She is not a Rose

Neither rose

Petal or bud

Can be

As she –

The woman

Of the water

Who levels

Out the unbearable


With a

Tranquil moment



In Bones We Trust

In this ancient

Ruin we trust

In this relic

Of an age not

Ours –

Where shining men

Hid behind doors

And ruled



Who could not


Or take flight


Hamlet’s plight


The age is past,

But the seeping

Sinister spirit


To fester

To the bone.

My Labyrinthine Mind


Ghostly, ghastly blackest fog.

Mirrors of smoke haunt my dreams,

I fear I will sink deeper into this mist of screams-

On into eternity, my labyrinthine mind folds upon itself,

Into the unvanquished void I fall,

Digging bloody nails into empty air, I call-

The beginning has past, yet still it lingers.

Purple winds shape the squalid shadows…

Still falling,

Falling deep,

Deep into this convoluted chasm,

Seeing every thought, every flow-

Every drop of madness that my heart distills,

I wake once more, the cliched muse…

Dreams that were full, yet my mind will not ebb dry-

I try and deny,

The transcending torment,

The hellish hallucinations…

And yet insidious ill-meaning whispers,

Obsessive, intrusive,

Speak to me, saying:


You are too intertwined.

You are in too deep.

You are at the leap-


What follows next is inevitability itself…




I Stand Alone.

I step through flowers in the rain,

Standing alone.

The rain pours, a million drops of silver.

Street lamps shine on the glistening fallings,

Like eyes of orange honey dripping, spreading through the watery air.

I look up,

into the above,

into the wet pinched globes rushing down.

I stare,

An abundance of glowing powers, some are dead,

but live on in our sight,

in our light.


Reflections of raindrops in each other,

All showing the powers of the infinite nocturnal sky.


Stand, look, stare and see-


The night is alive,

The stars are awake,

To the music of the skies.

Alpha and Omega

Smelling of an old book, musty with age.

It is a waterfall, falling downward forever, slowing diminishing the things below,

Like the branches of a tree, splitting into many different paths.

Measuring it is as impossible as understanding the emotions of the heart.

Understanding may come, it will just take Time.