Sherlock's BeastFace value is the beast's skinStretched thin over conversational context,The do's and don'ts of polite society,Convention's muzzle, my dear Watson.Deeper in we see extendduplicitous differentialities. We deduce,Juxtaposed betwixt the 'tweens and twines,The twirling tines of truth,Those vicious teeth which biteThe hand that feedsAnd feed the mind that needsTo dark digestion.There in lies the lynchpin,What words will never tell,For the devil may well dwell in the detail,But his whispers sound between them.
ButcherMeat before your knifeSkinned and waiting to be slicedLeft danglingHoping you will cut me down instead of up.With strokes both careless and preciseThe blood - the blood that stains your knife
I would have given you my life,But you have taken more.
Rosemary For RemembranceHer hands in the waterShe re members the freck le s o n hisAs th e wo r d s d ra g h e rD ow n D O w nDOW nGet t he e to a n u n n er y
G E T T H E E T O A N U N N E R Y
BelovedI should be stronger for you Dear,Not dieing in the darkness here,Rotting from the inside outDevoured by my fear.I'de be a shining star for you,A broken satelliteBurning off her energyTo guide you through the night,But all I do is gaurd the gateAnd keep its doors thrown wideIn hopes you will return to meWhile darkness slips inside.And how it storms the parapetsAnd shakes my every stoneand echoes through my hallways,Child, you are so alone.You are waiting for a ghostthat will not come again.Nothing is outside your walls,And Nothings coming in.Are you a prisoner or a foolWho stays yet trembles so,Cloistered in these crubling wallsUnable to let go?For cowardice we mock you.Upon your strength we feed,And if you hear his cries outsideYou should not pay them heed,For they are nothing but the windThat whistles in the still,And if your house is empty,Then we are here to fill.And if your heart is heavy,Then we can take that too.There's lots of things
HindsiteDear- in the headlightsWe stood in the road unflinching.It's too late to pass the buck.
P.S.Swan feathers brushingPink lemonade stratosphere,Pallid moon mirroringA smeared staring sun,As Fenrir snarls and stretches,Slinking silently skyward.
The Greatest LoveYour heart won't give out if the panic assaultsYour lungs won't from breathing retreatYour life won't expire, just because you are tiredYou can walk one more mile on those feetYour hands won't forget every task on the shelfJust because you are sick for a dayYour children will learn to cross streets by themselves(Time is handled by God, in His way)Your worth is not measured, my child, by sinAnd your triumphs are never so smallI am not like the world. I look deep withinAnd your soul is not ugly at allYour soul is a treasure, a blessing, a lightFrom your birth to your last, feeble touchKnow this, my child, as you weep in the nightThere is no one who loves you as much
PonderingWhat does one do,With a heart always in pain.Every hour, every day,It would drive a man insane.From the bottom of every bottle,And, the end of every line.To the end of a barrel,When it's been too long a time.I would have none of these things,And I can no longer stay numb,And, I won't go so far (even now)Just to drown out it's sum.Such a twisted way to feel,Wishing love from someone.And the moment I feel it coming,I'm always the first to run.It's like fractured bone that can never heal,Any weight it cannot bear,Until it breaks in two completely,To be reset and heal despair.Lord knows that thought is terrifying,But, I guess it's time I got it through,To break ever completely,Heal up as good as new.Maybe I've got it wrong,And, this isn't what to do.Then, I hope to God you find me soon,Before I see it through.
