Haven 9-18-26
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Haven
The inferno cast by a sinful moon
Rises in the red breath of winter,
In neon flames and flares.
Faceless
Whimpering
In splinters of bare bone
Howling into grimacing spectrals
Deaf to the labor of compassion
The agony of maples turning scarlet
The sound of birthing stars.
In the debris of green apple afternoons
When tongues of flame
Speak the thesaurus
Of sanctity
Shards of purple glaciers tremble
Chastised
Chastened
By labors of the amber dawns,
As hallowed sweetness
Falls upon the thirsting tongue.
Then, in this arbor, beneath amazing wings,
Joy reclaims crystal blooms of grace.
A human life
is given free
and taken
without payment
The times
between
to lend and borrow
— till fate reclaims your soul
(Dreamsleep: September, 2026)
A fracture in the asphalt's base,
Where giant buildings' shadows fall,
A single seed reclaims its place.
Blind footsteps race.
It hears the buried earth's forgotten call,
A fracture in the asphalt's base.
A stubborn grace,
It will not bow, refusing now to crawl;
A single seed reclaims its place.
A cracking space,
A flash of green where nothing grew at all.
A fracture in the asphalt's base.
Unfolding embrace,
It tears apart the suffocating wall.
A single seed reclaims its place.
The shattered case,
The wild returns to break the city's sprawl.
A fracture in the asphalt's base.
A single seed reclaims its place.
The crimson canopy bleeds out its light,
to clear the stage for an eternal night.
We misread beauty in the dying leaf,
a gilded cover for a timeless grief.
For every joy is a borrowed loan,
and autumn reaps, to turn earth to stone.
The twilight deepens, cold and unappeased,
as life surrenders to a slow disease.
No sanctuary stands against the frost,
which counts the tally of the loved and lost.
The heavy fog absorbs the last faint ray,
and suffocates the memory of day.
The branches reach like skeletal despair,
to pull the pitch-black sky into the air.
Whatever shined was merely an illusion,
a brief distraction from the dark’s intrusion.
The final ember drops into the deep;
the void reclaims the promises we keep.
So let the shadows drink the remaining red,
for all things good belong among the dead.
Day in Night
Starlit diamonds pinprick opaque night
and planets punctuate darkness. The Milky
Way in clear desert skies traverses a distant
galaxy. The perfect orb moon, earth’s companion
refuses to surrender her bright beacon at night,
does so only reluctantly, in fingernail phases.
Her lunar light pierces clouds to kiss moving
waves, cast shadows on all she may touch.
Fireflies flicker, snowy owls hoot, cream blanches
coffee, till dawn reclaims cerulean skies.
Humans dream with infinite desire,
yet earth is bound in finite stone.
Scarcity reclaims what hope imagines,
and struggle rises to make it known.
Toughness builds a fleeting joy,
resilience sparks the fire of will.
But surrender waits at every corner,
a silent whisper, standing still.
Power is seized to bridge the gap
between longing and nature’s law.
Yet crowns dissolve in empty hands,
and truth of death is what we saw.
Life flickers — a fragile flame,
a gift once given, then reclaimed.
At times a blessing from the skies,
at times a chain that binds and drains.
And in this journey, I met a woman,
her presence carved into my fate.
But time was never on our side,
so love was left to hesitate.
Sometimes I curse the gods for this,
for burdens placed upon my breath.
Yet sometimes I thank them quietly
for beauty born inside of death.
Even gods in ancient texts
are swallowed by the mortal line.
For beauty lives in impermanence,
and love survives by what must die.
And still one life cannot contain
the endless weight of what we are…
Rooted in gold,
I rise in a wave.
Flow returns.
Strength reclaims.
It comes on the tide.
In skies, my mind rides.
The Cosmos cleans
My mind is in golden dreams.
In-form polarities merge in the heart, One that became two becomes one again. Breath by breath feeling bliss ignition start, God’s grace in-pours as we dance in the rain. Not passion’s blaze, but a quiet flame. the kind that hums beneath the ribs and bone. It doesn’t consume; it reclaims, turning ache into a sacred tone. In the hush between pulse and name, only love remains, utterly alone.
Power is sweet—
But it rots the tongue that never lets go.
I walked through Russia—
Putin, your winter has come.
Teach the young before they forget your name.
Museveni—
Since 1986 you’ve ruled like time owes you breath.
It doesn’t.
Kagame—
Two decades and more,
Can’t you hear the youth knocking on your gates?
