Poetry: I'm. . .

I see you there, burning, waiting for me to taste you,
put you to my lips and feel you enter me.
Exotic and dangerous, you invade my thoughts,
to touch, to hold, to taste you - I'm weak.

I want to give in to you, just as you want to give in to me,
our embrace burning both of us with our mutual fire.
Consume me, defeat me, let me take you in,
you're in my bloodstream and I like it - I'm yours.

You're bad for me and I know it, but I can't help it,
I should leave you be and go away, I know it.
I want to quit you and sever you from my life,
but I can't escape how you make me feel - I'm alive.

Burn me down and take me for who I am,
charred remains of a heart once empty.
I can't get you out of my mind and I don't want to,
you consume me, devour me, swallow me whole - I think I'm in love.

Writing: Moment In Time - Office Romance

He wanted to go to her, take her hand, ask her if she really didn't have feelings for him. He felt confused, frustrated, wanting to know if she shared the same feelings he had for her. He sat at his desk and looked over to hers, his mind going back to the night they spent together a week ago. Everything felt so right that night, but now things seemed twisted and wrong. He knew what he was getting involved in with her, but he never meant to fall in love with her. Now, as he watched her boyfriend walk over to her desk, he couldn't do anything but wonder if she really meant what she said when she said she was falling in love with him. He lowered his eyes back to his desk and tried to get back to his work, tedious, mind numbing work, but his mind was anything but numb.

He finishes file after file, making phone calls as needed, all the while, trying to decide what to do about this flame that was growing inside of his heart. He hears a commotion near her desk and watches her boyfriend gesculating wildly. He half stands and watches intently, noticing her eyes growing wet with tears as her boyfriend storms away. He wonders if he was the cause as he sits back down. His mind is torn, wanting to go over there and make sure she is okay, but he doesn't know if he should. What were they, he asks himself. They weren't dating, so he had to be careful on what his heart tries to make him say. His heart screams at him to go over there and take her in his arms, tell her that he loves her, but his mind knows that it would only confuse the situation even more.

His friend walks by and tells him that it's time for break, breaking him from his indecision. He gets up and walks by her desk, stealing a glance towards her cube and seeing her red eyes and tear streaked cheeks which tears at his heart. In the break-room, he pours a cup of coffee and stirs in his creamer. Taking a seat in the recliner by the window, he watches the rain spatter against the windowpane and the gray clouds cut through the sky. He doesn't even have to turn to know she was there, but he didn't know if he wanted to hear what she wanted to say. Would she say she loves him, would she say that she is staying where she is, he didn't know. He knew he cared for her so much that he would support either of her choices, swallowing jealousy and envy, binding his heart so it can't speak those words that would drive her away. He feels her light touch on his shoulder. . .

Muse Files: Say You Don't Love Me (And I Will Show You A Lie)

You confuse me, muse,
and in your confusion I swim.
Do you want me to love you,
or leave you be?

Veiled hints and veiled clues,
your mystery runs deep.
Try and tell me you don't love me,
and I will show you a lie.

Commentary: Blue November (Or Why I Feel Like I'm On A Nowhere Road)

Holidays are always a stressful time for people, I'm no different. All over the world it's the same. Hopefully people have those in their lives that make them happy and I'm not saying that I don't, but this holiday has been lacking. I am grateful to my sister and her life partner for creating a wonderful meal and a wonderful day of cooking and laughing, but the feeling of something missing is still there. It's a time for giving thanks, and I have to do that for a few things before I continue:

• I thank the wonderful people in my life.  All my friends that span the United States and beyond.  Most of you have been with me through the rough and smooth and I am lucky to have you all in my life.
• I thank my family for the wonderful support they have given me no matter my decisions in life.
• I thank you people that come here and enjoy my writing.  I wish I could give each of you a personalized message thanking you, but I would spend most of my days doing that.  As a thanks for you, I strive to provide you with interesting things to read and hopefully you enjoy them.

Now that is out of the way, I can settle in and speak what I wanted to comment on today.  Like many people in this world, I spent the time today with family, but still alone.  Family is great, but having someone with you is another matter all together.  I rarely have spent a holiday alone in the last 10 years, but this year I will be spending two (unless things change by Christmas).  It's not a fun thing to do, but many of us do have this predicament.  We survive through it day in and day out, but on holiday's, the isolation is amplified.

My own situation is one of my own making, so the blame is squarely where it belongs.  I have tended to fall for impossible situations, which, as the word implies, is impossible.  Like approaching a wall 100 feet tall and infinitely wide and trying to punch your way through, I stupidly walk forward with my hand ready to play battering ram.  This is one thing I am not thankful for, but I am thankful I have been able to avoid getting too deep in each of those situations most of the time.  The far away, the married, and the engaged, these have for some reason become a few of my favorite things, which is just a form of self torture, really.  Maybe it is a way of not having to get too close.  Maybe it's a way to keep myself from falling for these unavailable women.  Who knows, but I can say the second of those is wrong.  I have fallen, but I still drag myself back up.  Another thing I'm thankful for.

To the lonely on this holiday, I love you.  Simple as that.  Those the feel that there is no one that cares for them beyond their immediate friends and family, you have me.  That can mean nothing, something, or anywhere in between those to you, but there you have it.  I look forward to providing more bits and pieces of me and the world around me for you to enjoy. I am thankful that you all allow me to do what I love.  Happy Holidays.

Added bonus:  A few pictures of the people in my life, all of which I am thankful for:

Poetry: Addiction

Bursting at the seams,
the words roll from my tongue.
Searing like hot iron,
they burn your soul.

I dream in vivid colors,
they twist and spin in the darkness.
Tearing open your heart,
my words flow in you.

Your body and soul are mine,
trapped in my words.
Violent or soft, you don't care,
you enjoy the ecstasy I give you.

My words drip like honey
on your waiting tongue.
Savor it, taste it,
they go down smooth.

Looking everywhere but up,
you search in vain.
I am higher than you, above you,
but my hand is always waiting to pull you up.

I don't say what you want,
I don't feel what you desire.
Candy coated lyrics
keep you coming back to me.

Sizzling heat
sears your soul, demanding more.
You need more, but baby,
I think you're addicted to me.

Poetry: She's A Tragic State

She's a tragic state,
seeing shadows behind every compliment.
Armor of hurt and betrayal gird her,
impenetrable by the sincerest of men.

She once held me in sway,
much like many unlucky men before.
She's a tragic state,
running from all those that care.

I tried to bring her sunshine;
she turned it into darkness.
I tried to bring her joy;
she drowned it in her sorrow.

I walked away from her tragic state,
no longer entranced by look or smile.
She's a tragic state, that girl,
one I cant help or get caught in.

Writing: Moment in Time - Three Words That Became Hard To Say

It's funny watching life moving around you. Flowing as a river does around a rock. The currents of time are almost visible. I stand outside, watching the waters ebb and flow through the people around me. A glance to the right shows a couple, hand in hand, talking in blissful contentment, simply enjoying being together. It makes me wonder what their life together is like. Does he treat her well? Does she run around behind his back, living a double life in plain sight? These are a few of the questions that rattle and shift like pebbles in that immortal riverbed. Though these questions fill my mind, this is not about those two strangers.

I glance to the left, towards the crux of this tale. Two young lovers, or maybe ex-lovers, stand in the chill November day, talking. I have to rephrase that. One, a young blonde girl, is talking. Actually, I need to amend that statement as well. She is pleading, begging, her lover about something I can only hazard guesses at. The other, she is a mystery to me. I want to say that I am watching two females, but it is hard to tell. I watch the gender-unspecific person stand as if a statue; no emotion or words playing across her face. It's almost as if she has already cried every tear, yelled every curse, and heard all the words she has to. This young lady, whom I decide at that moment to classify as female, is done.

The blonde goes for multiple hugs, but the statue stands pat, hands never leaving her pockets. The air around me grows even more chill and I'm not sure that little miss statue isn't the source. I pull my jacket tighter around me, sip from my coffee, and continue watching the tragic play unfold before me. I wonder what the blonde could have done to receive the frosty return she is getting now. Did she cheat? Did she lie? Did she insult? I quickly fix that in my mind. Cheating is a lie and an insult. Love is not a word to be casually thrown around. I wonder if the statue would agree with me. With the way times have made relationships, three simple words have become hard to say, let alone mean.

I watch the statue move, which draws me out of my internal reverie, and watch her arms slide around the blonde. On the surface, to anyone watching, it looks like a simple hug, but it is anything but simple - there is no emotion behind it. The blonde realizes the same thing and breaks down, her head falling her now ex-lovers shoulder and crying. I feel for both sides of this situation, but as they say, young love ends like this all the time. With a pause, the statue hands her the vest she was wearing and walks away. The blonde holds the jacket to her face, almost as if she would kiss that unfeeling material and it would reach the one who was not out of her reach.

Watching love die from the inside of a relationship is hard, but watching from the outside is no easy task either. The words I write as I remember watching their sad dance does not give either of them justice. I wish I could see the future and the past, seeing what happened and what time has in store for them, but that isn't possible. With their loss still fresh in my mind, I look at my phone and the messages from my own statue and sigh, remembering those three words that I will never hear.

Writing: Moment in Time - Thought Process

He packed up his laptop and slide his leather jacket on, tossing the strap of his back over his head and grabs his keys. Drifting down silent roads on this night of fateful nights, he still thinks of her and what she means to him. She is the reason he is out in the chill air, parking his car at a playground he use to go to as a child, sliding his earbuds in and walking over to a picnic table. She is the reason he sits down, takes out his laptop, opens it up, and begins pouring his heart into each and every keystroke.

