“Spirits begone, the Anthesteria is over!” Acroplis soaked in blood. Let the games begin.

A poor and loathesome begger Through devious channels Put his filthy long-fingers Onto the head Of a young girls golden curls “You are my child,” he muttered Blindly, his rheumy eyes cauled over “You were birthed in the ancient Fires.” She didn’t cry Even when…

I am forgetting your voice. I dont have it captured anywhere. I kick myself for that All this technology Buzzing Brain melting stuff and I never thought to record your voice I remember my aunt used to record Christmases when we were little I want…

Worries bills and costs have haunted my dreams so to stop them I get up from my slumber with the hopes they would stop. Playing catch up like a horse with a dangling carrot I’m running in circles working for pennies and always losing sleep…

As an old soul in a young body I seldom find myself turning to others for company. I walk alone among the moss in forests long forgotten. As the the meak morning light shine upon rustling leaves, I listen to the elven tirads still ringing…

Clothes for my birthday! Surely my mother must know Her style won’t suit me.

He turned to me unexpectedly; a sense of urgency tension rippling through his body. A warning for those who never learned to swim in the vast ocean as waves are coming in, growing, twisting- foam almost breaking beneath the weight of all too many sea…

Poetry- a living, breathing, fiery thing. Each piece contains a world of its own. Words written in a grand fashion or secretely between the breaths. Take my hand and leap forward, let us transcend to angels descendant from a state of ignorant bliss.

All the kings and queens wear their crown of sorrow. Heart on their sleeve, throbbing, shivering with delight as the moon blesses them with her curse.

A minefield of accidental objects. Trip Fall Go Boom Woke me up. For another round. Probably my last. Goodnight Maybe… The alarm might be enough…