It ends with the dogs of war being let loose,
Licking their bloody lips.
Karen overthrows and bestrides her enemy in the bloody fray,
Ignoring the loud exclamations of murder roared forth.
But it is impossible to discuss arrangements with
An impulsive man who has tears
In his eyes and both his
Arms round your neck.
I listen to BBC Radio 4 on a Wednesday morning with breakfast -
Listeners are encouraged to meet the highly
Intelligent, bright yellow blob,
That doesn't have a brain.
Where are you Madame Chrysanthème and your experiments?
Dirty. Loud. Brilliant.
I can not only predict, but also create future,
I'll become our fated love's binding suture.
I shall move the Heavens and the Earth
To show you how we're meant for a rebirth.
When you told me you predict things too,
I right then and there knew I am just like you.
After some time, I see all my life I learned
All about you, that man for which I yearned.
I intuitively know the love we have is true.
I'm remembering how I'll live my life through.
You thought I'd leave you, but I love you,
'Cause I waited for this love long overdue.
I feel sure now; even if we were to ever part,
Because of anything; you'll stay in my heart.
But I know with our inherent psychic powers,
We'll create a life that lasts more than hours.
I'm between the devil and the deep sea.
From the grabs of stress, I wish to be free.
Flaws, like storms, uproot me from existence.
Moments move like streams with no resistance.
With sloth and pride, my specks of soul are foiled.
I wash my linens. They seem to get soiled.
I thirst for care, concern, and compassion.
Why do jars of hemlock provoke passion?
I cry like a child that's dropped in a pit.
My life has been like garbs that are ill-knit.
Alone I sail on deep seas in cracked boats.
My mind, like an ant on a dried leaf, floats.
marooned mind
my capricious creation
designs psychic lattice
morphs into innate Narcissus
nestled in introvert isolation
where I am me, aberrant recluse
You Know...
AUTHENTICITY
Is Key When:
Performing or
Observing or
Relating or
...
ANY
GENUINE
Love & Re-Spect.
I Wish People
Would
Say Just A
Little More
Sometimes...
To Confirm.
Like I Would
Need That
Excuse
To
KNOW.
-Gray Squirrel
07-01-2025
Psychic storm ruins sanguine soul.
In the ravaged vale flows
the stream of sorrow.
Memory flakes flush
dregs of dream on dry tear trail,
etched on closed eyes, encasing hope.
Veil of midnight, shroud of ache,
A hollow heart begins to wake,
Unfed, unwhole, in shadow curled,
Craving life within this world.
A wraith unseen yet bound to thirst,
The agony—a wicked curse,
Flesh untouched but essence bled,
Hungering for what is shed.
Through trembling dark and frigid moan,
I grasp at souls, yet stand alone,
Each stolen breath a fleeting glow,
Still starving deep in depths below.
Ravishing grimness, wretched plight,
A suffering that breeds delight,
To drink, to drain, to taste the soul,
To feel—then lose—control.
In tortured pangs, my hollow cries,
A thirst that burns, that never dies,
No blood will sate, no flesh repair,
Only whispers in the air.
The void consumes, yet I remain,
Bound by hunger, wracked with pain,
A phantom lost, unseen, yet near,
Feeding off your trembling fear.
And when the night betrays the dawn,
Another voice—another gone,
A feast of echoes, dimly bright,
Devoured whole before the light.
Across space and time
All I can feel is your touch
Psychic connection we have
Never known your love
The memories ease the pain
Blue is my mood, think of you
The voice to skull, a ceaseless chant/
Echoes rise, but I shan't recant/
Technology presses, it tries to control/
Yet my psychic mind remains whole/
They yield body possession, twisting form/
Emotion manipulation, their raging storm/
But through astral wars, where shadows creep/
Unyielding, undefeated, my soul does leap/
Assassins strike, yet I defy/
Surviving wounds beneath the sky/
They call me the Antichrist/
A beast rising strong/
Commanding the world/
In battles endless, they call me/
The Beast that rose from the West/
My psychic mind, a fortress vast/
A war eternal, the dice is cast/
We had a prophet in our trailer court
His sign said “the Amazing, Seer, Mort”
He told fortunes all day long
Some predictions were decidedly strong
A few naysayers tried to chase him away
But the rest of us mobbed up and insisted he stay
I will be a queen in my next reincarnated life
The woebegone neighbor will soon be rid of her strife
The block’s meandering husband will soon come back
Mort the magician’s predictions have nothing to lack
We are all uplifted, when he reads our palm and face.
His prophecies are marvelous, full of lightness and grace.
With eyes that pierce the darkest night/
He weilds the most powerful psychic mind/
A black hole inside his chest/
Devouring any and all energy/
Every past life, a memory combined/
In a single soul, entwined, refined/
The King of Kings, feared by the Devil's lair/
A crown of crowns, in shadows rare/
Most beautiful, yet terrifying to behold/
A tale of power, dark and bold/
In silence he moves, unseen and swift/
His presence alone, the ultimate rift/
Through realms unknown, his spirit roams/
In search of energy, the hunger ravishing/
A Vampire of the mind, a force unseen/
The most fearsome, in the spectral scene/
I became a victim of the/
Government Psychic/
Operations Program/
With radionic and psionic technology/
The voice to skull is torture/
But, they can't break me/
They tell me to confess/
I refuse, I never done that/
They body possess me/
I will not give in/
They squeeze my liver/
They squeeze my organs/
Telling me to confess/
To things I never done/
I refuse to let them/
Silence and suppress me/
They lower my heart beat/
They lower my blood pressure/
They bring me to the brink of death/
I still refuse to give in/
They resort to voice to mouth/
I still refuse to admit/
To things I never done/
They body possess me/
So? I can do the same thing/
The feeling and emotions possession/
Are easy to fight/
The thought to skull/
Is easy to fight/
I thought we were the/
Land of the free.../
The psychic walked into a bar
She said “I don’t like this!”
A superstitious bartender screamed and ran off.
He left his wallet.
“You don’t like what?” her camera man asked.
The TV audience was wondering too.
I was holding my breath, awaiting her answer.
“I don’t like that mirror behind the bar,” she told him.
“It makes me look fat.”
Looking around with my mind/
With remote viewing/
I see a lady/
She turn on/
Her computer screen/
She beams and smiles/
At the red barn/
On her computer screen/
I smile with her/
Because, I understand life/
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