He starts off by apologizing, ignoring the small voice in his head that he has nothing to apologize for. Loving someone is not something you should have to apologize for, it softly yells. He pushes it to the side and continues typing, letting her know that he understands; that he can be a grown up and accept what was said. His thoughts break free from that line of thought and skitter across the memories of her, teasing him with how happy she makes him. His muscles freeze and his eyes shoot up, looking into the dark field in front of him with unseeing eyes. He sees her smiling, lying on his bed, his hands massaging her soft back, sitting in the cafe while they talked about everything and nothing all at the same time - he slams his eyes shut, trying to focus, trying to accept.

He continues typing, word after word, each one something he will not remember what he said, but he will remember the emotion behind them. His eyes glisten as he tells her he never wanted to make her cry. He signs the message "From, Me" and sends it on its way. Closing the laptop and returning it to its bag, he looks back to the field and sees the faces of his childhood playing football in the chill November nights. He smiles, reaches into his pocket and flicks his lighter, watching the flame dance between his fingers. The heat touches his arm, his neck, his chest, all the way into his heart, shocking him to find that it hasn't frozen over yet. He lights up a cigarette, stands up, and walks back to his car. He shakes his head with a smile, silently laughing to himself, telling his heart and mind that he went and did it, he's fallen in love.

Writing: Moment in Time - Best Intentions

They never meant it to get as far as it did, but now it's beginning to get out of their control. She was young, he thought, someone who he shouldn't be falling for, but he had. He should have kept what they had before, friends with the possibility of benefits, but it advanced beyond that. He had to wryly admit to himself that he had fallen for her. It wasn't exactly an easy thing to admit to himself, mostly because he knew that the reality of them being together was damn near impossible. He lit the tip of his Camel Menthol Light and turned on his Ipod, and walked from her building, thinking about three hundred things at once. His mind is swirling, he wants to be angry, he wants to be upset, but he's not. He respects every choice she has made and without a single glance back, he knows she is watching him from the window.

He gets to his car, pulls the ticket from the windshield, and tosses it in the backseat. He sits there for what seems like an hour, just listening to the songs randomly playing from over one hundred various artists. He slides his key in the ignition and feels the car surge beneath him. Pulling away from her building, he still doesn't look back because he knows that if he does, he would go back to her, question her, asking her if she feels anything near what he feels. Turning on the thruway, he knows he made the right choice. The music turns up higher and the wind whips across his face, trying to forget the way she makes him feel, but he doesn't want to. They still have some kind of connection, they both know it, and only time can tell where it takes them. He has the best intentions for her and her peace of mind, and he knows that she knows this. He smiles as the knowledge rests deep in his mind and decides to keep his own peace to make sure that she realizes he supports her, even if their affair comes to an end.

Poetry: Falling Back To Earth

A glimpse of sunlight - piercing the darkness
was all we were, but not anymore.
Blame could be cast on one thing or another,
but the blame is where it belongs - on me.
I flew too high and now must fall,
streaking like a comet through the night sky.
My wings melted as I closed in on your sun;
I tempted fate and took a chance - foolish mortal.
Lesson learned and filed under heartache -
words mesmerized me and kept me entranced - until now.
We will keep up our game and play it out to the end,
but detachment is key - even as pleasure wracks our bodies.
The Tin Man without a heart, standing cold and hollow,
follows the girl with dreams and desires - and her little dog too.
I bust out the broom and sweep up the shards,
putting them together with careful precision.
Keeping what I know clear in mind from here on out,
I wont be as careless again.

Poetry: Game (You Cannot Win)

When the dice are loaded and the cards are marked,
you can't stop playing the game you cannot win.
Your desires and hopes could fall to the ground,
leaving your head and heart heavy; sick with sin.
You gambled with Fate and you knew the stacks were against,
but you had to try to play just for an ounce of knowing.
Now the die has been cast and you close your eyes,
you close your eyes - afraid at what might be showing.

Trembling hands no longer run her soft flesh,
no more soft kisses sending chills down her spine.
The dice roll craps and your hands part for good,
leaving you to live the lie that everything is fine.
But the dice could roll lucky and Fate smiles down,
what you both want comes to fruition and grows.
Your kisses ignite the sun and send the stars spinning,
you burst the dams and your love flows.

Either is possible as you play out your hand,
playing a game you cannot win.
You keep playing despite that fact,
hoping to finally be in a place you've never been.

Poetry: All And Nothing (You Want)

I make mistakes,
sometimes making you upset.
I am far from perfect,
this fact try not to forget.

I tried to be what you wanted,
I tried to be what you hated.
I tried to be your friend,
but my feelings remained unstated.

I wake today,
acting like it never occurred.
I live my life,
knowing what I feel is absurd.

I watch you from my seat,
smiling from down the aisle.
I sip my drink and watch you,
hoping what you find is as worthwhile
as me.

Writing: Moment in Time - One Week

She stepped off the plane, grateful to be anywhere but home. She grabs her luggage after fighting to make her way down the terminal, a violent pit of despair for those not fast enough to keep up with the pace. She looks around until her eyes fall on him, standing against the wall, just as silly and sweet as she remembered him. Time slows, the people between them take on a languid pace, but he remains moving in real-time. He looks up and see's her looking at him, a sun lighting up behind his eyes. He wants to move towards her, but his limbs are trapped in slow motion, just as hers. They think, at almost the same time, that this is way too movie-like to be reality, and suddenly time leaps forward like an eager dog.

They spent a week together, roaming the city and exploring its wonders. He bent over backwards, giving her a tell-tale sign that his feelings for her have not lessened, in fact, even after the distance and the men (for her) and women (for him) between their last face to face until now, they have grown. He cant explain it other than just being with her makes him want to be a better person, makes him happy in a way that is hard to describe. She knows this about him, but walking around, he opens to her in a way she has never had someone. She is speechless, unable to think, perhaps not wanting to think, about the possibility of more between them.

Besides that single spark from him, he spoke of it no more, sure that silence on her part meant no. He drives her to the airport, talking of the amazing things they have done in the week. He parks and walks her to the security gate, not wanting to say goodbye. She doesn't know if she has hurt him or might hurt him, but holds him in a long embrace. His eyes close as he wraps his arms around her.

"I'll see you in a week," he whispers in her ear.

"You better," she smiles against his shoulder.

They both lean up and look into the others eyes, faces only inches apart. . .

Writing: Muse Files - One Hundred Lives, One Love

He runs his finger around the rim of his glass, staring absently out of the window. His mind deeply diving into his vast past. Unlike most men, whose past ranges back a few decades, his spans centuries. A quick glance around his office would tell you he is a history buff, a collector of rare items of ages past. To a certain extent, that assumption is true, but only to the point where the possessions of an owner would be considered collection history. Each priceless item from civilizations long forgotten were purchased by him from stands and stalls, potters, carpenters, and blacksmiths throughout the misty halls of the past. He has lived a hundred lifetimes beyond the people he had grown up with, his original homeland has been destroyed and rebuilt countless times over the course of history until nothing remained of the place that has given the world a person like no other. A man who is living history.

A soldier in the Royal British Navy was once a guard of the great Cleopatra herself. A signature on the most important document in American history was written by the same hand that penned decree's that sent people to torture for their religious beliefs during the Inquisition. The man who sits in his comfortable chair, high atop the flagship tower of his multi-billion dollar company once sat upon a throne, watching slaves battle in a grand arena, surrounded by blood thirsty Romans. He has lived every type of life in almost every society the world had to offer. Prince or pauper, king or carpenter, he has lived them all. He has fought and died in battle after battle, yet always awakens completely whole. Over the years, he has committed acts of terrible evil, but has done acts of undeniable good. Never staying in one place beyond a generation, making sure to never arouse suspicion, his life, though long and full of countless people and friends, stands hollow, echoing empty down the countless years.

He had loved once, only once in the hundreds upon hundreds of years of his life. He had spent a deliriously happy fifty years with the only person he ever dared to share his secret with. He can still see her in his dreams, both those while sleeping and awake. It has been over three hundred years since he held her in his arms, felt her touch on his face . . . felt the life leave her frail, elderly body when her time finally came. He met her when she was only nineteen, living in a small house with her family in the middle of some country, it's name escaping his memory. In all the years he had wandered the world from one side to the other, he had never been touched by love. Her response was enthusiastic, love coming to her just as strong and fast, or so she told him over those happy years. They lived in joyous serenity for the remainder of her life. He shivers as the memories flood over him, clouds cover the sun, casting a shadow through his office.

Beside the death of his parents, he never felt that type of loss before. Even now, high above the world in his tower of glass and steel, he is wracked by the memories, even after three hundred long years. He stands up, his chair sliding back as he pushes it away. Draining the last of his cup, he goes to his cabinet, pushing the keypad to unlock his most prized possession. The doors open and she stares at him. He stares back into her acrylic eyes, getting lost in the almost perfect painting. With lips shaking from the loss and grief pouring over him, he kisses her painted lips and slowly closes the doors. He walks back to his desk, looking like a man who is all business. His desk is covered with papers, letters to assistants to make certain his belongings are shipped to fictitious family members. Bottles, both emptied and spilled, are spread artfully around the desk, as well. A note to the board of directors describing the stresses of running the company lay propped up against the phone. With a deep, slow breath, he watches the sun slide down the horizon. Like a man going for a Sunday stroll, he walks to the window, opens it, and steps out.

