The words can’t escape my lips
I can’t express
the single horrible enormity of it
I have no knowledge of misfortune
only words voiced by haunted souls
like the sickening caress
a manipulation of dependency
Paralyzed I stand by
unable to allay the agony
of this unthinkable calamity
If your child was in anguish
could you just stand by?
Each innocent that suffers
is the symptom of the omission
of responsibility.


1. To use wrongly or improperly; misuse
2. To hurt or injure by maltreatment; ill-use.
3. To force sexual activity on; rape or molest.
4. To assail with contemptuous, coarse, or insulting words; revile.

cherish, defend, help, nurture, preserve, protect, respect

Dedicated to L and R, and those who have suffered.

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I am revived
I thought I had been inspired
But that was nothing compared to this
My soul is on fire
The flames fed through indecipherable means
I’ve never asked why I was given this gift
Never had to search or have doubt
Even when I drifted
My heart stayed close to home
I’m not here to belong to something
To feel important or wanted
Every day brings progress
I don’t physically change
It’s a transformation of my spiritual state
I don’t know what the result of my work will be
And somehow it doesn’t matter
I’ve got a higher source behind me

I wrote that on Sunday at a presentation I was doing. I’m not sure if it is done yet. 🙂

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Make not your dreams the hidden ways
show me the path your dreams would take
dark eyes the doors to your cryptic mind
dark words the barrier to their lies
it isn’t enough to merely live
to bring the joy a soul must give

It isn’t enough to take my hand
to sing away my spirit’s fears
you dare not blink for fear of loss
your mind’s engaged with my streaming tears
think not of that melody
lay aside the saddest hymn
the simple light within

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an ode to the day

it is a mist
an overpowering gray blanket
now a drizzle
now a flood
uncountable numbers just falling


down to the tips of my toes where they gather
in muddy puddles with ripples
running away from my feet
oil slicks the only variation in hue

incessantly boring

There are no rainbows
and light flees from this weather
unlike the downpours of my childhood
that would sneak up
and drench a body completely

afterwards, as if to apologize
the sun would fly out
and dissipate the clouds so quickly
that steam would rise off of your clothes

we would jump in the miniature lakes left behind
splashing with our bare feet
(who needs shoes?)
the mud splattering our legs
with strange designs

that, my dear friends,
is what it should be

but here,
the gloom permeates my emotions.

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it isn’t over yet

written May 23, 2003

Not flying so high that my eyes remain dry
Not that I’m running down your sanity
It’s my fantasy
My fallacy
Silky smooth, I’ve fallen for you
Not empty adoration, simply a realization
That I thought I knew

In the space between a second
On sapphire wings you flew
Swimming through the sky of my mind
Pushing through the web of their lies
In cracked silence
With silver tears she cries

Not knowing the finite line
Not seeing the invisible sign
That tells me to move forward
And make no mistake
It’s not just your mind I’m looking toward
It’s beyond your heart
And so much more…

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the escape

A poem escaped me today
it just up and ran away
developed feet and found my ears
used the holes to disappear
it wasn’t very good, I’m told
and although the loss is growing old
I still think, and mourn the day
that my little poem ran away
I don’t think it hated me
it just had a whole world to see.

PS: only the entries for the current month show on my blog, so if you are looking for a particular entry, try the archives! (hmm, that makes me think of an herb…ar-chives…like a dusty library filled with an oniony smell…)

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poetic trap

What many people consider art, I want to rip apart and burn, simply because it has no pleasing value. But to them, it may be pure joy. So destruction seems a bit overkill. Instead I ignore it, choose what I WANT to look at, or hear, or touch. Beauty can be found in pain, happiness, anger, sadness…but just because someone creates it, doesn’t mean it’s art.

used interface
grasping hold onto colorful beams
rusted through in a million places
and falling into a cracked dream
tight slow theory processed around
the sticky web of my stable ground
click point explode
trapped in a non-existent place
addicted to the meaningless
dots on a screen
I’d leave this place
snap my fingers
but trapped
I’ll stay until I fade
find me someday
a digital saddened face
shaken stirred out of place
twisted fused torn and used
made of hidden obstacles
and somehow prepared brand new

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