It Is Only On The Doorstep Of Introspection That We Find Our True Selves

Sifting mindlessly through
the emotional wreckage of her heart,
the girl with the stark, haunted eyes,
turns her soul’s cannon loose,
from its desiccated mooring.

She fires volley
after volley
into the obsidian night sky,
the fear of betrayal
dancing like water
dropped from a great height.

In time the waking dream subsides,
her glasses come off as she rubs
her tired eyes, bound for
the dresser drawer, they make
a noise not dissimilar to the
clunk-clank of her neglected heart as it yanks
at the thick chains that
surround its murky crimson epicenter.

 

 


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Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

Juggernaut Of Yearning

Metaphysical Magic

As We Walk In Stride Up The Steps Of Our Palace Of Joy, We Honor The Way Each Step Was Crafted From The Bricks Of Suffering That Once Littered Our Past

There was a dream of you
poetry carved from a boy of blue
and in this monumental brew
a sculpture of the chance to start anew

but all the words in the universe
could never elucidate the sparkle in my soul
that you’ve ignited with the synchronicity of your heart

Though I don’t yet know
every precious contour of your gorgeous face

starshine erupted from our reborn cores
illuminating every aspect of the landscape of our minds
shimmering like the primordial sea of stars

200 million years of lonely darkness washed away
infinite realms of possibility brought to life

supernovae seeding the future of You and I

 


Please enjoy my books (FREE pdf of first two books here) and leave a 5 star review:

Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

Juggernaut Of Yearning

Metaphysical Magic

 

Edgar Froese, Founder Of Tangerine Dream, Dead At 70

She worshiped the derelict spaceship of my artistic halo,
yet those lines of repetitious innocence were simply me,
pacing the pavement, releasing fever dreams in measured doses
like angry air from a balloon; in her mind she sketched my hungry fingers
with a crayon made of heartlust, and now, all that I can remember is
the sumptuous spaciousness of her feathery kiss.

When I close my eyes & sing,
the banality of life disappears;
I become a nebula whose masks
of matter shed in billowing layers
like a vivacious snake whose sudden strike
unleashes a swirling galaxy of empathy
from deep within my battered heart.

 


Please enjoy my books (FREE pdf of first two books here) and leave a 5 star review:

Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

Juggernaut Of Yearning

Metaphysical Magic