In the night wallowed forlorn arts, casting glowing shadows from amongst sempiternal darkness, such brevity before the course of riven lives cast aside, aside then and step through the open gate. Sojourn of the reveries again you must displease me, but in return a promised wish, and wish you do and wish you might upon this star, luciferous, the morning star.
Water: Water the settling water
there often after rain
it settles here
it stay moistest here
in the vclearing
is there water here
is there water here
we shall excavate to see
there it is water
like we thought
the gallons per minute
ratio is astounding
murky these water due
to it's need of filtering
a plastic culvert with
a goetextile or silt fence
wrap with large hole drilled in
to filter the poluutates and undesirable sediment
oh clear ye the water
a halluelia in victory
clar ye these springs
water water you and me
a submersible pump and airtank system
with bring these waters to us
praise ye
praiuse ye
water;water
praise ye!
I speak a truth too quiet to hear
And call that honesty in my fear
To show my scars upon my face
The terror sets my heart to race
Bare my soul my true inner man
A most fragile and terrible plan
So I hold my cursed sins close
And pray you’ll love the lying ghost
Soft and fragile, the black petals lay.
A hand plucked it, tucking sorrow in its pocket.
A venomous sting struck the chest;
desperate, agonized, the body convulsed.
Shallow breaths lingered—
pain devoured the blood of the soul.
Prickings gnawed at flesh;
a scream rose for release, alone.
The rose mocked the trembling frame,
whispering: “Pass me on.”
Its constraints laid bare,
it warned of bleeding more petals
for the next to bear.
The offered chance was welcomed,
unaware of the treachery it held.
Since then, the hurt loops endlessly,
leaving a black, glimmering petal
upon each bosom.
The cursed rose still hunts a worthy hand;
humans pass it on,
wrapped in bruises and despair.
Everyone bears a petal now—
while one shoulders
the ever-growing curse.
And the black rose waits…
for the final heart to shatter.
An unkept man lay down on the cold street.
He had no blanket and nothing to eat.
People passed by, but no attention shone.
Not one penny shared to help him along.
Alone, beatdown, a nobody, and cursed.
His existence is viewed as less than dust.
Gets little from the bureaucratic maze.
Nothing but a bush to shelter his head.
Jesus had no home for rest.
But some offered Him their best.
Some held Him with contempt.
Yet to the cross for the world he went.
The homeless are some folk’s vile bitterweed.
They shout out, “Cut them down and burn their seed.”
Have they not heard the words of Christ Jesus?
“I was a stranger, and you took me in”.
No easy cures for this weight on our land.
Most agree it has gotten out of hand.
But stalwart and gallant souls must come forth.
And show that all of creation has worth.
When the world turns a blind eye
Others must say, “Here am I”.
And just who that may be?
It’s His church, called the ecclesia.
{Note: “ecclesia” in Greek: the “called-out (ones)”, i.e., the church.}
there are rumors that evil still remains in twenty-twenty
on Gaiola Island, which is cursed according to many
Augustus destroyed Appolius estate in a bitter rage
And cursed Gaiola Island, which remained so at every age
The people who inhabit the villa there have had bad luck
kidnappings, drownings, and other horrors that suck
Gaiola Island is vacant now, ruled by the evil curse.
Whatever you think could happen, can turn out worse.
Palace halls hide thoughts
location clues glimmer bright
words echo when passed
images and places bound
anchor what the mind lets slip
Marble cracks hold screams
floors reek with forgotten tears
keys corrode to rust -
is this palace yours to keep
or the maze you cannot leave
I converse with my demons.
The monologues are endless,
Dark confessions on scraps of macabre memories.
My mouth stays shut after uttering blasphemies,
I terrorize my ghosts with the darkness of my fantasies.
I stumbled before the gates of hell,
It's too late — I'll end up in Lucifer's furnaces.
The journey will be chaotic until the final breath,
No consolation, only incurable wounds in this infernal abyss.
I smile at the angel of death like those fanatics ready to die for a few virgins.
My humanity embraces all the demonic facets of its spark,
Forever at war with a legion of the damned,
A procession of curses on the highway of immortality.
A few impure souls to sacrifice on the altar of repentance,
Pharaoh's blood to cleanse my dignity,
To be a slave for the glory of my oppressors — impossible.
To brandish arms — a saving urgency.
Throw me a banana, and I'll send you straight to the doorstep of my ancestors.
I learned to handle weapons of war in a banana republic.
I'm on alert, like those sleeper agents.
Servitude and submission are forbidden.
I preach peace, justice, and harmony,
But I do not fear the horrors of chaos.
My existence traumatizes my enemies.
A court-ordered fist full of responsibility.
An anonymous man, unraveling beneath the weight of his own faulty circuitry.
Infidelity sparked a chain of conformity—one so unfortunate, it defied precedent.
His kin, stripped of their once-rooted masculinity, wandered into an unfulfilling life.
When faced with strange anger, they clung to a mask—gleaming with false superiority.
Only a fool’s bargain could birth such a belief:
That fatherhood was never his choice,
But a manipulative ploy by a siren
Intent on masking her own deceit.
Though her intentions seemed dubious,
He clung to his delusions.
He chose alliance with a malicious visage—
A portrait of discontent and whispered wishes.
He refused to relent.
But in doing so,
He became consumed.
Exhausted by the very aftermath
Of the rattled child
He once claimed to care for.
the bells once rang with silver chime
in golden days of sunlit time
but silence clings where echoes fade
for now the land is lost to shade
the castle stands with hollow eyes
its towers scraped by ashen skies
no fire burns, no voices call
just whispers bleeding through the hall
the garden’s bloom has turned to dust
the rivers black with grief and rust
the villagers, long turned to stone
stand frozen cold, their names unknown
a wicked wish, a whispered spell
a promise made in darkened dell
a queen who knelt, a price was paid
to bring her love back from the grave
but love once dead will not return
and fate will twist, and curses burn
for now she walks where none still live
with empty arms and none to give
the curse will break, the tale will end
when one arrives who does not bend
who walks through shadow, calls the light
and dares to name the spell by right
but who will come, and who will dare?
the kingdom waits in poisoned air
a ghostly queen, a fate grown grim
the curse still sings its hollow hymn
Blisters of
disillusion
fester
and boil
Vision
rubbed raw
in the darkness
embroiled
False
expectations
lie scattered
and burned
Ignoring
our history
with lessons
— unlearned
(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)
The all-seeing raven, cursed by fate,
To witness all, yet never relate.
It sees no light, nor darkest shade,
Its wings spread wide, yet flight delayed.
The Raven Lord, lost to the void,
A monarch of what’s been destroyed.
What once it was fades, drifting slow,
Into the shadows it does go.
Pondering deep, a mind untamed,
In purgatory, it remains unnamed.
Forever lost in sands that climb,
A figure trapped outside of time.
Oh dear dandelions,
Where have you gone?
You brought me the wish
And left a curse along.
Oh dear dandelions,
I asked you for a healer,
For the scar in my heart,
But why do I have to sin,
And tear my world apart?
Oh dear dandelions,
Is this a fairy tale, or A cursed love?
For the curse is painful
Than my wish somehow.
Oh dear dandelions,
I don't want to let this go,
So I will gust a thousands of you,
Until the Tyche endures,
To let me own that soul.
As a societal pariah,
am I not deserving a grand denouement?
When my tale reaches zenith,
will I be shackled,
by the abhorrent atrocities,
your accursed kind has wrought,
upon my tempestuous form?
Light my pyre,
I need a tan.
Cursed out of my mind
Dream state is now my new fate
My poor soul ascend.
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