Untold

When the red bird sings in the early snowy spring..

an its wings drip blood of a new rose bud.

We shall know of new life untold..

The newest blade of grass is green an growing

an each sprigg shakes its ice dew.

We shall know of new life untold.

The gray sky give slow way to a new brilliant blue

an then again to a soft heu.

We shall know of new life untold.

Mother, now your lover has told you his small secret ..

Walk amongst your children an wake them to tell ..

Let you golden green cloak brush there toes

an your amber hair leave you head floral sent to their noses..

Tell them of you secret that your lover told..

Wake them to play an frolic.

An we shal know of things Untold..

Sabbat

The triple goddess dancing bright
With the greenman's richest raiment.
I reach up to welcome the moon
For the glory of Cernnunos.
Triple goddess stirs creation,
I praise the perfection of all.
I light candles for those in need,
While dancing among the moonbeams,
Merry meet, one and all, be blessed.

Innocents

We shall dangel in the abyss of our sweet an torrid lonelyness
We shall excape in the dreams yesterday left on our door step
We shall stare in wonderment of the mistake an regret that tought us love
We shall for get the hope of a yournger years innocent trust
We shall stand back to back in hope of another life
We shall scream the purety of lifes breath
But we will never happen uppon each lifes plain again.
Let us share this womb..

Writer's Workshop

I won't bite you - you'd like it too much. Seriously though, I love it Sophie!

I'm no critic, and I'm certainly no writer, but I too have a contribution.

Critique away - as long as it's not a total revamp, I'm cool with whatever.

Feeling isolated, I crawl into the recesses of my mind
Settling with a satisfied sigh into the comfortable territory that is self doubt,
I cannot help but recall the heart attacks that have unfolded in front of me.
They command my presence, yet I detract the truths that they claim to hold.


The illusion is neither mine nor yours, and is certainly not one that has been proven.
The blame lies stagnant within the deep recesses of our true selves.

Instinctually, I light a cigarette and the distraction allows me the luxury of anonymity -
if only for a moment, for without warning, my safe haven turns against me
I begin to ponder which vehicle escorted me here, and along what path did I blindly drive?
I wonder aloud that it can’t be safe to be so absently coherent.

Again, my mind wanders.

Życie długotrwałość jest świnią i my są całymi w tym …

The sub-standard “why are we here” conundrum doesn’t satisfy for the moment,
I move on to more present issues – the very ones I came here to avoid.
Waxing poetic with fallen trees does not a philosopher make. Am I crazy?
No, I decide, just loathsome and benign.

Truth is relative, but relatives do not always breed truth.
Ties are only as strong as that which binds them.

Oh Gentle Night Come

Oh Gentle Night come... lay the world in thy sparkling blanket.
Soothe its worries with blissful silence as thy full moon sheds its milky light upon mine face.

Oh Gentle Night come... bring forth thy sweet romance that hearts fall in love with.
Open the wounds of loss and fill them with new desire as we gaze upon thy heavenly bodies.

Oh Gentle Night come... bring forth mine beloved to me away from the worries of the world.
Let thy silence be filled with our words of love, our cries of passion before the night bird awakens to sing.

Oh Gentle Night come... give rest to the weary as ye enshroud the world in arms of cool relaxation.
Bring forth the new day of hope and prosperity as ye sink into the warming glow of the rising sun.

Oh Gentle Night come...

Love

As light shines upon the world,
so does love shine upon the face.

As the world grows with the passing of seasons,
so does love grow with the passing of time.

As the forest is cleansed with the showering rains,
so does love shower the broken heart.

As time continues even in death,
so does love continue in eternity.

The blessings of light are those of love.

Closed

Shadows of swaying limbs
dance forlornly upon drawn curtains.
Windows cease to be functional;
doors remain shut.
Candlelight shyly fingers lonely guitars
in dusty corners; stars in themselves…
now docile.

