Three wishes? Oh, let's see -
how about immortality?
Hmm, that sounds good. However,
I think it would take forever.
You were sought for your beauty
captured in mid flight
swept away and abducted
euthanized in your prime
pinned spread eagle
for display and framed
so everyone can ponder
the cost of beauty's immortality
AP: 2nd place 2026, 3rd place 2026
sitting with my memories
takes me back in time
when the bright sun always shone
on lost youthful dreams
as time runs away from me
calling for the mundane of everyday life
why does it now sweep me up
and seemingly trot along
to embrace me as a co-conspirator
woven in the tight fabric of time itself
time and again we attempt
to turn back the clock by our reminiscing
only to waste time which only runs forward
or does it
can we change the past by altering the present but
should we
embrace the passage of time as we can’t stem its flow
in the race for immortality as each become a memory
Encountering the Spectre of Death,
She told it to hold its bad breath.
"I shall be leaving,"
The spectre said grieving,
"You shan't share my company, Beth."
We've woven Samson's hair, into Emperor's clothes
From the tangled web, that enough of us chose
We try to find our way back, while the drawbridge is closed
As the portcullis crashes on the cry in our throat
If we could but match it, with sincerity's tear
We might fashion a shield, and a mantle to wear
But if we cling to the cloak of the silk that's been woven
By the dance of the golden hooves of the cloven
We'll be trampled under, that stampede of lies
In the gathering storm, as it darkens the skies
It won't echo and thunder, as our epitaph
But a death knell our legend, as history laughs
At the folly of thinking, "We're better than that."
Swept into the dustpan, or under the mat
Placed at the bottom, of a yellowing page
In some forgotten tome... of enlightenment's age
In Castle Ravenloft he waits, a shadow crowned in mourning,
a king forged not by mercy, but by the cold precision of fate.
The moon hangs low at his command, pale as a forgotten vow,
and every star retreats, afraid to witness what he has become.
Once a man of valor, his heartbeat carried songs of triumph;
now it echoes like a hollow drum, remembering battles long dead.
Love, the wound he could not heal, carved deeper than any blade,
and in the silence, even his immortality trembles with regret.
Barovia kneels beneath his will, though none dare call it loyalty
fear is the soil in which he plants his eternal dominion.
Yet in rare moments, when the torches flicker and curtains sigh,
he touches the ghost of who he was… and grieves in secret.
For the curse that grants him endless night demands a greater price:
to hunger for what he once protected, to destroy what he once adored.
He is both sovereign and prisoner, ruler and ruin,
Count Strahd von Zarovich the immortal tragedy carved from midnight.
I’ve heard the poet’s voice
Many years now
It speaks from distant lands
Beyond sun and cloud
It comes not by choice
But flows in through me
I am its voluntary vessel
In its overflowing sea
Sometimes it comes
As in a trance it seems
Other times I hear it
In my evening dreams
It fills my soul
With everlasting love
Embracing me
With strength from above
It has a visionary power in its throat
To speak of death decay or growth
Or enter into sorrow or into pain
Or sing with joy and cheer all the same
At times it sings with music divine
Of truthful worlds hidden and sublime
Its tone is clear
Emotions wise and dear
If ever you should hear it
Protect it from your doubt
And you will surely know
What the world is all about
Its power is everlasting
Like the world it’s speaking of
Nothing that it ever touches dies
It has the power to immortalize
Its source is truly a Holy Fount
A sacred spring indeed
A voice that may often save you
When your soul may be in need
elongated branches of a wandering tree that wave and retract
In general it’s always,
Particularly in times of stress,
A good day to die
For the attitude alone
Of the one who actually
Lives forever.
(10/6/25)
A Meeting With Amitabha
On my way to meet with Amitabha
The Buddha of infinite light,
I ponder my life, my place in the world
Its trajectory, and my mortality.
Who is it that dies? What is it that goes on?
And where is this infinite light not found?
We all die, but how we do it
Makes all the difference.
They say how we live is how we die,
And so if this gives any solace
As we live our life, directly knowing what that is,
We get a glimpse what our death will be like.
The beauty though of being alive
While we are alive
Is we can always change its trajectory.
And so I head out to meet the Buddha Amitabha
As he sits resting, ever peaceful,
In his infinite light.
(9/13/25)
There is a hush inside the bone,
A silver thread the stars have known,
It winds within the blood’s slow stream
And carries time like drifting dream.
The lilacs bloom, then fade to dust,
The hands grow soft, then stiff with rust,
And all the while, the silent spark
Dims gently in the growing dark.
It is not sorrow, not regret,
But something deeper, quieter yet—
A lullaby the cells recite
To rock the soul from day to night.
The skin forgets the warmth of fire,
The lips lose hunger, heart desire,
And in the dusk, so faint and small,
The gene that sings—sings over all.
Angelically controlled power
quiet, fading
Eternal life
lacking references -
Hypothetically obscurity
Endangered vulnerable hearts
- triumph yet to come
truths we cannot scorn
you burry or burn
as manure, dried leaves live in ~
plants, leaves, blooms, and fruits
Whenever I am reincarnated
I would like to be a flower
For though its life may be truncated
a gift of love’s everlasting power
Dear Breath, will you truly forsake me?
Dearest Death, will you be kind to me?
My favourite Life, are you satisfied?
My quintessential self, do you truly possess this demeanour?
Temporary happiness is always godlike bliss,
Permanence is a dutiful curse.
The more I look for profound beauty,
The more I go far away from my salient appetite.
Karma never forgives anyone,
Building a church on my altar,
Building a cage that cannot be broken,
Inside that, I will be stuck for the time being.
The Grim Reaper calls my name just once,
The fragile cage cannot keep me safe.
The perfect Advisor is never going to fulfill me,
Until I admit, I want to be someone under His command!
Dearest Death, is the Grim Reaper your valet?
Dear Breath, did you come to rescue me?
Or was it just another pretence?
My sweetest Soul, are you really mine, or will you just fly away at another time?
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