Writing: Moment in Time - Battle of November 4th

Two men, war weary yet still resolute in their ideals, battle on the field of patriotic duty. Sword and axe clang, shields bash, and the flow of slash and parry carry through the air. Both men, drenched in sweat, battled across the country, their armies facing off countless times. After months of battle and countless debates of nothing but denouncing the other, everything comes down to one day; one final battlefield.

One man, unorthodox in his manner and approach, feels he is the answer to his kingdom's needs. He girds himself inside armor of righteous indignation over the coals his people have been dragged over. His sword, the mythical and long thought lost blade, Change, gleams with his ideals. He swings with grace and his stance is one of offensive defensiveness, ready to strike when the time is right.

The other man was born in another age, his armor and ideals mirroring his upbringing and history. He swings his mighty battle axe with barbaric rage, calling on the war-like fury of his ancestors. He hides behind the battle-scarred shield Mavrick, his stance set for aggressive offense, ready to strike and keep his enemies, perhaps friends as well, off balance and ready to be defeated.

The men do battle even as I scribe their tale here. They stand drenched, battered, and beaten, both ready and willing to do what they need to win. I cannot speak to which warrior will win, though my support has been cast for one and in the teeth of the other. The future of our kingdom rests on this fateful day, the future of ourselves and our children as well. Problems wait for the victor of the bloody battle, but whoever wins will step from the fire tempered from the heat of battle, hopefully ready to assume command and lead us back from the edge of darkness.

Writing: Moment in Time - The Affair

He could feel his heart racing after their affair. God, nothing was hotter than fucking somewhere you're not supposed to. They had only been seeing each other for a month or so, and he knew that what they were doing would kill their respective partners, but he didn't care right now. The euphoria was running hot through his veins. The touch of skin on skin, pressed hard against the wall of the kitchen. . . suddenly he falls, his hand flying forward to brace himself. Snap, his wrist breaks. He cradles it to his chest in pain, looking backwards with tear-filled eyes. Shapes, coming towards him, he can't make out much more besides their number. Three. Three large shapes standing over him, close enough that his eyes can focus through the tears.

Slam, his head goes ripping to the side as one of the men hits him with a pipe. The other two rush forward and hold down his arms, gripping tight on his broken wrist. The man with the pipe ignores his cries and slides between his legs, a smile showing broken, yellowed teeth. He cries out, trying to get someone's attention, noticing for a moment a young girl run back towards one of the payphones on the edge of the park, when he feels the man enter him, over and over and over. He cries out, pain and horror washing over his body as they take turns with him, silencing any further cries with a swing of the pipe. Laying bloody and beaten, his vision slowly fading, he tries desperately to crawl away, somewhere, to his lover, when suddenly the pipe swings down one more...

"Sir?"

The detective looks up from the body of the young woman and glances to the young officer next to him, his eyes clouded with unshed tears. He realizes he has been staring at her for a long while now, the CSI were almost done with their investigation. He reaches into his coat and pulls out his pack of Newports and flicks open his zippo, his face illuminated by the flickering glow of the flame. He turns around and walks back to the squad car, his mind still picturing the last moments of the girl he once had an affair with.

Writing: Moment in Time - The Moment

The sounds of constant teenage drama fades from his mind as Abba circulates around on the loudspeakers. He watches her head toss back, her blonde hair, glowing in the neon bar lights, swaying in tune with the music. Her eyes close and the worries of the world fade from her beautiful face. He can almost see the music mix with the liquor that flows through her body; combining with the light of her beauty and the glow from her soul.

He stands up and takes her empty, unnoticed mug. Going to the bar, he orders two more Guinness and turns to watch her again. In the time it took him to reach the bar, she had let the music take full control of her. She stands on a wobbly chair, one of the ones you would find at a low budget school library, and dances with enviable grace and freedom. Her eyes are closed and her waist sways in a seductive rhythm, challenging the manhood of every male in eyesight. He watches the eyes of every man covet her; desire her, before his own eyes go back to their admiration for her beauty in motion.

The song comes to an end, but her dance doesn't. Her hair moves with the music she still hears in her head, her face glows with acoustic ecstasy. Her body moves with sensual grace and he cant help but fall for her. Slowly he walks to her and takes her hand, helping her down from her small stage. He hands her the dark brew, his eyes shining with his feelings; hers glow with the moment and friendship.

Writing: Moment in Time - Parents Nightmare

The rhythmic pounding wakes him up from his deep sleep. Glancing to the beautiful woman lying next to him, he is thankful she is sleeping through the racket. Softly untwining her arm from around him, he slowly slides out of bed, his bare feet making no sound on the deeply carpeted floor. Padding out of the room and down the dimly lit hall, he makes his way to through the living room, dodging half hidden chairs and camouflaged tables. He reaches the door, flicking on a light and turns the knob.

Strange voices rouse her from sleep, forcing her back from her sweet dreams. The low, steady buzz of unfamiliar voices continue as she rubs the last bits of sleep from her eyes; just now noticing the emptiness beside her. Sliding from the bed and donning her robe, she walks down the brightly lit hallway. Catching fragments of the conversation ahead, she slows slightly, not wanting to interrupt. Words like "there was nothing.." reach her ears as her steps slow to a minute crawl. With one last fateful step, she walks into the living room, her eyes locked on his tear stained face, knowing without looking, the golden medallion given to their son last year lay tightly coiled in his clenched fist.

Writing: Moment in Time - Phone Call

She hangs up "the horns", staring at the black and white comical cow phone her mother gave her for her birthday two years ago, unable to rip her eyes from that sad cow. He seemed to reflect her feelings exactly. He called, stripped her of her dignity not unlike the last night they were together, where he left her bleeding and naked on her bed while she cried. While a flying cow might have been humorous to her in another time and another place, the startled cow smashed against the wall with the force of all her anger. Shattered cow parts get thrown across the room, raining black and white plastic shards half way across her forest green berber carpet. She watches with an intensity that could melt those little plastic cow parts, tears welling up behind her ice blue eyes.

She let him in again, into her life; into a place he no longer had any right to enter. Crossing the room, walking over the cow graveyard, she reaches into the oaken cabinet that she bought last year, with him, to celebrate their one year anniversary, and pulls out all the pictures of the two of them. She kept them in a small metal My Little Pony lunch box she used when she was a little girl. Cradling the box against her Flogging Molly shirt, she sits on a giant blue bean bag chair, her absolute favorite in the entire apartment.

Moving with agonizing slowness and trembling fingers, she clicks open the rusted lock and looks at pictures that flood her psyche with emotions. Fingernails painted with sky blue graze across his photo frozen face, and gently lift the picture from the box. Holding it gently, almost as if it was a delicate and easily frightened insect, she slowly moved her unoccupied hand to a small pile of papers and miscellaneous items sitting next to her big blue chair. A click and then a sudden flame, the photo starts to burn, lighting her face with a dark smile. Picture after letter after photo after note burned in succession, her emotions as volatile as the fire she is commanding. The last one burns, scattering ashes in her charred lunchbox among the ashes of the other dearly departed pictures. She stands up and gathers up the innocent bystandard who perished because of him. The cattle graveyard vanishes and the forest green is no longer spotted. All gathered in her little box, she puts it back in the oak cabinet, closing it slowly, all tears spent.

Writing: Moment in Time - Chances Never Taken

He strums a tune on his guitar, his foot tapping to the beat. She watches him from over the top of her book, careful to make sure he doesn't notice her staring. He does this all the time to her, she thinks. He doesn't even realize what he does to her when they are so close. The melody flowing from him washes over her like a gentle rain, filling her soul like water flowing into an empty glass.

He glances up, a shy smile playing across his face. He likes this girl, but will never say the words. His actions speak louder and clearer than any words possibly could. His fingers dance across the strings; his eyes across her body. He is one of those rare types who the girls like, but never get with. Not because of any disdain for him or he for them, but because he doesn't press his desires. He is an artist in every sense of the word. He lowers his eyes and finishes his song. Standing up and giving her a smile that makes her melt inside, he turns and walks out of the room.

Writing: Moment in Time - Second Chances Only Come After First

All he did was turn from his barstool and fate took over. Guinness rained on them, a glass shattered, and hurried apologies streamed from them as they stood staring at each other. It was almost like a made-for-TV movie, he thought. He offered to buy her a drink and snatched some napkins from the counter to help her dry off, but when he turned back, she was gone. He looked through the crowded bar, searching the endless sea of people before him, but she was gone. Sitting back down, he wasn't quite sure if he really saw her or she was a figment of a beer fogged imagination. He shakes his head and turns back to the bar, beckoning the bartender for another drink.

He was back at the same pub the next week, meeting a group from work for a few rounds. Laughing and joking around for hours, he felt the tension from the week slowly drain out of him, until he saw her by the bar. Absently excusing himself with comments unrelated to anything he was thinking about, he started to make his way to the bar. His eyes only strayed for a moment, as he was shoved to the side while cutting through the dance floor. Looking away momentarily, his eyes raised and he lost her again. Pushing and shoving his way to the bar, he asks the bartender who she was, but the bartender had no idea who he was talking about, he had been swamped all night.

He hadn't been back to that pub in a few months, convinced that fate was just toying with him. Giving him a glimpse of what he wanted, then snatching it away with callous disregard. Damn fate, he thought, as he turned his back on that place back then. He went to other establishments around town, but he couldn't stop himself from scanning the masses for that glowing blonde hair that his mystery woman possessed. Last call brought an end to the night and he began gathering up his belongings and waiving for the tab. A hand rests on his and the smell of expensive perfume sends his mind spinning. He looks into her eyes again, the months erased nothing of what he felt in that brief moment they were together. They talked for a few hours that night and a couple more the next day; then the next, and almost every day after that.