Music is thwarted by
broken speakers, rhythm halts at mid-beat.
Photos fade to deadened images, once a part.
Mental shelves become heavy with added occupants
sagging from the extra weight.
Poetry composes in my mind, scribbling jumbled
thoughts of senseless gibberish into a
vaguely coherent collection of crap.

Mirrors secretly depict one who defies reflection,
one who cannot see, who does not exist.
Dream's disguise becomes reality,
easy to understand, a cinch to cherish.
Awakening's burden is not readily cheered,
for eyes are sometimes better off when closed.

Morning Has Come

Hues of pale roses chase the blanket of darkness.
The silence deafening for that one moment in time,
When the orchestra begins as life returns from the void.
Morning has come to push the moon from her perch.

The songs lift up the world's hope in the voices of birds.
The dew shimmers upon every blade and petal in diamonds.
The chill brings to life all that is dormant and hidden.
Morning has come to push death from his perch.

The pond lies silent below the mist.
The children of the forest rush out to play,
And the trees sway in the breeze that bears the suns warmth.
Morning has come to push the nightmares of the mind from our souls.

Whisper

Shhhh, Do you hear?
There is a whisper outside the door.

It sighs like a love forgotten.
It sounds like a heart misbegotten.

It moves on the wind in search of a friend.
And wanders aimless in its remorse.

I rise to the door to offer her in.
She is no where to be found.

Only the sighing in the trees.
The night melodies
surrounding me all around.

The beauty of the night
With a snow owl in flight.
The moon shining off the snow.

I look up to the sky
Give my own little sigh.
A finger on the wind caresses my face.

I soon realize why the lady does cry.
It is the cool neglect of this human race.

Only Darkness

The light grows long to twilight
Then there is only darkness
The dark takes you slow

Holds you like a patient lover
Clings like cigarette smoke in your hair
Smothers dawn to dimmest memory

In that darkness you remember radiance
In that darkness you remember sunset

Torment

The whips lash out.
In agony, screams pierce the night
The knives slice forth.
Tender skin flays so sweetly
The shackles bind harshly.
The woman is owned.
Night brings no mercy.
Her body is not her own.

Death is release and release is heaven.
Is there a god or goddess to reach?
Is her life mistaken?
Will her people destroy her?
Will her enemy become her savior?
Will the world remember her when she is gone?

Torment lies in unanswered questions.

Make it Lonely

In the shadows,darkness
Seeping into my pores
As I watch you together.
Tick-tick, the time
Inches past my toes
On the cold wood floor.
Chilled, icy air
Drawn deep within
Burning in a struggle
Not to sob, loudly.
Strangling noises
My heart breaking
As I struggle...
Desperately...
To figure out how
I'm going to make it, lonely.

Lucid

Come with me to the land of dreams
Where nothing is quite what it seems,
There is a flutter of gossamer wings,
The goddess sings of peaceful things.
And begins a bird on winged flight,
For freedom in the deepest night.

Great Abyss

Looking out into the great abyss..
Standing in it's shadow...
It is not bliss....
It is a lonley road one must travel..
Passing people along the way...
Leaving issues by the wayside...
Shedding all that's feared...
Take it as it comes and goes....
Keeping lessons close to hear...
Life proceeds whether your in it or not....
Don't give in..
Don't give up..
Go to your abyss...
Stand there strong and proud...
Listen to it's whispers..
Then..
Stand in the greatness of it's silence..
Is it not bliss?

All who wander are not lost.

Who am I?

Who am i

I whisper with a sigh?

I am me

Pagan as can be!

Do you think i care

When you frown and stare?

Not in the least

While i sit at your feast!

Of indifference and ignorance

Judgment at a glance.

Your pettiness and denial

Makes me chuckle and smile!

Dancing in silver moonlight

Within Her beautiful sight

Who am i

I shout to the sky?

I am me

Proud as can be!

