POETRY

Burning Bridges.

Warm as a smile.

Soft as a lamb.

Fast as the wind.

Enigmatic.

Sharp as a sword.

Stealth as a cat.

Free as a hawk.

Dreamers.

Positioning lives to a catergorical mess. urgency, the topic of talk.

Fanciful eloquence, soothing critics, confrontation alive.

Cagey voices set to strike, marbled masses showing might.

Revolution raised from death, languid leaders fail to act.

A reniassance of angry lives, casting votes, for violent change.

Lies.

Hunched in holow hiding.

A state of virgin denial.

Pressed hard, a rocking horse of pain.

Blue eyes cry in muted silence.

Forlorn, for the innocent child.

Reality introduced to stark applause.

Banquets of bold believers.

Perimeters tighten like tourniquets.

The seasoned wallow in victory.

Nobody told us.

Nobody said.

Nobody asked us why !

Cheap, cheap lies.

Caribbean Mirage.

We lay languidly in the bedsheets hot sticky, grasp.

The smell of sweet passion pierced the air.

Contented.

We stretched out in silence.

I met him on the beach.

His brown body and flaxen hair swayed seductively to the sounds of a Caribbean muse.

He said nothing.

I smiled.

We found Heaven.

I sighed.

He left quietly.

I slept.

And dreamed of another day.

For A thousand Years.

With sorry eyes he tantilized my heart.

The tuberose of the rotting garden.

A quiet jewel of crimson and clover.

Fine like showers of ornate crystal.

At peace in the shadow of the palace of harmony.

We bonded hard with childlike glee.

A man.

A woman.

A hope.

A dream.

The vivid rainbow him and me.

Felt was the vision of the future.

Sensed the struggles of the past.

All for the love of one and the other.

Brimming with cupids willful task.

In splendour we'll sail to our peacefull shore.

The moonlit shroud a comfort and a guide.

Oh how wonderous the journey of life.

The phantom curse denied it's wisdom.

Me the she.

To wish for a thousand years.

He the he.

To love in the precious land of Eden.

A Code Of Ethics.

And me.

Punching and scratching, through abysmal tumult.

Jeopardy's futile ringing, the inner ear.

Plagued by social rank and fileing.

Atrocities.

With there evil grin.

Fetch for the bloated white collar machine.

Wretched the sight of a starving public.

Middle class harmony. a scathing dillema.

A dogma.

Justice my love.

I have fallen in anguish.

Oh for hope.

The fallen anarchist.

Apathy born of suffering.

A childhood declared.

Tick tock.

Time out.

And best beware.

Depressed State.

For once I beg to forget.

Forget the night.

The night's betrayel.

Forget the awkward stares and noisey depths of indecision.

Part and parcel.

Pantomime.

Halequin sorrow.

The verge of bent optical states.

Blind indifference shook from safetys nook.

Following.

Questioning self.

And solitude hails the birth of tragedy.

In the dark corner where shadows dwell with diginity.

Lies beauty.

Exile of the senses.

A mote in a blinding darkness.

Dwelling.

Seathing.

Drowning.

This charade speaks well of the light.

But grails are cast from stone.

And vengence boils in the souls of a jaded few.

And you thought you knew.

To fail.

To fall.

To welcome it all.

The black ink of depression.

Friend .

Foe.

Mother of understanding.

Just Because.

Just because that's why I'm here.

Just because.

Just to love and live and die.

Just because that's all.

I don't have the answers.

Too many questions.

Go along be cool.

Do my thing.

Just beacause that's why I'm here.

Just because.

Goodbye.

Drip.

Tears haunt this night like some divine tragedy.

Lost in the vacuum of my own precious memories.

Surrounded by reminders of his beauty.

For a hundred years we loved and laughed in the silhouette of our union.

Contented and strong.

Vibrantly happy.

Now strange circumstance has taken him from me.

Only God know's why.

Lamenting in the cold dark evening.

Goodbye.

Picture me.

But for the Westen wind I am alone on this hill.

The last to bare sanctuary's soul.

Driven out by decreased horizons.

Strangely drained in the grey dawn.

My picture tells the story.

My story tells a tale.

The tale reports my weakness.

A frail hand hovers close.

Freedom.

Look freedom.

The glass Angel is dead.

Crushed and splintered like a frail enigma.

Brown sign post's confuse direction.

And ten comandments to fail.

As night appears like a slow incantation.

The amber glow of the city.

Swims in treason.

I put on my mask and march like a soldier.

My farcical gait unabiding.

Pristine.

HIs eyes of azure sparkle.

His smile is porcelain white.

HIs hair like summer corn.

HIs voice as smooth as silk.

He exploded into my life like a new sun.

Radiant and brilliantly coloured.

This pristine vision of beauty.

A prince.

A king of Kings.

Mosaic.

A brilliantly intricate mosaic.

Mish mosh of lines and labyrinths.

This constantly moving mandala.

Frantic illusion of symmetry.

Can it be that this is real ?

Or maybe staged.

A movie.

Everybody an actor playing his or her part.

To be able to fathom the question.

We must find the muse.

See the guides.

Feel the bliss.

Life is an oddly peculiar journey.

A test to eternity.

Made of Stone.

Rude labels stuck to my past.

I can't escape.

I can't regret.

Opinions range light to heavy.

I'm making up for the future.

So i'm not a mask of sincerity.

But at least I follow the moment.

In and out of the fragile pile.

Like someone else's head.

That's me.

That's me in the sturdy sun.

Blue eyes flashing like a way to my soul.

I think I have a fever.

But that's only one of my headaches.

A mad sick plague, chaining my heart to my brain.

Hot and cold symphony's play my body.

And I'm blown like a leaf in the wind.

Made of flesh.

Made of bone.

The silent pilgrim, made of stone.