Today, they can trace all the trials and tribulations they have been through just as easily as they can trace all the wonderful moments they have had together. They would never have had any of it if they didn't have that chance meeting, chance second meeting, and then taken the chance on each other. When asked how they met, they smile and look at each other, just like that fateful night, and say, "In the rain."

Writing: Moment in Time - Leave

He watches her walk out the door, feeling the emptiness close around him; envelope him. Turning towards the window, he watches as she leaves the building, her hair waving its own farewell in the cool breeze. He wishes he could have done more, knowing he could have done more makes it worse. His head lightly presses against the chilled glass and closes his eyes. He hears her car door slam and the engine turn. He feels the rumble of the car moving across the cobblestones in his bones, shaking him deep in his core. He opens his eyes as she rounds the corner, the corner where they first met. The corner where they would last see each other.

He slowly sinks down, settling in the chair next to the window, his eyes unable to lift from the floor. He stares at the dish she threw, shattered and broken, lying on the floor in a beautiful picture of chaos. This was one of his problems, he thinks to himself. He always saw beauty in everything else, but never told her how beautiful she was. He was the deep artistic type, he berates himself, always thinking how to turn his life into poetry in motion. He would get angry when his life didn't match his writing and would silently accuse her for being the cause.

Now what did that get him, he asks himself as he looks up, tears standing in his eyes. A sudden sight strikes him with the blow of a sledge hammer. He notices for the first time the beauty she created for him. The play of colors between the rooms she designed. The warmth of the bedroom, the inviting nature of the bed and candles surrounding it. She tried to make everything as how he wanted it, but he never saw it. He stands up and looks out the window, hoping. . .praying she would suddenly be out there so he could run down there and beg her to come back; forgive him. Outside the window the rain just began, falling on an empty street on this chilly night.

Writing: Moment in Time - A Day In Dublin

Stepping off the plane, he looks around for the first time since he left JFK Airport. He kept his eyes off the miles of water passing below him in hopes to keep his excitement lulled. His friend pushes him, forcing him to step out of the way of waiting passengers. He looks out the window, across the tarmac, and into the heart of Ireland. His friend joins him by the window, remarking about how close it looks to an American city. He doesn't listen after that statement. His friend cant see the differences out there; this is definitely not America. They walk down the airport, passing by signs for companies and products they don't know. His friend comments on how many Guinness signs they pass, eliciting a laugh from them that draws some stares. He knows they know he is an American, with all the gawking and confused looks that come with being one.

Stopping at a pub, he pays in US tender, drawing a smile from the server. She steps to the side and pours the drinks while he and his friend talk about what they are going to do for the next few months. The bartender himself brings over their cups, filled to the brim with dark stout. The bartender explains to them that things are different here than from the States and they will have to accept it and keep comments to themselves. They agree with the bartender and toast to his good health. With a smile he turns to his friend, after the bartender slips away, and tells him that this feels like second nature to him. A few rounds later, they leave the pub and catch a taxi to their hotel. They lug their belongings up to their home for eight weeks and walk out, not bothering to unpack.

Hitting the streets of Dublin, he looks around from the doorway of the hotel. To the left he see's a long busy road, covered in shops and restaurants. Down the road to the right, he spots a few pubs and an old building surrounded by a grand lawn. Choosing the right, he starts down the uncrowded street, his friend pointing things out as they walk. Jumping from pub to pub, they begin to sink in the differences between home and here. They chat up locals as if they had known them for years. He danced with an Irish woman, in Ireland, which brought a laugh from his friend. They crisscross the street, never feeling alone in a foreign land, until they reach the old building, which had to have been a castle back in the dark history of this country.

Most of the roof was gone, given way under the centuries of weather and torch. The top floor looked to be uninhabitable, but the lower floors, which they found out on the tour, were able to be salvaged before they turned it into a historic monument. He was mystified and touched, standing in the heart of Irish history, something he had only done online or through books. His friend was in equal amazement, but his mind, the mind of a mathematician, marveled at the way the angles of the arches were, and commented continuously about how this building should theoretically not be standing. Following the tour outside, they walked the great lawn, which had to be over 20 acres of well kept grass and trees. They wandered the lawn, reading plaques and taking pictures with decaying statues.

The night was closing in and the tour was over, despite the unanswered questions his friend had for their harried tour guide. They left the castle and made their way to a pub, which was aptly named, "The Irish Dragoon". Just as before, as soon as they entered, it was like they had been there before. Splitting up, with his friend going to the dart boards, he wandered to the bar in the midst of a sea of handshakes and pats on the back. Eyes rested on him as the bartender gave him a subtle cue on what he was to do to stay here in one piece. Raising his voice so the pub patrons, one and all, could hear him, he shouts, "This round's on me!". A deafening cheer and some hearty pats to his now sore back, he is now fully one of them.

Dancing and singing, darts and pool, drinking and storytelling, he had the best night of his life. His friend talked up a young Irish girl and was headed back to her place and would be back bright and early. He smiled and raised his drink, noticing the men around him doing the gesture as well. Leading a salute to a brother in arms, he and his new Irish family wish him luck and virility. Hours pass, and closing time finally arrives. He shakes the meaty hand of the bartender and hugs more than a large number of men and women before stepping into the brisk Dublin night. A glance to his watch shows two in the morning and he heads back to his hotel. Going back up to his room, he shuts the door and stumbles to his bed. Lying on his back, he turns and looks out the window, a smile on his face. Tonight was great, he thinks, but he was only getting started.

Writing: Moment in Time - Great Day

Stuck, just like every time before. I sip my screwdriver, tasting the sweet orange mix with the bitter vodka. I watch my girlfriend in the arms of another. It was my fault that I am here. I folded every time I resolutely turned away from her. I would tell her we are over, yet days later she is back with me. Watching them, I sigh bitterly as I raise the glass to my lips. Same shit, different day, I mutter under my breath. Greeted by a questioning look from the bartender as I spin to face the counter, a quick glance over my shoulder gives him the whole story. He pours me another drink and nods in understanding. I chuckle to myself, maybe I am not the only person alone in this packed club. I glance once more over my shoulder at my, as of this moment, ex-girlfriend straddling some nameless man at a far back table. I sip my drink and set it down next to a small leather bound book that wasn't there a moment ago. Looking up into the darkest eyes and shiest smile I had ever seen, I know I would be a fool if I did not talk to her right away.

Hours pass between us. She ignited a passion for speech that I never knew I possessed. She never slouched on her end, keeping me enthralled, begging for her next story like a starving man waiting for scraps of food. Never noticing nor caring when the girl I arrived with left, this woman had me hook, line, and sinker. We talked endlessly of love and life, books, music, and movies. We danced for hours and laughed the entire time. I drove her home, walking her to the door. A kiss and phone number was exchanged, followed by another soft kiss. On the short walk back to my car, I look to the just rising sun. It's going to be a great day.

Writing: Moment in Time - Precursor

He wasn't sure who kissed who first, but as his eyes closed, he no longer cared. Lost in the sweet smell of her perfume and the ecstatic feeling of her mouth on his, his mind reeled in pleasure. His hands sliding from her hips, up her sides, feeling the warmth of her body under his palms and fingertips. He was lost in her kiss; the force of her passion mixing with his. With a slight movement, his body pressed against hers. His efforts, which were not in vain, brought a moan from her lips as she melted against him. He felt her hands slide through his short hair, gripping, pulling hard.


His alarm goes off on his phone, eliciting a silent curse at his class schedule. Reluctantly he pulls away from her only to be dragged back to her waiting lips; all thought of the alarm forgotten. His eyes close and his hands slide down and into her back pockets, pulling her to him, pelvis to pelvis. His alarm shrieks out another warning, making him wish he could just throw it against a wall. . .with her against it not soon after. He breaks the kiss and says his goodbye. He watches her turn to go to her class, her hair waving goodbye as she turns and jogs, for she is late as well. He has trouble making his body move towards the door, his eyes locked on her. Before she rounds a corner, she glances back with a message in her eyes. His heart skips a beat as her message was read loud and clear. Tonight, they would continue where they left off. Tonight, he smiles and turns to the door. Tonight.

Writing: Moment in Time - Worthy

She sits across from me, eyes flickering across the pages of her book. Toes tapping on the glossy, tiled floor, she reads to the music in her head. I sit on the couch, glancing up from my own novel, watching her read while bathed in the fading sunlight. She flicks another page and continues to read with iron clad resolution, never noticing the smile playing across my face.

I stop watching her, returning to my own reading though the smile continues to light up my face. She glances up from her tale to give me a questioning look. I glance up and return the look to her, enjoying the back and forth. A slight shrug and a flicker of annoyance mar her beauty for only a brief moment. I lower my eyes to the book, but not to read.

Thinking of what to do, I reach inside my pocket for the ring I bought her yesterday. I steal a glance at her, hoping she doesn't suspect. Deeply engrossed in her book, she would not see it coming. Her hair, cascading down her face, shields her eyes from me. I hesitate to move, afraid of what her response might be. Do I risk what we have for what we might or do I remain content with what we already have accomplished?

A deep breath and a push away from the couch answers my question. Foolish or not, the is no waiting any longer. I walk towards her, my hand dipping into my pocket for her ring. . .

