkind.

That night, he told her to meet him there
At the far end of the pier,
‘Just as the clock strikes one!’ She said,
‘I’ll be there, never fear.’
He’d soaked the pier in kerosene
Just twenty yards from the end,
And when she arrived, he said, ‘You’ll see,
They won’t part us, my friend.’

At two in the morning, up it went
In a blaze of fire and smoke,
The centre part of the pier ablaze
As they watched it, neither spoke,
A gap appeared as it all fell in
Was extinguished by the sea,
But the end stood tall like a sailing ship
That had set the couple free.

The storm that ravaged the coast that night
Kept the lifeboat on the shore,
They wanted to go and rescue him,
The Inspector said, ‘What for?’
While they looked out at the raging sea
Made plans for the world they’d won,
And when the light of the dawn approached
The end of the pier had gone.

David Lewis Paget

when the sun surrendered
to the moon's seductive words of sleep
into my mind did
I delve deep--
I visited my memories
Piled carelessly on shelves
An endless library of my emotions,actions and reactions
which with every new day evolved
"Tell me,"I ask,"what is happiness again?for I've forgotten
what it's like to be free
Of gloom,to be unburdened."
"You still know joy,"my memories whispered,"we know you remember.
"We see what you see,hear what you hear,and make it somewhat sadder or sweeter."
"It's almost left my life,"I retort.
"I am idle with indifference,
I can't feel pain nor joy;why chance
pain by living your life at all
when you cannot feel other emotions?Why not just die?
Why bother?"
"Because there is always a way out,"
my memories reply."There's a door,
a ladder,a vent,a reaching hand.You
may be imprisoned,but there's more
to a prison than hopelessness and locks.all locks have keys,now you
must find yours;before you lose your way;there's no going back if you do."

with that in mind,I went home and dreamed of leaving;leaving the confines of the system,leaving my
sorrows behind me.

A scene of Ridicule, Betrayal, Humiliation, Pain, and Sorrow
He was whipped
His flesh was cut into
His body was torn
His blood painted the earth
He carried the cross up to the mountain of Calvary
He was Full of anguish
Blood and sweat in his brow
He was thrown onto two pieces of wood
Dust and splinters entered into his lesions and wounds
Into his scourged back
They tied him up
The Soldiers prepared their hammers
They readied their nails into place
Their eyes were steadied to crucify
And all at once - the first spike entered into his palm
he felt the piece of metal as it crushed the nerves in his wrist
The second came too soon
He felt an excruciating pain throbbing through his arms
A burning ache instantly bursted its way to his head
The third.
His weak and feeble legs were crossed
And the last nail was born into his flesh
Tendons snapped
Muscles tore
At last he called out to God
"My God, My God why have you forsaken me?"
As every bone in his body was being torn apart
He slowly melted
Two pumps and whoosh.. his heart gave its last beats and exploded
The weight of our transgressions were burdensome upon him
And so his spirit left him
And blood and water poured out of his side
They laid him in his grave
One gloom day passed
mourning took place in his followers hearts
While the earth wept
A grand shaking began in the ground
The veil was torn
The stone was rolled away
And behold our savior arose
Resurrection power radiating off of him
And our sins were atoned
The ultimate price was paid
He gave his life to forever hand us eternity
With his death he erased all of our sins
He cleared our mistakes
He made right all of our wrongs
He poured unto us his holy salvation
And God transformed one of the darkest hours in history into
A moment of eternal redemption
This was love.
Love was never an emotion, but an action
A sacrifice
A dying to yourself
Putting everyone's life before your own
Taking off your crown and getting up from a throne
Love was Jesus hanging from a tree, for you and for me
He gave it all
He forever defeated sin
And most importantly He overcame

his breath washed against me
like the sea into a pier
in the brown gloom of his basement apartment-
the greenness of our unemployed summer days
halted by Arsenault's phone call

those deep azure ripples in the mohawk river
tinged with creamy moonlight
brought this life to the shore
here we go lie down, lie down-
a conjectural pernicious crimson tide

we wore black as midnight
like still, ominous birds
shrouded, our eyes a profligate deluge,
the cemetery inundated with pink brio
and the ****** yellows of inexpedient sunshine

the old man asks his daughter
would i be a burden
when these hands can't feed by its own
this body is almost an inanimate mess
by its own can't move place
these feet can't walk to the toilet
on bed release involuntary waste
sit on soiled cloth and foul smell
would you come to my room
a hell smeared in ****** gloom
where now lives your father
who would just won't die
but in his eyes write a poem
from a piece of sky

And as I called out
Into the shadowed evening
It was your name
That leapt up off my lips
Ran out into the gloom
Rushing to find you there
And bring you safe to me

It is quiet. Lurking cautious he enters.
Even in the brightest day still remains the darkest. Like her soul.
A four wall barricade of emptiness.
Adjustment peers in the bleakness. Finding her at her lowest.
But something odd sets him off, what's the slight glint cast off the moonlight gloom?

She doesn't dare to look at him. Cradling the cold metal.
"Just one, could be the end of it all. Finally"
This warms her poor heart.

He moves in closer now realizing. "Oh..no" Terror crosses his face.
"Don't. Please." Whispers pleading.
Thousands times before he look upon her face seeing the same empty blank expression still remain a beauty.
Concern and asks, "Who hurt you?"

Winces and bottom lip quivering. Another wave of tears come streaming.
"Face of reality, we cannot fight them all. I grown tired love." Her voice breaks down to the shaking whisper
"How much do you love me?"

"Miles and miles. Always." He can't stand seeing her like this. Without the guilt that he failed at her happiness.

"Then join me. Together, we fall." She smiles through the tears.

The flashbacks of under the stars where promises were made. "No. Together, we can be strong. Just stay with me"
Intertwines his hand with hers. Taking a firm grip from the gun.

She buries her face in his chest. Then releases her grip. "Forgive me." Sobbing as he holds her close and tight.

He hears a click but dismisses it. Now remembering his mothers ring hidden in his jacket pocket. Taking her by the hand. The gun is tossed on the bed.


Silhouettes play on display. A flash of light pulse. All in a second, through her head. She falls.

He can't move. Nor can't interpret. His hands raise in sight splashed in warmth of her escaping crimson. The same hands that caressed and held her
"...****"

We both like red
He's captured by its vibrance
While she dwells on its gloom
Truth is I love maroon

We both look good in it
Yet your sight belongs to another
He let a wide smile and she does too
While I stare in peace, holding myself together

And I don’t know why
I feel so alone.
Here I’d thought I’d
Be right at home.
But instead I’m crying,
Lost in my mind.
My thoughts turning
To your devilish kind.
Friends who don’t care,
Of my greatest feats.
Why would it matter,
That I’m one of the elites?
I run, I perform, I work,
And I Dream.
But that doesn’t matter,
To any, it seems.
Instead I seclude,
Retreating to my room.
A forlorn look to
My friends with gloom.
I’m alone.
Unneeded. Unwanted.
And Unacknowledged.
Instead of being praised,
I’m being discouraged.
Why should I try to do so well,
When all I receive is a change in subject?
I thought maybe this year,
I’d earn some respect.
Yet, I cry, I sob,
I fall, I hurt.
Lost in the cowardly
Refusal to assert.
I accept that I’m alone,
Though it brings me to tears.
That’s all I’m good for,
Just another set of ears.
So leave me behind,
A pair of eyes in the dust;
It’s not like there’s anyone else
To trust.