Cumé

Time was not kythe within the void.
Though each event anew precede
the next and thence seemed Time employed,
the scope of Now did ever lead
to Now, though actions were to forward flow. 5

Therefore when Joss had reify
the myriad of all His mind,
His Host of Angels vivify,
they merged inclusive, each affined,
for lest they bond The Host had cease to grow. 10

A Thunderstorm is brewing!

Why do i keep raining from my eyes?
Turning my own sorrows into bitter lies
It is just a storm glooming a cloudy day,
thunderstorms and flooding from my own eyes,
the gates that
burst a ton of water..then
another river of emotion drowns.
me away completly, The question,

" How to kill these frowns?"

before i end up swimming in a lake of sad,
Thunder is now sounding!

"Have i gone 'pletely mad?"

I stand upon the shelf,
nay threshold of time
looking over my,
and her shoulders,
as she read and bore
a red face in anger.

How did I dare to put on paper?
The mannerisms of students,
long since forgotten
of a demeaning behaviour,

Truant what you say
my child
lest I go more wild,
be gone like a passionate breeze
go in the snows and freeze
become a forgotten morn
and
of this incident,
never ever again yawn.

IMMOLATION

There is no desperation
in my eyes
no fear of what is to come
no plans for my future
demise
No date of expiration.

Most things I have overcome
through will and skill
to survive
the remaining “some".

And the demons that hunt me down
are made Flesh by the Word
to burn to oblivion.
in the hell of my own fire.

Do not hail or scorn me
Let me be me
For nothing else corny or cynical
Humorous or dangerous
Moves or "un-moves" me

I’ve searched and have found myself
I’ve reaped the truth of myself
For whatever skin I wear like the chameleon
To please or displease the world
It is still me – my very own me

I may or may not be
the hero the world expected
The prodigy you predicted
Even if I were or weren’t,
It will still be me
Deep inside that hide

Was it ever really here?
that running ground for hare and deer,
a perfect mix of dell and wood
where hickory, oaks and larch all stood.

Land which rolled from flat to steep
cut here and there by gullies, deep,
divided by a marshy stream
so peaceful... it now seems a dream.

But that was in those younger days
recalled now through years of haze;
the memory may be mere ideal
yet it doesn't have that feel.

huddle
up
dont show the worth

peepshow visions
from the earth

Your fingers are talking
through tangle hair
the restless crowd draws
in the hushed air
and you silence them
with your steady stare

something within moves
the clockwork of you
working

beneath the shaded sky
of fallen grey
where shadows creep
searching for prey

Who is that?
lurking amonst the shadows
like a black cat

always hides his face with glowing eyes
swingin his nunchuku ..
to your suprize

He's a so called ninja
rasied out of Tokyo
without his face paint but still a Juggalo

A scream echoes
In a crowded place
As a volley of thoughts
From voices battling to try
And manipulate

A screening of images
Flash like a newsreel
Capturing momentary scenes
In a capsule of time
That cannot be reached

An invasion on concentration
Collapses a coherent mind
Into indecisive muddle
That produces babble
From un-controllable lips

Love is a spring,
a fountain of igniting hope,
to match a birth of an entity
that is you.

Then you get the touch
of a loving mom's fingers
your own delicate ones curve in
and
you know you are
being loved by someone.

The sojourn of life
takes care
and
each one of us has a share
of love and hatred,
as a pair,
none can be spared,
either.