Writing: Moment in Time - Musical Therapy

A song plays in the background, feeding my mood exactly what it doesn't need. I lean back, listening to the lyrics, but not hearing the song. "You tell me you love me, I ain't so sure. Love is something earned and not just spoken. How can I trust again, when I'm knocked to the floor. You cant always fix whatever has been broken." eases through my speakers and replays in my mind.

"Truer words have never been spoken," I say to the song, but like always, it never answers. I sip from my Sierra Mist and chat idly with a friend in Georgia. I am not sure if my answers have any relevance to what he is saying, but it feels good to just freely type.

The song changes to Breakup Song by Cowboy Mouth. "How appropriate," I murmur to myself. It seems to be a contagious disease affecting everyone lately. I listen to the beat, but the lyrics are lost to me. The beat is uptempo, electric. It moves through me, shocking my system like Cowboy Mouth always seems to do.

"Why you wanna do me like you do?" says the next song. I can look at many relationships and I wonder why these words have not been spoken. I lean back and think of the people I met since I moved up here, specifically her. It seems she has a thing for me, but I don't act on it.

"Why shouldn't I?" I ask myself. Sometimes it feels like everyone's against you, sometimes it feels like the world doesn't care. What you gotta do is you gotta get up, you gotta find your heart, you gotta find your soul, you gotta find those strengths inside yourself that make you take on the day, take on the world, that make you feel alive, the song answers. "That doesn't help me." I answer back. I know why I don't act on it. It's no secret to myself. I don't act on it because it's not her I want to be with. She is an awesome person, but she definitely deserves someone that can give her his entire heart and soul.

My mp3 list shifts again, Lips of an Angel plays. I enjoy this song. It makes me remember someone I don't want to remember, but the song makes sure I don't forget so easily. She hurt me deeply, but I think I am finally over it. I can think of her and not think of only the time I came home to an empty apartment.

I'm standing here until you make me move, says Lifehouse. I enjoy this song too. It reminds me of how I chase things that will more than likely hurt me in the end. No. That's not true. Fate has a way of twisting things and things might work. Things might not. I guess that's up to what God has in store for me.

There is no you, there is only me, screams out of my speakers. Appropriate timing I would say. I have lost my faith somewhere along the line. My beliefs and faith have been stripped away layer after layer. Do I believe in God anymore? I truly do not know the answer to that. I grew up a troubled child, prone to aggression and one day changed virtually over night. Only things did not get better for me. Things got worse and have changed me. I did not have a happy childhood I hear my other friends had. I did not have a happy adolescence my friends had. I did not have a happy young adulthood that I hear people have. My life has hurt and has kept me closed.

I turn off my mp3 player after I listen to The Atari's The Saddest Song. I finish off my Sierra Mist and close the doors that I opened up to share this post with you all. I lock them tight and turn off the lights.

"Another time, perhaps," I say to myself. "Of course, another time never comes" a smile wrly. I turn and walk down the corridor passing one locked and barred door after another. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your mom and dad left you with me for the day. I don't care if you want to go on rides. You're pathetic, you know that? Stop crying. What are you, a baby? Stop crying or I will hit you again. You know your parents didn't even want to keep you? If your mom didn't have a miscarriage, they wouldn't be burdened with you. Here comes your sister, if you don't stop crying, I will REALLY give you something to cry about. How did her door open? I close it tight, remembering her hatred of me. My aunt. The sister of my mother. Family is supposed to love you, I guess she never got the memo. Her words carry with me to this day. I was 6 years old and at a fair with my cousin, sister and aunt. I got the pleasure of watching them ride rides while my aunt destroyed my selfworth. I close the vault and lock it.

"Another time..."

Writing: Moment in Time - Sleeping Beauty

Her eyes close as she rests her head upon my shoulder. Stray hairs cascade down her serene face as she slowly drifts into slumber. My fingers itch, burn, with the desire to gently push back those rogue strands. Her breathing becomes shallow as she slides further asleep, my arm gently wrapped around her; caressing. I tilt my head to the side, resting against her soft hair. Closing my eyes, I drink in the moment.

Her body shifts under my arm as her head slips lower and settles on my lap. My fingers continue to lightly dance along her back. My eyes slowly open as I look down at the quintessential Sleeping Beauty laying below me. I smile and turn my head to look to the sky. Her hand rests lightly on my leg as she sleeps, while mine continues to moving soothingly. I watch the stars glitter in the sky while a closer one rests here with me.

Her head raises as she temporarily waves sleep from her mind. A glance at me and her head falls again to my chest. I lightly kiss her sweet smelling hair as her eyes close once more. Resting head to head, I close my eyes. Lost in a moment that wont last, feeling things that are difficult to voice, I sigh lightly. Stop thinking, I tell myself. Just enjoy the moment.

Writing: Moment in Time - Lunch

Out of the corner of my eye I see him. Like clockwork, he sips his drink, twice, every five seconds. Reading a magazine that only confirms my guess behind his occupation, he sits in suited glory. He eats his lunch with a studied ease and from where I sit I can almost feel the tension and stress from him. He glances to his watch, shakes his cup, and looks outside.

A crunch from the hastily eaten chips notifies me that he is done pondering. He thumbs faster through his magazine as I realize his lunch time must be nearly done. I watch him and wonder if he even suspects I am writing about him. If he did, would he be upset or would he be grateful to have been captured immortally in a forgotten medium?

Sneaking a stealthy glance to his table reveals an orderly aspect that I should have guessed, but somehow missed. Napkins, papers, receipt, drink, plate, all stand within an order of convenience. It impresses me, as a fan of order myself. I glance at my own disorganized table and smile. One for you, sir, one for you.

Does he know that I admire him even though I have never said a word to him? How would he accept the admiration of someone who has never made eye contact let alone speak to him? Magazine closes and trash begins to collect in an orderly fashion. He rises and leaves, leaving me with only more admiration. Marking his passing, a stack of clean, unused napkins sit. A gentleman to the end.

Poetry: Flirt

Eye's dancing,
sparkling at you.
Eyebrow raised,
questioning.

Slow smirk,
matching wink.
Signal strong,
are you receiving?

Smiling coyly,
head tilted.
Ask yourself,
do you take a chance?

Leaving silently,
door closing.
Wanting more,
do you have the guts?

Car waiting,
door open.
Smiling at you,
doors don't stay open forever.

Poetry: Songbird

Her voice
cuts like glass.
Striking my heart,
I fall in instant love.

Higher and higher
she soars.
Hitting notes that
could make stones weep.

My eyes glassy;
my breath caught.
She sings with all her heart;
I can hear it breaking.

The song draws to a close,
her voice still ghosting the room.
In my mind she still sings,
a songbird soaring on golden wings.

Poetry: No Vacancy

Stop! Go back!
There is no place for you here!
You know
you are not welcome!

Turn away! Hurry!
This is where the heart breaks!
You have
been here before!

Please stop! Turn back!
You don't want to be here!
You are
not welcome anymore!

I warned you!
Now you pay!
You never listen,
after all the times I told you!

Lock you away!
That's the only punishment!
You are stuck
with the choices you made!

No Forgiveness!
You will listen next time!
You pay the price now,
and pray.

This is where the heart breaks.
There is no reprieve.
You came of your own accord.
You never listen.
You'll be back,
you always are.

Poetry: Watch and Wait

Watching and waiting,
stuck in park.
People come and go;
I am the only constant.

Live and learn,
I bide my time.
Mirthful eyes
watch them pass.

You had your chance,
but squandered the opportunity.
I am beyond your reach;
better off for it.

I closed the store,
suckers no longer for sale.
No longer waiting, but
laughing while watching.


I get up from my seat, the chair sliding back, scraping on the bare floor. With one last smile, I look at the two of you. I hope he knows what he is in for, I laugh in the confines of my mind. As I walk out the door, I toss a final thought to you, one that you will never hear.

"When you grow tired of the game, look me up. I warn you, I won't be around forever."

Poetry: Drive

Drive fast,
it's a nowhere road.
Dark and empty,
you ride alone.

Drive hard,
it's a nowhere road.
Soundless and maddening,
you being to slip.

Drive endlessly,
it's a nowhere road.
Infinite and finite,
you feel confined.

Just drive,
it's a nowhere road.
Soulless and inhuman,
this road is best traveled solo.

Writing: Moment in Time - Heat

His kiss inflames her, causing her to melt against his body. Her mind exploded with desire when he opened the door and, with a smile that could stop time, pulled her roughly against him and brought their lips together. She has never been so forcefully taken by a moment and she loses herself to it. Her hands slide through his short hair, locking to it; pulling it. She watches through partially closed eyes the lust hidden in his. She grinds against his body, making sure he feels every contour of her body. She feels his hands sliding around her, caressing, hard and passionate.

She feels herself pulled against a wall, the cold of it sharply contrasting the heat radiating off of them. She feels his lips in a hundred places at once while he holds her arms against the wall. She explodes in ecstasy as primal moans escape her lips. She pulls enough of her mind back to make a choice on where to go. The bedroom is too far, she thinks. A smile lights up her sweat covered face as she looks to the kitchen table. She releases her arms and leads him away, her fingers wrapped around his belt.

Poetry: Vixen

You look at me
with smoldering eyes.
You part your lips
ever so slightly.

Enthralled as I am,
I know your subtle game.

An enticing dress
covers your long legs.
Moving with fluid grace,
almost without thought.

All eyes watch you,
as you soak up our adulation.

My mind clouded,
foggy with your essence.
Subtle changes free me,
clearing my head.

My eyes become shrewd,
I see your wake.

I watch them
watch you.
In the air
I feel their lust.
Watching with idle amusement,

I silently laugh.
They don't know you.