Brigit of the Celts

Brigit was one of the great Triple Goddesses of the Celtic people.
She appeared as Brigit to the Irish, Brigantia in Northern England,
Bride in Scotland, and Brigandu in Brittany. Many legends are told
about Brigit. Some say that there are three Brigits : one sister in
charge of poetry and inspiration who invented the Ogham alphabet,
one in charge of healing and midwifery, and the third in charge of the
hearth fire, smithies and other crafts. This catually indicates the
seperate aspects of her Threefold nature and is a neat division of
labor for a hard-working goddess.
Brigit was probably originally a Sun Goddess, and a charming story
of her birth is that she was born at sunrise and a tower of flame
burst from the forehead of the new born Goddess that reached from
Earth to Heaven. It was likely She who inspired the line in the famous
Song of Amergin: "I am a fire in the head." Her penchant for smithcraft
led to her association by the Romans with Minerva/Athena. As a warrior
Goddess, She favored the use of the spear or the arrow. Indeed, various
interpetations of her name exist including, "Bright Arrow," "The Bright
One," "the Powerful One" and "The High One," depending upon the region
and the dialect.
As a Goddess of herbalism, midwifery and healing She was in charge
of Water as well as Fire. I don't beleive that anyone has ever
counted all the vast number of sacred wells and springs named after
or dedicated to this Goddess. A story is told of how two lepers came
to one of her sacred springs for healing and She instructed one Leper
to wash the other. The skin of the freshly bathed man was cleansed
of the disease and Brigit told the man who was healed to wash the man
who had bathed him so that both men would be whole. The man who was
healed was now too disgusted to touch the other Leper and would have
left him, but Brigit herself washed the leper and struck down the
other arrogant fellow with leperousy once more before he could leave.
Offerings to the watery Brigit were cast into the well in the form
of coins or, even more ancient, brass or gold rings. Other sacrifices
were offered where three streams came together. Her cauldron of
Inspiration connected her watery healing aspect with her fiery poetic
aspect.
Brigit is clearly the best example of the survival of a Goddess
into Christian times. She was cannonized by the Catholic church as
St. Brigit and various origins are given to this saint. The most
popular folktale is that She was midwife to the Virgin Mary, and thus
was always inviked by women in labor. The more official story was
that She was a Druid's daughter who predicted the coming of
Christianity and then was baptised by St. Patrick. She became a nun
and later an abbess who founded the Abbey at Kildare. The Christian
Brigit was said to have had the power to appoint the bishops of her
area, a strange role for an abbess, made stranger by her requirement
that her bishops also be practicing goldsmiths.
Actually, the Goddess Brigit had always kept a shrine at Kildare,
Ireland, with a perpetual flame tended by nineteen virgin priestesses
called Daughters of the Flame. No male was ever allowed to come near
it; nor did those women ever consort with men. Even their food and
other supplies were brought to them by women of the nearby village.
When Catholicism took over in Ireland, the shrine became a convent
and the priestesses became nuns but the same traditions were held
and the eternal flame was kept burning. Their tradition was that
each day a different priestess/nun was in charge of the sacred fire
and on the 20th day of each cycle, the fire was miraculously tended
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by Brigit Herself. There into the 18th century, the ancient song
was sung to her : "Brigit, excellant woman, sudden flame, may the
bright fiery sun take us to the lasting kingdom."
For over a thousand years, the sacred flame was tended by nuns,
and no one knows how long before that it had been tended by the
priestesses. In 1220 CE, a Bishop became angered by the no-males
policy of the Abbey of St. Brigit of Kildare. He insisted that nuns
were subordinate to priests and therefore must open their abbey
and submit themselves to inspection by a priest. When they refused
and asked for another Abbess or other female official to perform
any inspections, the Bishop was incensed. He admonished them to
obediance and then decreed that the keeping of the eternal flame
was a Pagan custom and 6rdered the sacred flame to be extinguished.
Even then, She remained the most poular Irish saint along with
Patrick. In the 1960's, under Vatican II modernization, it was
declared that there was insufficient proof of Brigit's sanctity
or even of her historical existance, and so the Church's gradual
pogrom against Brigit was successful at last and She was thus
decanonized. It is very difficult to obtain images or even holy
cards of ST. Brigit outside of Ireland anymore.
Her festival is held on Febuary 1st or 2nd. It corresponds to
the ancient Celtic fire festival of Imbolc or Oimelc which
celebrated the birthing and freshening of sheep and goats (it really
is a Feast of Milk). This festival was Christianized as Candlemas
or Lady Day and Her Feast day, La Feill Bhride, was attended by
tremendous local celebration and elaborate rituals. Her festival
is also called Brigit. Brigit (the Goddess and the Festival)
represents the stirring of life again after the dead months of the
winter, and her special blessings are called forth at this time.
Since She was booted out of the Church for being Pagan, it is
incumbant upon us Pagans to restore Her worship to its former glory
especially those of us of Celtic ancestory. Here is an ancient rite
to invite Brigit into your home at the time of her Holiday:
Clean your hearth thoroughly in the morning and lay a fire
without kindling it, then make yourself a "Bed for Brigid" and
place it near the hearth. The bed can be a small basket with covers
and tiny pillow added as plain or fancy as you like. If you have no
hearth, you can use the stove and put the bed behind it. Then at
sundown light a candle rubbed with rosemary oil and invite Brigit
into your home and into er bed; use the candle to kindle your
hearthfire if possible. Make your own poem to invite Her or use
the ancient song mentioned earlier. Let the candle burn at least
all night in a safe place. You might even want to begin the custom
of keeping the eternal flame; it is a popular custom in some
magickal and Wiccan traditions. AFter all, it's up to us now to
keep the spirit of Brigit alive and well for the next thousand
years at least!!!

