The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Tuesday, July 20, 2010


Unattained was my goal
Healing that slithery vision
Delusional mind combined
Love and hate into fusion
Do believe what you must
My care was given so frank
I have myself only to blame
Deserving of a solid spank
Sorrow, spite and the envy
Driven within soulful core
Shameful hidden your face
Unsatisfied wanting more
Sleep my precious darling
Do close those green eyes
Yes, still unforgiven rests
Foul dirt in your little lies

Thursday, July 15, 2010


Hushed is my tear
As it dries within fear
Of these, your spilling lies
Overflowing co-existing lives
Inside each and everyone I see
Although not in an image of me
Yet akin we are in precise ways
Within these elements of praise
And even if never do I stay still
Dormant inside is my free will
Worthless to you if asleep
Oh so often do I weep
Surely so weary
Is my sleet
And solid
Unable to sense
Any longer in chaos
And my spinning dance
Nauseated from the fumes
Buried toxic waste is unseen
Of poisoned illusions so keen
Numbed to your defiant dare
Absent concern or even care
Gift to me from each of you
I accept this without adore
Silent though scorching
Overheating evermore
Is my brilliant core
Decaying, dying
Though surely
Am I
The Earth
You all love