Leaving it's mark to the world.
Not the Limbo, not my world,
Just the world of everyone.
Now it dances, now it stops,
But the memories of the snow are imprinted inside my mind.
Not the Limbo, not my world,
Just the world of everyone.
Leaves that grow, gone the flower.
Flower that blooms, leaves that fleet.
A love of sorrow.
Intertwining, but never to meet.
Missing love, the spider lily.
JusticeSun arising, signing the past.
Heaven and earth colouring red.
Falter not, we shall last.
Until the days are count.
The truth found.
The beast of justice shall be fed!
SabrinaA young maiden's heart broken.
So she took that of another as a token.
In a sign, never to provoke or anger.
For that will be a great danger.
Just like ...Pouring rain, coming down.
Greed and sorrow, all been sown.
Courage of heroes, all ignored.
Cast aside just like the ...
Iris Slowly withered the flower away.
I had forgotten to give it water again.
Promises, hope and prayers. All for the sake of this world.
Now I serve you this prose.
Promise that the 'iris' will never leave?
Wide AwakeDozing now,
Knocking down ...
My foggy mind ...
The thoughts, my mind.
A New CatOur neighborhood stray is dead. I know this
because there is a black cat here I've never seen.
This cat is not the black splotch covered canvas stray
that clawed up and down my arm last winter
when I mistakenly tried to wrap it in a blanket
for warmth. This cat does not have the matted
fur that the stray did, does not deliberately stretch
out in front of my car tires the way the stray did
right before I had to leave for work, does not
chase lizards in the grass like the stray. This is not
the stray that aggressively meowed at me
when he wanted affection, nor is it the stray
that climbed our fence to try catching birds.
I'm certain this new cat must be lost, or else
looking for that same blotched canvas stray
that had become part of his family, too.
Once Bitten, Twice ShyWhen you kissed me, I believed,
for a splinter of a moment, I did.
When you snapped your teeth shut
around my tongue,
when you tugged your head back
and rammed my shoulders
with the heels of your hands to jolt us apart
when you clicked
those crimson stubs closed again
over the vulnerable chunk of meat
I'd foolishly granted you access to -
when you did all of this
biting through tendon and taste buds
until finally you got what I wanted in the first place,
me spilling my heart to you,
all over your precious white rug,
but I knew, before my heart cracked
trying to pump air to my disorientated thoughts,
I knew I shouldn't have said anything at all.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the Knight
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
She keeps magic in her pockets
tied to the strings of red woolen mittens
and hidden deep in tiny shells -
polished like sea glass
the soft burr of color closing over her eyes
as she gazes out at the dawn
creeping coral and rose over the garden gate
while the curl of fragrant tea steeps the morning into something ripe.
She is a trickster and spins gold
out of your bad dreams
and secrets she keeps for you
hidden in a garden that only blooms at midnight
where she tells you stories of dragons
and feeds you oranges and chocolate
laid out on lace, and china plates
collected from sandmen and angels
who got caught in the rain and lost their way
coming home from the stars.
She gathers your wishes in her apron
and stores them in a cedar chest -
wood fragrant from smoke and rain
the heady scent of lingering autumn -
worn in the soft hollow over her heart,
knowing their worth is more than kingdoms
or legends invented by princes and seers,
tracing your childhood on their fragile edges.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
me, mirror, me, Betweenthere, mirror,
legs, arms, two red eyes
on the chest.
curves like tea.
the limbo between attractive, real,
ly lacuna. who knows?
the mirror does.
you can watch time and language
go backwards in its obedient gaze,
watch your hair flip to the other side.
egofall. confidence rise.
adolescent nudity is less about supersex
and more freedom. when a crystal is there,
in front of darting eyes,
gazing at your identity,
take it, make it something else
than privacy in bathroom.
empowerment does not consist of tiles,
weight. length. height.
strange how eyes define
your intrinsic symbolism.
definition is inadequate,
hold your breath.
harness comfortable dedication,
from the cobbleroad that appears
on your chest, faithplateua, thorax,
stream wine instead.
Dionysus deserves a break
for fermenting Me.
watch the ice in front
melt to potentialake.
Apocalpyse ChildStanding alone amongst ruins of rubble
Waits a little angel with eyes expressing fear.
She wears a dress of shining so light and clear
And in her palm she holds her teddy so tight;
Whilst scarlet skies turn black to herald trouble.
Flames fly high over her raven crown without care;
Scorching grim ground beneath her feet,
But this is no angel that any army can defeat.
She'll break bullets with breath of a terrified sound
And she'll tame those who torment with her stare.
Standing alone amongst wreckage of war;
Sings a little angel with hands howling pain.
She walks in boots of mourning so brash and vain
And in her gaze she wields her hate so harsh;
Whilst grey graves turn red to blind disaster.
Explosions erupt low under her toes pale by pity;
Burning stagnant skin revealing her mystery,
But this is no angel that anarchy will have victory.
She'll crack courage with cries of a mortified sin
And she'll humble those who hurt with her ferocity.
Standing alone amongst concrete of carnage,