Brigid is not really a Celtic Mother Goddess. She is generally
considered a Goddess of fire/smithcraft, of poetry and of healing. One
of her roles is as midwife, but although she has a son, she is not
usually seen as a mother.

I don't know any books that deal specifically with Brighidh, but please
look for a book called "Celtic Mythology" by Proinsias MacCana and for
"Gods and Heroes of the Celts" by Marie Lousie Sjoestadt for more
information about Celtic deities. They are both VERY good sources.



Brighidh is a Goddess of healing, smithcraft and poetry, brewer of mead
and ale, a lawgiver, a midwife, supposedly daughter of the Daghda,
mother of the poet Cairbre, and of the Gods Brian, Iuchar and Iucharba.
She was transformed into a Christian Saint and became the foster mother
of Christ. Some sources say that the healer/smith/poet were embodied in
one Goddess, other sources claim that she was three sisters, all named
Brighidh.

Her holy day falls (on our calendar) on February 2nd (I wonder if She
likes groundhogs...) called Imbolc, Oimelc or Lady Day. Candles are
blessed that day in the Catholic churches.


Brigit/Brigid/Bride was the daughter of Dagda. She was the proctector of the
poets, the forge and the healing persons. Her son Ruadan, which she had with
Bres, was killed by Goibnui. For her died son she sounds the first kenning of
Eireland. She also was put into the cult and the person of Brigit from
Kildare, which made the first female parish after Christianity falls into
Eireland. The convent of Kildare has had a neverending fire, which was
protected by the sisters of the parish. The saint Brigit is the second patron
saint of Eireland. within the scottish tradition Brigit belongs together
with the time of the year "Season of the lambs" and the comming of spring.
Brigit overcomes the control of the Cailleach Bheur.

Beginning at the End

If it wasn't for being alive
I'd be supernatural, superficial
I'd either take command or wouldn't care
Not much in between helps the separation
of apathy and gut-hope
except one's belief in a purpose

Since it's not for being dead, I'm still human
vulnerable and very much alive
Able to smell jasmine in the spring
allowed to watch baby Mockingbirds
chirping for their mommas
and free to feel the cleansing rains
Noting that all these won't last forever
but they have...and do
and somehow will.