I smile at you,
wondering if you notice.
Your hold on me severed,
my heartstrings untugged.
A vixen in flesh;
an angel in soul.

You have them fooled,
but me no longer.

Writing: Moment in Time - Alone

He sits in his car, lost in thought. No, he ruefully amends, thoughts not lost. Every thought becomes text, scrawled in poor light on low quality paper. Watching the people walk to and from the bar he sits outside of, he can only imagine the world inside. There is no one generation that enters that den of booze and music. Old, you, middle aged, they all gather on common ground. The sounds from their combined voices mix with shouts into a microphone and the strumming sounds of music, all assailing him even from this considerable distance.

The night is warm on his skin as he sits in idle thought. Almost glad he did not go in, almost. A screech of feedback followed by an equally annoying screech of a singer confirms. The sounds of the night overwhelmed by the sounds of what some consider music. Admitting to himself that he enjoys it to a point, another sound returns fire. Almost in response to the singers challenge, nature herself picks up an interesting countermeasure. Birds, crickets, and assorted insects cast their defiant shout and create an almost violent concoction that makes neither man nor nature sound attractive.

He sinks into his seat, the heat affecting him more than he lets on. Like disobedient children, the contending forces steal away his inner thoughts. An artist trying to make a masterpiece from the inside of a loudspeaker, he smiles. Only fleetingly does his mind focus on one thing or another, but never long enough to remember. Romance, finance, life, and love all briefly skim his consciousness, but are just as quickly removed.

Snapped back from sour musings, he smacks a gnat from his neck. In that brief moment, he envies that small life. Born for one purpose, it gave its life in complete singleness of purpose. He slides even further into his seat, his mind focusing hard. What is my purpose, he muses, only to have his thoughts stolen once again. Not many people would do, could do, what he was doing now. Sitting in the warm Florida twilight, thoughtless besides listening to the fighting tunes of man versus nature.

Poetry: Storms and Stones

I gave everything
for one smile.
I tried so hard,
you never moved.

Like a stone,
you sat in granite stasis.
Cold and unyielding,
like a harsh winter storm.

I chip away
as fast as I can.
My fingers numb
from the cold.

CRACK!
Your shell shatters,
leaving you helpless.
Isolated safety
lost because of me.

Storm swirls
as you curse what I have done.
I weather you,
my eyes never wavering from yours.

Your storm passes,
and warmth envelops me.
You know why I did
what I had to do.

You might not
stay with me,
but right now
you thank me.

And for now,
your smile
is enough.

Poetry: Supernova

Bang open the door,
feel the quiver of my heart.
Tear my eyes from yours
and let lust enter me.

My clothes ripped,
shredded and torn.
Thrown backwards,
heat on heat;
we are going supernova.

Lips to skin,
skin to skin.
We are burning, baby,
lets burn hotter.

Flesh and sweat,
mixing in the air.
Sickeningly sweet,
the odor is everywhere;
intoxicating.

A scream
and tightening grip,
we collapse into one.
Breasts heaving,
eyes glazed;
ecstasy.

Writing: Moment in Time - Storms and Stones

The wind, a mixture of razors and sleet, rip my footing from below me. I slip, sliding quickly down the icy rock, all gained ground lost. I grasp jagged stone with numb hands, my fingers fumbling before gaining an unsteady grip on the harsh granite. Pulling myself to my feet in defiance of the wind snarling around me trying to crush me against the stone, I begin moving forward. Step by tortured step, I climb towards what is now a looming black obelisk seemingly within distance to touch, yet always tantalizingly out of my reach. Ice strikes me, burning me in an odd contrast to the cold that constructs it. I reach forward, my fingers sliding along a glassy surface.

Brushing the stinging ice from my eyes, I look up and see the angry clouds burst open with the desire to topple me from this peak. Reaching into my frost burned bag, I set a spike to the unblemished stone and raise my hammer. Like a screaming child, the wind shrieks, throwing the chill of the grave through my bones. The hammer slides from my hand, crashing with an clang barely heard over the storm surrounding me. Blinding rain and hail assault me as I scramble for the dropped tool. My frozen fingers slide around the hilt, closing tightly to make sure it does not happen again. I rise to my feet and smile at the storm. A crazy man laughing into the teeth of death.

Striking the stone with every ounce of energy I have, I feel the storm around me surge and sag. Again and again I strike, the storm waxing and waning with each strike. Pitiful gasps of sleet slap me across my frostbitten cheeks as I strike without pause. Ragged gusts of wind try to knock me down, but I strike without hesitation. A small crack grows larger, until the stone shatters in a glittering shower of earth. The clouds burst, broken in the sudden sunlight. I see her standing before me, outraged that I broke her isolated protection. I look up at gathering clouds, fearful of what I had done. As quick as they gather, I watch as they break faster. My gaze lowers to her face, emotions streaking across it faster than the swift moving storm above us. A smile lights her face, bathing me in brilliant sunlight. The easy part is done, I wryly smile to myself, now comes the hard part. I step forward, my hand outstretched. Her eyes betray nothing as she looks at me, smiling.

Poetry: Probability

The funny thing
about imagination is
there are many ways
reality can play out.
One of a million.

One door of
a million opens,
while the others
slam shut.
Only one way to go.

You have no choice,
you walk through
only to see
a million more choices.
The game is afoot again.

You lead yourself on,
hoping for one, but getting another.
Diluting yourself, but
never shocked at the outcome.
You know the rules.

Shrugging because you
know the game continues
every time
you make a choice.
You keep playing.

Eyes forward,
you continue on.
A million doors close,
but there is always one open.
You take your chances.

Poetry: Mental Jungle

Thoughts race,
bunching and bounding.
Tall reeds of memories sway
as the pack streaks by.

Mental jungle,
lush and green.
Parts are slashed and burned
by the thoughts of you.

You set fire
to my mind.
I can't see through the flames
of my own making.

Racing faster and faster,
the pack flies towards you.
Dancing a seductive tease,
you smile as you see them approach.

Taming thought,
you continue to set me ablaze.
I burn for you,
but the flame can't last forever.

Poetry: Caught In Your Web

Patient spider,
you wait for my mistakes.
You see me twist in your web,
feeling the strands pull tighter.

I no longer see you,
patient spider.
You watch my struggle with calm eyes.

Was I a fool
to be caught in your web?
It was designed to entice;
that it has done.

I see you sway towards me,
patient spider.
You want to give your fatal kiss.

Caught in mesmerizing eyes,
your kiss is all I want.
My mind still struggles with wrong and right,
my patient spider.
You have me caught in your web.

Poetry: Inaction Impossible

Heart flutters;
hard to breath.
One step either way
and things change forever.

Stranded;
no assistance to be seen,
ice freezes in my veins.

I lose my mind,
seeing both possibilities.
Torn in half,
I want to slide down both.

Two haves
fluttering in the breeze.
Someone put me back together
and make me whole.

Poetry: Did It Happen?

Odd thoughts,
racing pulse.
Did what happened
really happen,
or was it just fantasy?

Oceans of feelings,
raging seas,
fling my mind about.
Did what happened
really happen,
or was it just a memory?

Two clicks
and the chamber is empty;
but no gun to my head,
the gun was never real.
Did what happened
really happen,
or was it illusion?

Living a life
where I am center stage,
grinding words
for the world to enjoy.
Did tonight really happen,
or is it tomorrow that's the lie?

Poetry: Unnamed

Nerveless fingers
caress your face,
or try anyway.

You sap
my energy
with smoldering
eyes.

Mouth dry;
eyes locked.
You have me
completely.

Where will
this go?
Only time
will ever tell.

Writing: Moment in Time - Poetry in Motion

He walked down the green lit sidewalk, a smile playing across his thin lips. Splashes of color stain his almost obsessively clean clothes. He walks with a carefully measured step, the soles of his glossy shoes never coming in contact with the smallest crack in the cement.

With a smooth, unmarked hand, he grasps the handle of the door and pushes lightly. The dim lights inside cause him to shade his eyes slightly; refocusing. Stepping inside with that same measured step, he surveys the crowd, much like a king upon his kingdom. Sliding off his uncreased midnight black blazer, he drapes it over a chair. With eyes that burn with eagerness, his step becomes crisp; resolute as he moves towards the crowd.

He takes the stage and lowers his head, letting a beam of pure white bathe him like some transcended angel, gifting the crowd with his presence. He lifts his head, the same smile playing a tune of its own along his lips. Eyes as blue as sapphires lock the room to him. He talks as a man possessed, with the cadence of a master poet. The audience, rapt, enthralled, ceases to breath, almost as if a single breath would ruin the moment.

He lowers his head as the final word slides across his perfect lips, signaling the end of his oration. His kingdom stands in silence as he slowly, in that same careful, measured step, departs that radiant light. Recovering his blazer, he walks out the door. Gone as fast as he arrived, he leaves the people yearning for more. Making his way to his car, the smile he always carries becomes a grin. Another night, my friends. Another night.

Poetry: Man of Steel

Born in heat unimaginable,
the fires of desire
hold no sway over me.
I gleam shimmering silver,
in the light of the sun.
My steel torso
is molded to perfection,
holding a treasure of springs and
clockwork that make up
my soul.
I stare with eyes of glass
at a world afraid.
Frankenstein's Monster,
evil incarnate, they scream.
I gaze upon them with
robotic unconcern.
I walk away,
iron soles cracking pavement.
Society shuns;
I coldly ignore.

Poetry: Ireland

Shimmering seas
beckon me home.
On a distant shore
my heart waits for me
to return.

