Short Forbode Poems

Sadness.
My aching heart
strains to pump
its crimson life
and thus maintains
the whetted blade,
in dark forbode,
upon my neck. 

And tears,
whose flow
might ransom
my tormented mind,
lie dormant as
dry and
withered seeds
upon unyielding stone.

Might, instead,
I someday rise
and gaze transfixed
into the wholesome sky
with feelings of
forgotten love
that dare to
live again....

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The Mirror is my forbode
It shows fragility in my face
but my mental self preservation
still resides
I am dancing with light
Rim and Refractive light interludes 
bringing her reflective nature to fore


I am rewarded with both fear and delight
But I come without tears
Questions come to me
What  should and could I have been
An Academic  or A Police Officer
but my mirror comes without preconceptions
I am a drowned Man
The ghost of the future

...

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