dead applause

"All the world's a stage" when the curtains fall and light has been applauded for its lies darkness plays it's part again the musty smell of the theater shut to muse itself the velvet of curtains sunken stillness applause echoing in silence broken by the creaking of an exhaust fan all cry for sin to play…

Sober 

The mountain air, my sniff of high Trenches, dips and curves the rides of amusement  Pour my heart down a valley, into a stream of sigh Watch it bungee jump, with no attachment.  The foaming mouths of the ocean waves by the beach My skin dipping on its wonder  Feet inches deep in the depth…

Unaltered words

​Eyes look like Vacant emotion Of dry tears  The plea to cry lidded Beneath thick walls of kohl Utterances, answers- reduced To orphan talk in phoney voice  Unclaimed belief frets loosely  Within the hold of hypocritic truth  Movements, motion- maimed  To mere mechanic ticking of time  Forced routine and dreary steps  Fall back into cycles…

A midnight musing

I don't have any particular epiphany today. And I'm rather slow with thoughts...but that's alright. Maybe sometimes, life takes time to respond however frantic your breathing might be. ....... Maybe, just maybe, it tries to sleep awake sometimes tries to dream with the eyes wide open tries to reason wild thoughts and tamed emotions with…

Blame it…

Once upon a time, there used to be a land. Full of unsolved mysteries and stories to understand. But crashing winds came, and dried fairy twigs to withered mess. Neither could they amuse, nor could they impress. And thus was destined the bountiful land, to barren soiless misery. Blame it on Destiny, on Circumstance or…

My humble duty

  The ones who aged in their minds, said the world was dark and dread. I figured they could be right, but I was still young in my head. I found the place with much too light. More flame than would be the need to ignite. There was light, in glares and glow, gentle in…

Conceited Existence

On shingle of sadness, over stones thrown in idle thought, cascading, rippling over a seaful of memories...   Over surfeited surfaces, smoothed of flaws, soothed from flaws...   I searched...   I searched for grafts fashioned from wordy pretense, for reasons to device new reasons for sinful conceited existence.   And wondered, are there any?