The wheel of the year plugs zero
positive numbers take over
It's a rebirth, a restart, a chance to change
anything that needs changing, and beyond
Time to grab one's gut and wrench it
until something good comes out
because it always does
and always will

A time for rejoicing
and celebrating the new year
to either enjoy what you have
or aim at something you want
or both. Either way...
somehow, it all works

Avalon.com will be branded
into the memoirs of our minds
never to be forgotten
always our friend and beginning
So too, will many things cease to exist
But minds will open; ideas will flow
smoother than Grandma's mashed taters
then the best will continue

Often, a beginning needs an end
and sometimes, an end is good

Happy New Year, everyone!
May your hopes and desires be yours
and never let anyone guide you
to a path you're not comfortable with

Dekon

Sweet little puppy, starving and cold
The showing of ribs made me frown
A pit/lab mix with a love for his sticks
and a coat full of darks and light brown

Whether chasing a squirrel or lizards that scurry
the life this dog loved was sincere
I taught him some tricks and got love with his licks
He knew he was always safe here

He grew with the land, the fences and sand
and make no mistake, he was king.
A trusting companion, as any could be
except for just one little thing

Chewing, it seemed, was Dekon's forte.
Nothing was crossed from his list.
Doormat to hose, to anything goes
he made sure that nothing was missed

A year goes by so fast nowadays
when hope intertwines with a heart
Try as I did, I couldn't get rid
of the habits he'd learned from the start

I loved his brown eyes, looking up for advice
none of which he understood
I wait for the day when I can truly say
that his and my parting was good.

3 Poems

Change
A new beginning
What will it be all about
Have to wait and see


Sorrow
Loss can be so sad
It doesn't have to be for
an eternity

Confusion
The world has turned a tumble
When I walk, it's a stumble
but things start changing
And I start to see
The world is moving
at a pace that so confusing.

Then my way starts to clear
for I begin to hear
the wonders of the world.
They have beauty and love
Show joy and happiness
Life can go on.

Imbolc

Spark of creation,
Fire of inspiration
Hear my call to thee.
To find my heart in,
My greatest muse,
Bring back the light,
So that all may see,
The brightness that,
Lies within, all of us.

Eternal Nothingness

Destined to walk alone throughout this world of eternal nothingness....
I try to find the answer to the question as to why we must reside here.....
wondering forever throught the sea of dout in the world of eternal nothingness

Wondering throughout this world with nothing but dout, hope, and a sinister smile....

I walk alone until I see a sea of people swarming around a tv like moths to a flame, I walk toward the people and as i look at the television all i see is a war scene....

Why are we here, what is the point to all this hatred....Until this answer is to be found we are to walk side by side in a frenzy wondering why we are destined to walk this world of eternal nothingness..

Stroll Away

I embarked on a stroll today…
Yep, left the 'puter behind
and marveled when the front door
opened without having
to Click something.

Upon taking a few steps,
life came back to me, naturally.
That wondrous, forgiving keeper
of our existence was there waiting.
No apologies were necessary
for my recent absence.
I was welcomed as if
I'd never left.

So I walked for awhile
and let the real world reclaim me.
No Error Messages here.
This was life.

The only Mouse I saw was
also viewed as dinner
by a soaring hawk above.
A neighbor stared at a Screen
long enough to clean it
then lay it with the others.
A car lot nearby, under construction,
flaunted Keys and Boards.
But never were the two combined.

Girl Scouts are selling Cookies, door to door…
no deleting necessary.
Someone is playing "Journey" in the distance,
with nary a thought as to
how many Megabytes are in it's Properties.
I continue to walk, in wondrous freedom.

