Enchanted WhispersI can see a burning bush;Deep inside a dark cave.This is the story that sparked my interest.There was someone in the light;Dancing in the night with a full moon.She must have been prancing the entire time.And then I was in some strange trance.There was a voice in the air;Telling me not to be afraid.Was it her telling me to pray;Or was there something showing me my future grave?I felt this fear growing inside of me.Then, I was throwing myself closer to the fire.There was a whisper.A whisper.Screaming.Dreaming.I wish I was alive.Bleeding.Eternally.Where are these whispers coming from?Ooo, I want to be alive!Can I breath now?I just want to breath.What are these whispers?I can hear them screaming.Screaming.When will I be alive again?Here I now stand.Deep inside the dark tunnel.The light.That light that blinds me.Then I ran.Away.Away from the screams.This dream is haunting me!Taunting.Launching illicite laughters at me.The tunnel is getting cold.Just a
Brand New HeavenYou can reach up for the sky.Be free.Stand tall.I know it can be a long journey.Land your soul into the stars.Do not strand yourself in darkness.Let the wind blow through your soul.Yes, the skies are blue.There are many who cry for a brand new day.Yet, so few can hear the voices in the clouds.That beautiful sound speaking.....To you.It is a brand new heaven.A large blue sky.Sometimes I cry myself to sleep.I only dream of feeling one last emotion.Will I be in a brand new heaven?Or will I end up standing in the darkness?I know I am not the most perfect person.There are times I cannot bend head over heels.Can I feel this brand new heaven.....On last time?The clock is ticking.Yet, I feel my soul is sticking.....On the cross roads.Which way do I go?One more heaven, just one more time.This is the room that started it all.I clawed every inch to the top.Can I crawl my way back?Is it my lack of self confidence?I can hear the voice from far above.Mistakes happen.
Retrieving A Dying BreathThere is a question in my head.Will the graves in this world;Be the ones over populating the living?Skies march with the storms;And the air lifting up with poison.Is there something we are missing?The stars seem to be maps.Puzzles are always giving away;The key that belongs to the treasure chest.Rooms are always drving us mad;When we cannot tear the pillows off the walls.Willow trees always look so sad.Do we overcome what we are mad at?It is by the vision of the eyes.By the good of the soul.A warrior sold to slavery.Gladiating his way to freedom.Only to fall to death.Many stood tall;While others stalled their dreams.Was this a call to a new life;Or was this a fall of an old kingdom?The light was too narrow for many;While the darkness was too wide for others.Some were burning their dreams away.Others were curing the streams;That lay in destruction.Was this a call to my destination?My life was the beginning of a new journey.Blue skies were either darkened by
BlindHere I am;Counting the sheep hopping the fence.There are so many fears;Lopping heads off in a senseless war.Tears are poisoned;In stopping dreams from coming true.There are gears in the brain;That dry up the water pipes.Cries are popping in the clouds;That make screams echoe in the skies.Our fellow man died with stripes;That his ribs drained water and blood.Have gone blind from madness?What sort of blindess have we been seeing?The ships port;Is torn apart in a horrid nightmare.The storm must have ripped her heart out.So many stars;Get shattered by the passing black hole.Battered and bruised;We all are blind from war.The spiritual and physical sides;That most nightmares ruin for amusement.We surely have recieved blind faith.In part for those who twist the words;Through our eyes and soul.The eyes of children;Look to the thunder that fills the silence.Lighting strikes the ground;When the clouds flash the winds of destruction.So many young youths begin to drin
Rules That Never FollowHello;How are you?Somehow I did not follow myself.Can you try to understand me?Yes, even a grown man will cry.The clouds;You cannot always ride them.It is your mind that follows in suit.We swallow hard.The stars come and go.Can I make my mental scars go away?Fake smiles are hard to come by these days.The sun does have the rays.Can you imagine;The world that never follows the rules?Yes, nature can do the samething.Images of many who break the spells.Sell their own family.I was given to a sacred heart.Someone who loves me for who I am.Do the rules really have to follow in suit?The room does not have to be black and white.Some rules bend.Others can break.Rules do not have to follow in line.Does nature always follow by the rules?Why are we being lead astray?Burn or live.Give me a chance to explain myself.Just imagine who we are.At least try to light the spark.Sometimes there is a true mystery.I may need some room to look around.Can you read my mind?Look in
7.I ate your absence for dinner.
To Love - a defianceIF Love was a Writer the world would intercourse with the loopholesin its words, or if an Actor, the world would try but fail to mimic Loveloving itself, and if it were to die tomorrow its last words would be,"It doesn't take two to love" leaving skeptics and critics stumped.Then comes the greatest question of all, "Is Love a man or woman?"It is neither man or woman; Love is made by Man not of Man.I have loved and lost once, once so truly, and now look backat the calamity that could have been, and so now the problem,always the problem with Love is the dealing with who dies first,and so I've become content to die a loner and lose no one but myself,no one but myself because losing the first round was so damn harddespite she's still alive, and the thought to have lost her by death[has been] fathomed and must admit, the vision was dauntingmore than the terrors in Hell itself. No greatest love speech,no love poem, not even mine (would try to lie anyway)or book,
NautilusIthe rest of my life should be earlymornings; when God is still sleeping.I should wake up curled in a corner of the sofa,pearlescent, like the primordial ammonites.III follow you every night-the hunter shooting at the celestial bull,shimmering crusts of bread through the dimmest lands of passage.Suggesting a way home.Home, or across the ocean,or everywhere under the moon if,early mornings, when God still sleeps,I wake up warm in the corner of the sofa,and you are not an idea anymore.IIIthe rest of my life should be earlymornings; when God is still sleeping.I should wake up curled in a corner of the sofa,pearlescent, like the primordial ammonites,shedding my scales in the wash basin;to, gleaming, climb back into bed,turn off the stars.I shouldn't dream anymore.Good morning.
Of ForestsPinecones are the skeletons of foetal trees.They are the hopes, desires and dreams of a forestreduced to the brittle, breakable bones under it all.They are the unburied memories of loss.
Quietly suicidal."Those things'll kill you,you know?""I'm counting on it, sweetheart."
The White ThingsNothing is as far away as a minute ago.No matter how hard you row against the tidewe can never reach it, never return there.It's hard to sleep in the light of my regretsthat creeps through curtain and barriersto rot away and bleach all things white.It's hard to sleep knowing that no distanceis as far away as sixty small seconds ago.Immalleable, we rot, and things turn white.
The Other SideSoulsDyingForLove