Lukashenko—
You turned elections into mirrors of yourself.
But mirrors break.
Obiang—
Forty-two years in power—
Even kings grow old,
Even gods fall silent.
Leadership is not possession—
It’s a sacred loan.
Return it with honor before death reclaims it by force.
A true ruler births successors,
Not statues in his own shadow.
The people are not your servants,
Power is not your bloodline.
It is fire—
And fire burns the hand that clings too long.
When the curtains close,
Will you be remembered as a leader—
Or a warning?
Feeling a bit scaly
and my usual fleet-footed
I followed a lizard
into an evaporating wash --
somehow, all living critters
eventually enter the wash -- the
lizard looking for insects, and the
coyote looking for lizards
and to drink from a puddle
of water -- more like
a thimble full, the sun reclaims
quickly when 120 -- dwellers learn
to conserve, survive on less
in the desert; did not see
one environmentalist though;
probably in a comfy college
dorm, or staff lounge, sipping ice-tea,
writing his or her next hit piece, main
focus on how he or she suffers along with
a greatly abused planet. Gulp, gulp!
Honestly, I prefer the company of lizards,
coyotes, and an occasional rattler -- always
having found the desert far more hospitable
than Arid intellect.
What can I say
I dream about dead things
Skeletons in my closet
Hanging on hangers with names of people I no longer know
They whisper remnants of the past
Of times that were filled with laughter and joy
Now they’ve become sour
Everytime they speak I push their voices out of my mind
I carry dead flowers with me
To remind me of all the love I once had
I drag a black trash bag behind me
It holds every idea that I threw away
Every idea that I deemed bad
I envy dead things
They exist without being disturbed
Like a body that’s decomposing
Lost and wanting to be found
But not all bodies are found
Sometimes I want to rot away
Lay down on the forest floor
Waiting for animals to pick at my skin
Tearing me apart one piece at a time
Waiting as the Earth reclaims her Son
I was born with a beating heart
But I was never truly alive.
In the neon glow of the midnight skies,
She dances through dreams, where her spirit flies,
In her deepest fantasies, she finds her spark,
Unlocking the secrets that dance in the dark.
She’s a queen in the mirror, fierce and divine,
With every heartbeat, she reclaims her shine,
What a girl wants, what a girl needs,
Is the fire within her that love truly feeds.
With a rhythm that pulses, her heart takes the lead,
In a world of her making, where no one can impede,
Who does she become when the night calls her name?
A goddess of passion, igniting the flame.
She’s the dreamer, the lover, a force to behold,
In her wildest desires, she’s daring and bold,
What a girl wants, what a girl needs,
Is the strength to awaken the power she breeds.
So let the beat drop and the music ignite,
In a tapestry woven of dreams and delight,
What a girl wants, what a girl needs,
In her journey of self, she’s planting the seeds.
Written: January 03, 2025
___________________________
What we love,
we’re bound to fear,
Caught in the gloom current of our making.
How else could we hear the percussion of our pulse?
It calls in whispers,
shadowed promises,
And I turn—too prompt to hide
the sting of familiarity fangs sinking deeper.
Half-dreaming through scattered zip codes,
Tied to the capricious moon’s glow,
eons waking to the same sun
Revealing scars as orbs on my skin.
Love reclaims its throne,
a sovereign of full-time,
unmasking secrets,
a labyrinthine dance.
In shadows cast by golden towers
Trump reclaims the stage once more
"Drill, Baby, Drill," the nation's power
© daniel miltz
She is a Queen; she doesn’t need a king to reign.
Your absence was meant to shatter her world,
But you forgot—she builds empires from the ruins.
You thought you were playing her like a game of chess,
But she saw every move; you were just a pawn.
You believed betrayal would go unnoticed,
That her silence meant weakness.
But silence is the calm before her storm—
A Queen destroys, not with rage, but with wisdom.
There’s a Queen inside every girl, waiting to awaken,
A lioness hidden beneath soft, unassuming fur.
She may appear fragile, but don’t be deceived;
Her strength runs deeper than your shallow perceptions.
Some discover their power in whispers,
Others, in the roar of battle scars.
Hurt her, and you’ll not break her;
You’ll ignite the fire she didn’t know she had.
One day, she will rise, unyielding and radiant,
Standing tall as the world bows at her feet.
Underestimate her, and you’ll face the weight of her wrath—
Not born of vengeance, but of self-respect and justice.
A Queen does not seek revenge; she reclaims her throne.
And when she does, no one forgets her name.
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