Poet Introduction I love to write on the edge: Not all significant poetry goes down like warm soup: Don't fear the burn It just might awaken you: In the words of Jim Morrison... 'Wake up!' (I don't remember where I am either).. Note: I write heartwarming stuff too..
I smell that you are chasing me with your eyes, and I leave my scent behind so that you may know the joy of my leaping / if only for ignorance of what a stone feels.
My only conquest is to break the grasses down; not to diminish them but encourage them by chewing their stalks to a pulp. I eat what nobody wants and leave their digested remains behind in your overgrown pasture.
How do I survive; this is how, and why --
I am light as air, I think, and the ways of the world don't collect...
We can stride ahead to belong, sever ties in weak made strong. But how can we, in conscience go before the things we truly know. Only with our foresight clear are any reasons not to fear; yet hanging on in morbid dread, of these outcomes we are fed hatred of our own desires under which we stoke a fire full of pleadings to be felt. In our dealings we get dealt.
When and how will all this end, where did go ourselves as friends to each other, to this earth, our full sentience and our mirth. I can't find nor...
In a dream you and I were there floating in the past somewhere waiting on the world to turn everyone’s desire to burn. What the world has not become letting go I am someone who bleeds into every known thrown away like a stone given to this moment it seems everything that matters could be:
in a dream, but never there; in a dream where you still care, in a dream you never died, in a dream where heaven lied. Yesterday we never cried, lift me to your reasons why all we are is gone inside, all we carry forth...
We are all like the bright moon, we still have our darker side.” -Khalil Gibran
Cry with me, sultry night; pray for the sentient things crawling ‘neath your sight. Glow your moon’s pale light. Illuminate those whom pine for all to be right and the fields of things who count not the hours, but wave in the wind endlessly and futilely. Pass me under safe care tonight, let the voices lead me softly along: a muted song. Cry with me, sultry night. ...
Death of Orion's snake -- rise then we die together writhing in blackness. The hunt is on -- our eyes see beyond ephemeral vision. We are the seekers of what is not human; we are the plunderers of her dear soul.
Taste the tears; you are the salt of every pit on vitreous earth. You are a vessel of Night's captive stars searching under all the ones we lost up there, our subjects bare in coldest Heaven where every sun is undone there.