Obsession

Sallow heart, defiled soul
The glaring sun shines onto you and reveals the ugly truth.
Your deceit is your glory,
Your hate is your faith.
Musical lies spring from your tongue;
Snakes, waiting to strike.
Time decays as I stare into your hypnotic eyes,
Eyes which seize and grasp,
Never letting go of that which has been claimed:
My love for your black ways.

I Met You In A Dream

Have I met you before?
I've dreamed of you I think...
And
yet, I can't be sure.
There's something missing:
That wild and mysterious allure
That makes me want to run with the wind.
Why can't you be more like him?
Maybe...
It's because you can only be truly free in dreams.
You try,
But you just can't show me what's inside.
It's ok.
I already know.

And maybe someday...
We can run together in my dreams.

No.

In our dreams.


Memories

Memories:
Are like tumbleweeds, blowing.
They are seen for an instant, sometimes longer, then disappear.
This is how long memories last in the length of the world.

Stories:
Are memories that were related to others.
Stories can be told time and time again, sometimes changing, growing.
Still, stories fade away.

Tales:
Are stories that have grown beyond a simple memory.
There are many things that weren't there before.
Tales, too, will eventually be forgotten.

Some lucky tales are told so often, by so many people, that there is not much truth left in it.
These tales have become
Legends.

And still...
A legend will fade away,
Until nothing is left of it...
But a memory.

The Sky, She Bleeds

They scrape the Sky and make her bleed.
It may give you the freedom to feel free, to stand on their roofs,
but remember what happens to those who come to close to the sun.
She bleeds because she's hurt,
and she's hurt because you've taken some of her freedom.
She needs her space too.
So she bleeds, and she cries;
She howls and she wails and she pounds,
And still, you expand and control and try to conquer the Sky.
Next,
You'll be trying to control her emotions,
The weather,
A phenomenon.
Trying to overcome the natural challenges
Of rain and snow and sleet
Is like opposing God, the creator, himself.
She pleads with you, a weak flicker of sunshine in an otherwise cloudy world;
You don't listen.
You continue to build and build.

She dreams of the day when there will be nothing left
But dancing meadows and laughing trees and frolicking little lambs.
A day that will never come.
She dreams of dances for rain and prayers for sunshine.
She dreams of the past.
She hopes for a different future than the one
That unevitably will be.
Because hope springs eternal, and She is the Sky.

And It may give you the freedom to feel free, to stand on those roofs,
But remember what happens to those who come to close to the sun:
The tower that was once called Babel,
A tale of a Greek who flew high,
Look at where they ended up.
And this is what happens when you make the Sky bleed.

Love and Anguish

Sometimes I wish for someone to hold,
For someone to hold me.
For love, for love,
For even a dream of love;
For that would be almost as beautiful.
Alas, I am trapped:
On a rock in a storm of emotions,
with none gentle or cherishing
but hurtful and ferocious,
which tear at my soul ‘till I bleed.
And, oh! How I long
For a hand to hold onto in all this,
For rescue from this anguish,
For love.

I have no dreams,
Only nightmares in their place;
Which howl and torture me
With shining glimpses of what can never be.
Can never be, because of this anguish,
Because of this storm,
Because I am not free.


Haiku

In this blank hour,
The slate is clean, sun rises,
The city awakes.

A bunch of roses,
Bloom red, bright, waxy petals,
A symbol of love.

Ruinous city
Black stones, white ashes, fading
Greatness forgotten.

Dramatic Monologue - The Floating Skull

I float, I wander, and sometimes I race;
I am a floating skull with fleshless face.
And once, a long time past, I was a freak,
two-headed with two minds, the other meek.
But I, unlike my brother, was upset
that no good friends or women we had met.
They thought of us as monstrous, and not once
were we greeted with a smile: we were the dunce.
In seclusion we lived till our death cold,
killed by the reaper’s hands and scythe of old.
My grief and lust for hard revenge called out,
a necromancer came despite his doubt
and raised our rotting corpse to half a life.
How little did I know of others’ strife,
to not know of my brother’s rough unrest.
He started a fight, knowing I’m the best,
and I took off, so now I’m just a head
who will not have a forced path nor be led.
One day I met a priest, a young man who
jumped at the sight of bodyless me, who
crossed himself quick and tried to back away.
I swopped to in front of him, thought to say
“I need your help.” He shuddered in fear,
but I told him; he nodded, gave me his ear,
and at my tale’s end he said “You want what?”
“Put my brother to rest, this stinging cut
close. He is a part of me, and I don’t
want him to suffer.” The priest said “He won’t,”
gave me a pitying look. Together
we went to my own death’s bed, forever
to lay down my brother, who greeted us
with a haunting wail and a wounding cuss.
We quickly tried restraining him, I did
what little I could to help. In a bid
for forgiveness, I pleaded with him to
listen; told him that we would provide to
him what he wanted: dark, cold emptiness.
He hesitated, then agreed; for less
was his anger at myself from our goal.
The priest said a few words and in the hole
my brother went; a cross was held above
his head and he fell into pieces. Love
was last seen in his gaze. I said goodbye
and left to survey the land. I thought I
could maybe get revenge upon those who
had made me come to this, and went on to
my home. I found I had forgotten that
those who had tortured us were dead... and what
revenge is this? I pondered over the
idea of a haunting, but to me
it sounded very useless and dull.
What good’s the haunting of a floating skull?
So instead I wandered aimlessly and
eventually found a prophet’s hand.
The rest of the prophet sat up and said
“You’re Doomed to be ever unhappy, head!”
I glared at him and gnashed my damaged teeth;
He glared back and replied “You need to sheath
that attitude.” I flew away, angry,
but looking at my life I must agree.
What semblance of peace can I find out here?
I bumped along the road of undeath, fear
of no thing, nor any other motion
in my mind. Empty of all rage, notion,
and, not realizing at the time, lonely.
Some time after that I met the only
headless man around. He lived quite near to
where I used to, and as we outcasts do.
He was alike to my old brother, just
accepting slurs and insults that they must
deliver to make themselves bigger and
better. I pitied him, the poor lost man,
picked on by vain old fools. We talked a bit,
I riled him, and very soon we hit
the point where both of us needed revenge.
We joined together, skull and body, hinged
on the need to kill. Together, two minds,
we went into town to others remind
that what they do comes back. A child crying
reached us and we paused; lightly sighing.
What had he done to deserve this? These passed
on attitudes he learned, this needs to Stop.
We went to elders, threatened them and told
them to behave. We think they listened, sold
by my face and our undeath; how do you
kill one who is dead? So we went into
seclusion again, I stayed with him. He
was much like my brother; I longed to be
connected, but now I realize that I
was, all along. My poor brother. So I
helped the headless man take in those others:
freaks, who soon became my loving brothers.