poem O Fortunao fortunaa cascading avalancheof mental uselessnessbreathes through memuch like the fire breathes,heedlessly,through the forestas the eagle watches - death - from aboveas I reflectand decide in which categoryto put my reminiscences;regret or not?no conclusionshave I attainedas my astral mind soars among the starsof contemplationwinking outjust as I reach infor rememberance forgottenI open my back doorto a dead ohio skyand see your eyesreflecting a shallowand shattered lightthin slivers, beaming insightand mourning......penetrating...and I see your eyesbetraying the inner intelectI spoke of, not long agobetraying the inner intelectI seekmy exercise of futility;complete.as it is revealed to methat my categories have changedand consist only of past and presenttime will tell uswhether we make the rightor wrong of it;inevitably to out detrimentstill, regrets are a burdennone should live withso into the past I pour myselfand face the future new
poem Rhetoricrhetorichow much of history can you believe?how much does embelishment change over the years?what do YOU think?DO you think?is human ignorance finite?is there an end to this?what do YOU know?MUST I dictate for you?am I so cold?am I anything to you?what do YOU care?HOW am I to know?where is compassion?where is the answer?what do YOU want?I need to know
poem Barbed WordsBarbed wordsI was free;the only fragment that remainedwas in a long forgotten accountof a frozen summerBarbs sink inas words are spokenI wont leave you...but...Please don't make me fall in love with youBarbs sink furtheryour true meaning still shroudedIn the hours of darkYou come, unknowing,at the walls of my stone heartwith your chiselFirmly set in my skinI couldn't shake you offeven if I wanted toI'm searching for the meaningthe meaning that isn't.Behind a rain of nails it liesAnd despite best intentionshow can it be?Dreams, IllusionsHopes...but no moreWipe the slate of my conscience cleanRewind.The Goodnight I never gave you...Light of my life or notYour barbed wordsWILL cause harmAnd bleed for it,I will
poem La Joie De Vivrela joie de vivredo you know enough french to tell me?how much joy the living feel?or how much pleaseure on earth has he?who on his knees does kneel.begging for the glance of godfor that's his last resistancetell me what he feels, poor sodmy feelings end meters from existanceunderstand evades my mindI've got no comprehensionhumorous, at times, I findyour species' situationso full of contradicions,and oxymorons, your life seemsconfuse your facts and fictionsyour reality and dreams
poem EmbraceembraceOur eyes embraceintoxicatingyou are savedand yet cursedOur hearts embraceand we are onebut so little timewe have togetherA lovers embraceat our partingsuch a gentle thingan embrace'till the last embrace'till shattered soulis all that remainsI'll be waiting
prose Winters BloomWinters BloomI crouch to pick up another piece of firewood, dusting off the light snow it accumulated in it's brief exposure to the winter air. Tucking it under my arm amongst the rest of my quarry I stand and admire the surrounding environment; alpine and picturesque.Taking a deep breath I glance toward the lake with its center of water, rippling in the subtle breeze, and its border of ice. I reflect, as the lake does, on previous dreams that the gentle ripples of my minds embrace have generously transformed into a reality. So it's not perfect. I'm smart enough to know that perfection can never be attained, but this is the closest I will ever get.The gentle assault of a snowflake on my exposed cheek brings me back to reality. The reality of a secluded log cabin shared only with the love of my life and mother nature - both reasonable tennants. I meander around the obtrusive structure of the cabin toward the front, the elevated entrance fenced in foreign wood. I glance in the window
prose The GatheringThe GatheringI've never seen the house this full before. It has been like this since I got up. So many people, and such a morose atmosphere. Strange, but then the house is prone to gatherings.I wonder if they have enough food.I shuffle my way toward the kitchen, evading various people from my life. Past and present. It appears someone has had the foresight to provide food for this occasion. My brother, no doubt, the caterer that he is. I reach for a sausage roll, amongst its peers on their communal soggy plate, but a second glance reveals some Cheese and Pineapple on cocktail sticks, so I divert my cause toward the new victim.A noise distracts me, a dreaded noise from childhood. Those nights spent awake listening to its penetrating shrillness through the paper thin walls. Then, as now, there seemed no reason for this noise, making the wail cut deeper.Stillness has enveloped the hallway between the kitchen and living room reducing the difficulty of my desired, unnoticed transition.
poem Howhowyou left me feelingwarm inside, renewednew purpose you'vebestowed in mebut now the feelings coldit's not you I wantbut another, exasperatedis how I feel nowchased by thoughtsof one from the pastmy decision has beenmade, again, againis my judgement reallyshrouded so?I do not knowall I know is nowthe here, the otherhow can I make youunderstand howI feel?