The Plain TruthI love you for giving me wisdomI love you for giving me lightI love you for giving me reasonTo find in me delightI love you for your beautyYou've got complex simplicityYou’re more than mere dutyI love your authenticityI cannot live without youYour love is pure and trueYet nothing special about youYou're just the plain truth
Death prayerNow I lay me down in deathThat I may seek eternal restIf I should wake before I'm homeMay you stop me before I'm gone
Nameless Russian Girl in PrimeNameless Russian girl in prime,Deserving compliments in rhyme.Her face invites a tender glow,And I would take it real slowAnd paint with words her parted lips,High forehead, chin above all quips,Fine clavicles and tender soulDeduced ‘neath parchment of it all...But why? -- Who reads my lines of flight?Whose keen discernment and delightShall kindle words to warmth intended?Whose sense with mine shall be co-mended?Would her facility of tongueClime English exquisitely rung?May photo-artist of this creatureEnjoy as I in every featureAnd not, but ‘literature’ traversing,To greatness of his own endorsing...Glean mere compliments in weavingOf text to fine nuances cleaving?!-- Silver Rajah of Sophiastan
The Graveyard AforementionedIn darkest affairs,Of graveyard aforementioned,the frozen, late handof the once great Salve.His voice he yelled loud,his chains he soundand yet his voice,was a mere whispered wisp.His wails passed onlike a shadow of bleak,casting a shade,upon his own crypt.He bang in fury,shriek'd like lorry."O' Almighty, Lord of Creation!Prithee I ask, free me of sorrow.Long hath I lived, many a quest,but tis chaos I detest, lest tis be a test.I implore to see light! I itch to see Ye visage!Wrap Thy cloak, round m' arms,so I may never bear, the madness within."Then the Lord answered back,light searing bright."If thou complain of chaos,and sadism within,Then why, I ask, have you, yourself,whipped all thy people, lash'd them at,boil'd their heads, broken their hearts,scourged the souls, and families thee shred,all with the same things,this hellish realm gave?"And with that, the great king drop speechless.He gazed from the Light, to the shadowy descents.He low his arms, g
Father“Father, forgive me.”I say as I sobConfessing another mistakeIt hurts to be back hereAt the stumbling blockThat always makes me break“Father, please love me.”But then, why should He?He knows all the things I’ve doneI can’t take this giftBut I need it so muchSo I find it hard to shun“Father in Heaven…”Is all I can prayAs words fail what I feel insideTears threaten to flowWhen I think of His graceThat allows one like me to confideFather, Son, SpiritThree and the sameWho saved me from my strifeThe healer of hurtsMy Savior and friendI thank you for new life
The Mind of a DancerThe Mind of a Dancer:1.rhythm2.feet - music, soul3.heart-pumping4.sweat and tears5.preparation6.beat7.connection8.personality9.flow, release10.technique11.breath, pressure, shut down12.independence, journey, growth, teamwork13.center14.determination15.proud16.counting17.practice, practice, practice18.reaction19.creation20.sculpting21.balanceThe pressure bubbles,I can barely stand still.Stretching helps with relieving my troubles,Now there’s no containing my thrill.My mind is at ease as it shuts off,The performance has just begun.There is silence but one person’s cough.Sweat beats down like I’m out in in the sun.The music carries my body without my control,Everyone moves fluidly with me.I’ve never felt such strength from within my soul.I can’t keep my face from showing my glee.Our friendship has grown,As the days have come and gone.And it clearly is shown,That we have worked together as one.The song softens and I begin
DianaThe huntress at her cusp,Risen full she loomsAcross the silken watersTo snatch the minds of poets swooned.Awakened, wild in lunacy,They hasten from the folds,Of life’s cyclic obsessionsThat man’s lack of purpose molds,Escapist thoughts begin to warp their vision,Imagination makes a deep incision,Severing the line that tethers us to our motherland.Lifted from the shifting sand,She takes us in with outstretched hands,Afloat, entranced to SummerlandAway, dead to the world.Now we look down from our pinnacle here,At our bodies rotting at Nadir,Every second regressing a little more,Depressed we took the chance to soar,At that one final glanceWe come back downOur will restored to a pillar of salt,And found in the presence of this higher groundThat we must never let our passion halt.
Death of a GoldfishTo watery grave I must departBut lose not heartNor give a moanAs I go down the porcelain throne.