Her emerald eyes
gleam in the sun.
Her captivating figure
pulls at my heart.

She sits lonely,
whispering me home.
I want to swim
the empty in between.

My lovely lady,
you have known me for so long.
You are my hearts desire,
draped in a jade dress.

When we are one,
our dreams will be reality.
I love you, my dear,
my Ireland.

Writing: Moment in Time - Guardian Angel

You have betrayed me, she said as she slowly turned her face to hide her tears. He had, he bitterly thought. She was always there, eager and willing to help him any time he needed her. He would never forgive himself for last night; for many nights before.

You refused to listen, she sadly spoke as she walked out the door. She was right, he screamed to himself. She guided him true for years, but he had lost hope. He took what he wanted and damned himself in the process. Last night was the culmination of his fall from her grace and for that she would leave.

When will you learn, she said as the door softly closed. Never, he cried as he sank to his knees. He would never learn now that she finally had enough. A guardian angel will only save you from yourself so much. He had learned that fateful lesson now. He stood up and looked out the window, watching the street through the streaking rain. He watched her walk away and never look back, never once blaming her. This was his damnation; his fault.

Poetry: Wunderlust

Driving until
there is no road,
I begin to walk
and never stop.

I reach
lands end.
Taking to ship,
my journey continues.

Collision with ice,
I walk the frozen tundra.
I circle the world,
uncaring of my path.

It amazes me,
our blue gem.
Standing in perfection,
that is only seen afar.

I walk the land,
the sea, and sometimes air.
I see wonders
you have only dreamed of.

My only regret,
as I walk these endless miles,
is walking them alone.

For one night,
I stop in a town that has no name.
For one night,
I find love.

Wishing to stay, but
wunderlust overcomes.
I take to my endless trek,
never to be seen again.

Writing: Moment in Time - Happy Ending

She carried all that she is in hundreds of chains around her neck. She walks as if nothing bothers her, but draws an air of isolation about her. Pushing away those she cares for, the foundations of her life, she begins to falter. She goes to work and goes home, her life spinning in tune with the sad songs she listens to in her car.

Alone at work, she toils for meaningless hours for meaningless people who never tried to understand her. Alone at home, she sits at her computer, looking over the pictures of the ones she pushed away. Her tears fall to the ground instead of when someone was there to wipe them from her face.

She waited and waited, never finding the one she needed. She saw the people she pushed away grow happy in their lives, while she stood alone. . .until he came. He swept her off her feet and she lost herself in his embrace. The chains around her neck shattered at his touch and he wiped away the tears that stood, not for sadness, but for happiness.

One day she stopped showing at work and her apartment was empty. The few people that still knew her searched for her, but they could not find her. They went to his house to see if he knew, but it was empty and a swinging for sale sign stood in the lawn. They left the night before, they left to start a new life. She was finally free. She was finally happy. They lived happily ever after.

Poetry: Artistic Musings

I write beautiful music,
yet never strum a string.
I am an artist,
who marches to a different beat.

I can make a masterpiece,
yet never make a brushstroke.
I am an artist,
creating beauty with the tip of my pen.

I produce the best works I can,
letting my soul burn into the pages.
Works of art stream from my lips,
feeding your starving minds.

Some work for a broad audience,
yet I write for an audience of one.
I have always written to please her,
yet I do not know who she is.

A shimmering pedestal
is what I have placed her on.
Beyond my eternal reach,
so I throw my words to the wind.

Higher and higher they carry,
possibly falling on deaf ears.
I am an artist,
who does not know defeat.

Poetry: Saints and Sinners, All I Ask for Is One Night

Saints or sinners
all blurred lines.
I feel the scream
boiling inside.

I cannot move,
stuck in the between.
I scream aloud,
shattering the last human parts of me.

I can no longer love,
the devil succeeds.
I can no longer touch,
the savior succeeds.

I scream in frustration
at what I have become.
I am hollow inside,
begging,
for just one night.

Poetry: Sinking

Air fades,
only darkness remains.
Watching light fade above,
Sinking.

Time ceases,
memories flood.
Trying to scream,
no sound escapes.

Pulled free,
light rushing around me.
Helping hands vanish
as I begin to sink again.

All I get is dragged
up and down.
No respite,
I resign to my fate.

Drawing in,
I sink faster.
I wish others
to never see a fate like mine.

Poetry: Social Butterfly

Always watching,
I conceal a smile.
You drift around,
a butterfly in a garden.

Your wings brush my lips
granting me your kiss.
Of all the flowers here,
you have chosen me.

Flowery images
fade from view.
My arms slide around you,
cocooned in the moment.

You melt into me
equally as lost.
Tonight we are one,
tomorrow who knows.

As the sun bursts,
beckoning in a new day,
I continue to watch;
I continue to smile.

Poetry: Liquid Love

Tossing down drinks
that flow like waterfalls,
I glean only fragments
from the world around me.

Lights become tactile,
sound becomes flavor.
Reason falls way to desire
and she is what I want.

Rich and dark,
like she should be.
She never says "no;
you're never not good enough."

In my mouth,
in my mind,
in my soul,
she comforts me.

My liquid love,
I would do anything for you,
but as Meatloaf so emphatically said,
I wont do that.

Writing: Moment in Time - Goodbye

I opened the door to an empty room that once held our life. I looked around, my emotions turned off, and took it all in. The brightness was doubled as the curtains that used to play like care-free ghosts, vanished never to be seen. The wooden floor, kept warm with his Persian coat, was left cold and shivering.

The cupboards were bare, having sent the dishes and cups to a permanent camp, like unruly children. The tables and chairs. where we sat for hours on end over a cup of coffee and a small dinner, vanished right before my eyes.

I make my way to the bedroom, where I hear voices laughing. I enter to only find still air, tossing in my hoarse breath. I drop to my knees and cry. I cry for what was and what never will be again.

Writing: Moment in Time - Opportunity

Picking up a pen has never been more rewarding, he smiled to himself. As he bent down, his eyes lifted to gaze at the center of his universe; the object of his affection. She is everything he has ever wanted. As he lingered on one knee, his eyes traveled up her perfect form.

She has the looks of a classic movie star, just like the ones he sees when he watches AMC. The sound of her voice brings tears to his eyes, almost as if he hears an angel sing its adoration. To round out her perfection, her mind contains a wit and intelligence that rivals the worlds scholars.

His eyes cloud momentarily as she kisses her boyfriend. Maybe not so perfect, he sadly admits. Slowly rising to his feet, he sits and reclines at his desk. Why is it never his turn,he demands of the uncaring silence in his mind. Why cant he find someone like her? Turning his mind from those morose thoughts, he continues his briefly interrupted work.

Writing: Moment in Time - Memoirs of the Imagineer

My pen glides across the paper, leaving beauty in its wake. With the grace of an eagle, it dips and dives, creating a masterpiece that only I can truly understand. When I write, a movie springs forth from my mind. As I paint the scene, I slowly make your reality fade. You see the sky as I describe; you feel the breeze that blows by your face. You see what I describe, savoring every detail like a full bodied wine.

I take you into my mind, showing you wonders you had never seen. Colors that never existed in the real world sparkle of scales off creatures that never were. Laws of physics, concrete theories that govern your world melt away, as you move deeper and deeper into my imagination. Time ceases to matter as you feel the freedom in my words.

Suddenly it's gone. You feel yourself thrown back into reality, only now you don't know which is which. You glance at the story, or maybe reality, you just read, feeling unsure about which to believe. You still remember the feelings you had as you lost yourself for a short time; the freedom you never felt before. Luckily for you, there is another opportunity to enter my mind. You turn the page and open the door once more . . .

Poetry: Why Do You Bother?

Why do you bother?
Am I some project
some charity case?
Do I make you feel
as If you are doing something good?

Why do you bother?
I am not perfect
not in any way.
I am flawed beyond reason
a shell
hollow and cold.

Why do you bother?
Showing me tenderness
when none is deserved
smiling and laughing
why do you bother
when I am nothing
at all.

Poetry: Swarm

A Nazi covered in bee's,
you are a joke.
Of all the villains Spiderman fought,
you can be defeated by RAID.

What special power
lurks in your arsenal?
What super mutation
can help you win?

A Nazi covered in bee's,
that is all you are.
You are an Eddie Izzard joke
in brilliant Marvel-made colors.

Quickly I toss your issue
as far from me as I can.
Swarm, I'm sorry to say,
you are a failed experiment.

Poetry: Love, Loathe

I can picture
every move you make.
Stealing my breath
with every glance.
I love you
and I loathe you
for what you made of me.
When every line I write
is about you.

I wish I could stop,
but I know I never will.
Controlling me,
though you don't know.
I wish I could stop,
I loathe you,
I love you.
The lines have blurred.

Someday I'll learn,
but not today.
Today I love you,
and tomorrow we'll see.

Writing: Moment in Time - Second Chance

The wind whips around my face, burning me with its hatred. The trees, barren and dying, claw at the uncaring sky like skeletal hands rising from the ground. The grass, once lush and full of life, lies brown and dead, breaking under my feet.

I turn around, the dry grass protesting beneath me. I look to the horizon and the blood red sun as it sets, wondering how life came to be like this. I hear a sound from behind me and look up into the steel colored sky. My eyes follow the long procession of helicopters towards the small city, laying toy-like, in the distance. I watch as they disappear into the burning pool that is slowly lowering in front of me.

The flash is bright, so bright that I need to look away. My eyes, burning in that blinding light, struggle to see ahead. The cloud rises, forming a mushroom and a ring of light that speeds outward towards me. I close my eyes and picture her face, the one I love, as the light reaches me. I feel no pain and see only pure white. My body no longer has no weight, but I realize that it is no longer there.