My stroll seemed to take a year to finish
but eventually, I ended up at Home.
As I made my way through the
dining room to the kitchen,
that cyber lizard, "Monitor",
caught my eye,
luring me to it's grasp
with slithery tongue-like motions,
as a mother about to discipline a child.

Naw, let's watch some TV tonight
for a change.

Spring

It is the Beginning.
Embrace in love, the emerging flower
That from the dormance of a cold sleep solstice,
Slips through dark, and buds in light anew.
Day and night do not rival for their time in the sky
As in this one day, of two, they are equal.
The promise of rebirth once more manifests in nature,
And with life, the cycle begins anew
And Sol assumes his right.

***********************************************

Reaching,
Up and up, from a once frozen burrow
A nursery bed of nurturing soil
That gave fertility and strength
To a seemingly insignificant, seed.

Pushing,
Through a cold dark world
Towards a warmth it feels above
In A lone and single-minded pursuit
One with, and in, an instinctive nature dance.

Stretching,
From the heavy sod, to enter
The nights of the Moon
And the days of the Sun
To become another self.

Breathing,
the new scents and colors
in this air of the Earth
It is touched
And its own state of beauty altered.

And bursting,
into freedom, and fullness, and glory
with the lushness that comes
in the fresh days of Spring
is Lily.

Plastic

The urban tumbleweed drifts by,
Affluenza strikes deep within the valley.
Plastic smiles, for a plastic world,
With the shallowness only beauty can buy.
Her crippling heels hobble her cadence,
Such a pretty mess in her finest attire.

The urban sprawl, the creeping virus,
Dis-ease rules where the angels dwell.
The frenetic dance of time is a best cruel,
Sliding through different realities to get by,
Loss of self is a small price to pay for glam,
Her reflection on glass, shares an empty smile.

Colors

When black isn't black, but a mixture of hues
and day is as night, without evening news
While a sunburn is pink and a heartache is blue
the rainbows show all, if one finds the clue

When war isn't war unless somebody dies
and fair isn't fair when somebody cries
While fire burns orange like tempers that heat
all bodies turn red on a bad city street

Grey is a suit, the concrete, the sky
Green's full of envy, but nature's reply
Brown is what happens when one's terrified
White, just admission from someone who lied

Now yellow could signify so many things
A partner of green or a hornet that stings
a light bearing warning, a bus late for school
the back of a coward or some other fool

Thought in the Dark

I've become a pioneer, of sorts
an explorer of ancient touch
digging deep has left me bewildered
how a night can stain so much

of everything ever wanted from me
of everything honest that I'll never see
the nightmares and screams choke in the dark
Tomorrow, I'll finally be free

An explorer, I am...eager to learn
not much falls to the side
nothing is safe from scrutinization
Come forth now; don't run and hide.

I'm only asking for yourself, true blue
Is that too much to request?
I only hope that myself, with you
is not some remedial test

Should I Love You?

I watched you fall once.
Wrapping my wings around you
I picked you up.
Protecting you, pushing away my own fears.

Time passed.
Life was good.
In your arms I was home.
Nothing could hurt me.
Together we fought side by side,
Battle worn we kept the demons away.

Then all at once our world was shattered.
You tore your heart away from mine.
Cold emptiness was all I felt.
Darkness filled my heart.
Alone, afraid, lost and weak,
I fought for what I believed in…
Taking back what was mine.

Wounded, bleeding and crushed in spirit,
I spread my wings to fly away.
I heard you call my name,
You told me that you loved me.
You held me close and kissed my lips.

I shuttered at your touch
Feeling just like before,
Your love is there I see it in your eyes.
In my heart… fear and darkness hide.

You tell me everyday your love is true.
You’ve asked me to stay.
The pain you've caused has deeply burned my heart.
What truly was the price to pay?

Standing strong on my own,
In your arms are where I want to be.
You picked me up,
You held me while I fell apart.
Still fear lingers and I wonder…
Should I keep loving you?

I Never Said I Wasn't Difficult

I never said I wasn't difficult,
I mostly want my way.
Sometimes I talk back or pout
and don't have much to say.

I've been known to yell, "So what,"
when I am stepping out of bounds.
I want you there for me and yet,
I don't want you around.

I wish I had more privacy
and never had to be alone.
I want to run away.
I'm scared to leave my home.
I'm too tired to be responsible.
I wish that I were boss.
I want to blaze new trails.
I'm terrified that I'll get lost.

I wish an answer came
every time I asked you "why?"
I wish you weren't a know-it-all.
Why do you question when I'm bored?
I won't be cross-examined.
I hate to be ignored.

I know,
I shuffle messages like cards,
some to show and some to hide.
But if you think I'm hard to live with
you should try me on the inside.

The Wiccan Rede

Bide the Wiccan Laws we must
In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.
Live and let live,
Fairly take and fairly give.
Cast the Circle thrice about
To keep the evil spirits out.
To bind the spell every time
Let the spell be spake in rhyme.
Soft of eye and light of touch,
Speak little, listen much.
Deosil go by the waxing moon,
Chanting out the Witches' Rune.
Widdershins go by the waning moon,
Chanting out the baneful rune.
When the Lady's moon is new,
Kiss the hand to her, times two.
When the moon rides at her peak,
Then your heart's desire seek.
Heed the North wind's mighty gale,
Lock the door and drop the sail.
When the wind comes from the South,
Love will kiss thee on the mouth.
When the wind blows from the West,
Departed souls will have no rest.
When the wind blows from the East,
Expect the new and set the feast.
Nine woods in the cauldron go,
Burn them fast and burn them slow.
Elder be the Lady's tree,
Burn it not or cursed you'll be.
When the Wheel begins to turn,
Let the Beltane fires burn.
When the Wheel has turned to Yule,
Light the log and the Horned One rules.
Heed ye Flower, Bush and Tree,
By the Lady, blessed be.
Where the rippling waters go,
Cast a stone and truth you'll know.
When ye have a true need,
Hearken not to others' greed.
With a fool no season spend,
Lest ye be counted as his friend.
Merry meet and merry part,
Bright the cheeks and warm the heart.
Mind the Threefold Law you should,
Three times bad and three times good.
When misfortune is enow,
Wear the blue star on thy brow.
True in Love ever be,
Lest thy lover's false to thee.
Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill:
An ye harm none, do what ye will.

Seconds Count

I walk down the street,
Waving to everyone I meet.
Each one'll only take a second.
Maybe I'll get a smile.
Maybe..... the finger.
Let me try....
I'll find out....
Just what you are.
You'll show me yourself,
and it'll only take a second.

Dreamer's Man

There's always a room
for the exception to the rule.
That perfect little place
that resists all time and space.
With the solitary man,
there he stands,
and I have to step over...
the line drawn in the sands.
I look into his eyes,
so wise,
but with so much despise,
for this world that I live in with so many lies.
I want to hold him,
unfold him,
peel back the layers and gaze inside,
to where the hate resides
and then wash it all clean,
as if it was never there.
But it has to go somewhere.
So where does it go?
I think I know...
back to my land...
where he does not stand...
where he can't come with me...
so I forget reality.
This is what he does to me.

Speak

Speak words.
Words.
Words.
Venemous last words.
Sweet words.
Words of wrath.
Words of truth.
Spilling from your mouth,
Dripping from your razor blade tongue.
Words that cut.
Words that heal.
Words to choke my heart and puzzle my brain.
Awful words.
Speak no more.
I beg of you.
Speak no more.

Creation

I am the needle in your eye. I am the thorn twist in your side. I am the rain on your parade. I am the wait for better days. I am deceit, hate, and lies. I'm all the things that you despise. I'm the despise that you feel. I'm the sick that never heal. You create me.