This is the legacy we have left our children, I regretfully think to myself, as the lights slowly dim. Darkness comes slowly, but up ahead, a light. I cannot move towards it or away, only stay where I am, wondering if I will ever see her again. Yes, I am told by a soundless voice.

The wind caresses my face, slowly whisking across my cheek in a caring embrace. Large trees wave in the breeze, their leaves rustling in a gentle melody. The grass below me, green and full of life, moves in slowly rolling waves outward towards a small city in the horizon. I look up into the bright blue sky, crisp and clear. I was wrong, I think quietly to myself. This is the legacy I leave to my children. With a smile on my face I turn to her and gently take her hand. It's a beautiful day.

Writing: Moment in Time - Doors

He wanders the halls of his mind, looking into rooms long forgotten. He sees his pains, pleasures; fears, conquests. He moves through each hall, stopping to remember things he never wanted to forget. Memories of his childhood, long vanished from thought, return full force. Memories of loves lost and loves forgotten return, and bring forth a sigh.

He turns a corner to stare into a hall of possibilities. Mixed together like different color balls in a ball pit, the possibilities stretch as far as he can see. He slowly walks down that endless corridor, closing certain doors. She has beautiful features and a beautiful personality to match. He gently closes that door. She smiles at him melting his heart and making his spirit lift with her voice. He sadly closes that door as well.

Standing before another door, he stares, unable to move. She gets him in a way no one else could and makes his heart stop every time he thinks of her. She is his perfection; the perfect concoction of beautiful, passionate, crazy, funny, exoticness, and vivacity. He takes hold of the door handle; his hand feels like a lead weight. He does not want this door to close, but knows that it has to. Burning her essence into his mind, he struggles to close the door. Her smile rends his heart as the door slams shut.

Turning away, his head hanging with loss, he walks away from this hateful hallway. He walks alone, by choice. A choice that will haunt him forever.

Poetry: Star-Crossed

He leans into her
only to find she's gone.
His heart falls
shattering on the cold ground.

He walks away
wondering what he's done.
He walks away
never to be seen again.

His memory lingers
in the hearts of his friends.
His memory lingers
in the heart of his love.

She never meant to leave
she wanted to stay.
She pushed him away
knowing his heart she would cleave.

Now as two stars
they crossed quietly in the night.
They both cry for what was
and what can never be again.

Writing: Moment in Time - The Ball

I watch those around me make clever comments and small talk. I slowly close my eyes, smile, and try to pick out individual voices from the roar of the crowd. I hear future plans and stories of the day. I hear the laughter and frustration in their voices. I smile as I visualize the moments they describe.

I open my eyes and look into the faces of those around me. I see joy and pain. I see sorrow and salvation. Some hide behind clever comments, while others hide behind outrageous stories. The people I care about have many ways to hide themselves in this masquerade.

I walk around the ballroom, hidden in a mask of my own. I drift from conversation to conversation, dancing around the salt and pepper shakers. I listen to small portions, glancing too few facts to know what they talk about. I glean my impressions from the tones of their voices, the forced joy they try to pass. They act as if their problems vanish when they enter the room, but they were their problems on their faces. Masks so intricately carved. Masks created from the most precious materials on the planet. Masks made to last forever.

As I slide between the plates and forks, I reach the band and listen to the song playing in the air. I hear a melody slowly cascading throughout the room, matching the emotions and masks the revelers wear. I slowly move to the center of the room, politely excusing myself as I bump into glasses and napkins. I reach the center and begin a solemn dance. I remove my mask, to the shock and awe of those present. As I dance, I look around and notice, for the first time, imperfections. The masks which seemed so flawless and stunning are cracked and faded. Crumbling into dust before my eyes, I shyly smile and return to my dinner.

Writing: Moment in Time - Want A Lift?

With emotion veiled behind vapid smiles, she accepted a ride to her car. Pain and troubles seen and understood, but unspoken. The world flows by the window, taking her away from a source of pain that only she could ever truly understand.

A short minute long drive seems to bring time to a halt. With an attempt to help accepted, she graciously thanked her driver and stepped away from the car. The driver, while never looking back as he pulled away, did not have to. In his mind, worry and concern took control, forcing him to forget his petty problems.

He will never know if he helped, but that was never his concern. His concern was with that young lady in her car who, with buried emotions, drives away.

Writing: Moment in Time - Dark Water

I stand on a lone rock, surrounded on all sides by water. Still and calm, almost as if it was a sheet of glass, the ocean surrounds me. No land in sight, no signs of life. The water is dark. Darker than the dead of night, which holds me in it's terrifying caress. I dare not move, afraid I will fall into that darkness which might be water or an endless hole which would swallow me whole.

Trembling with a chill not born on wind, because in fact, there is no wind, I slowly kneel down and stare deep into the dark water, hoping to see something, anything, that will break the surface and the complete darkness. My reflection is swallowed in that inky water before it has a chance to form. I reach my clammy, trembling hand down and touch the surface and feel the water move around my fingers.

I stare in amazement at the water that was a second ago flat as a sheet of ice ripple and quake. A speck of blue appears around my fingers and grows outward. A shimmering blue surrounds my hand as I see that wonderful azure shatter the darkness around me. With the speed of light, the shining blue light shoots out in all directions, obliterating the dark water as it goes by.

Suddenly surrounded by shimmering light, I stand up in bewilderment. The chills that wracked my body vanish as the sun once again warms my skin. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, intoxicated with the salty brine scent of the ocean. With a mind clear and unafraid, I take a step off that lone rock and fall into that crystal blue water. I never returned to that rock or the life I left behind. I found contentment cutting my path through that sea that shined like diamonds in the sun. My new life agrees with me and with a chuckling thought, I wryly remember a time I did not believe in life after death.

Writing: Moment in Time - Control

I have no idea where I am. The wind tears at my clothes like an absent lover. The sand, all glossy and black, shifts and moves with a life of its own beneath my feet. The waves swell and break on uncaring rocks, sending stinging spray into my face, making me turn away. A mocking thunder rolls across the purple clouded sky.

I stop and look around, taking in the wind, the sand, the waves, the rocks, and the clouds. I feel the anger in each of them. I feel the frustration and fury each of them holds. I close my eyes and raise my right hand, as if asking each to stop and hear me.

I feel the anger swell, as they spurn my offers to help. The waves break with a heavy crash and lighting arcs in fury across the dark sky. The wind whips my face, leaving marks deep and painful. The rocks, showing their defiance, turn jagged and harsh, threatening me with daggers of their own.

I refuse to back down and still plead for them to listen to me. I listen to each of them and one by one they calm. The sky, dark and threatening, floods the beach with light as the clouds part. The waves that were once hammering their hatred, calm until the sea is a sheet of azure-emerald glass. The rocks, abandoning their daggers, soften and start to break down, turning into pure white sand. The wind, ceasing it's infliction of pain, calms to a gentle breeze. The sand, glossy and black, changes around me, spreading out, with the speed of thought, a pristine, soft, white sand.

I lower my hand and drop to my knees, exhausted beyond the word. I bow my head but smile a weak smile as I cup a handful of sand. I let it trickle between my fingers as I watch with wonder as the sand twirls and twists around them.

I rise to my feet and look down the beach, breathless in its beauty. I continue walking, no longer caring where I am.

Writing: Moment in Time - Hall of Dreams

I walk slowly, just before the first classes end. I stop when I reach the center of two intersecting halls. The gleaming floors stretch out in four directions, door after door receded down those endless hallways.

Sudden waves of people assault me, released like a raging bull; pouring from every door. They swirl around me like the unruly ocean around a small, unnoticed island. They push and shove, currents pushing and pulling them, but never interrupting their flow.

As they move around me, the colors they wear meld into streams. Streaks of red, yellow, blue. Rainbows of colors flow about me, drowning me in rarely seen beauty. I watch them move hurriedly from class to class until they stream bed empties again; the color fading.

I stand alone, silent. No words able to describe what I just experienced. I look down those gleaming halls and remember the flowing rainbow that suddenly surrounded me, only to fade just as quickly. Almost... as if a dream. I continue to my next class, still lost in the colors of that endless moment. Now the halls seem lifeless, refusing to shift and move in dazzling colors. Until, that is, the next time the unheard signal sounds, releasing their multi-hued flood once again.

Poetry: End of Days

When fire consumes
all my life's work;
when bitter cold
buries all my memories.

When the darkness breeds
evil beyond imagining;
when the light fades
and hope disappears.

The end of days,
bringing damnation.
The end of days,
my last hope for salvation.

I watch the flares
in the night sky.
I see the light
racing towards me.

I feel no pain
as my flesh is torn;
I feel no pain
as I no longer live.

The end of days,
come soon or far.
The end of days,
my last hope of salvation.

How shall I spend
my final hours?
Do I become
a devil or a saint.

My soul hopes
I make good,
my mind
knows better.

I am neither
a devil or a saint.
I live a life
I deem worthy.

The end of days,
the final reckoning.
The end of days,
my last hope of salvation.

Today I do not think
of the end of days.
Today I think
of a better world.

Today I think
of a place to raise my children.
Today I think
I will try to make it better.

The end of days,
the final hours.
The end of days,
I wish you ill will.

Keep back, world's end,
stay away forever!
I want my children to live!
I want my children
to see the birth
of theirs.

I sit back
and enjoy what comes.
The end of days will come,
but I can do my part to stall it.