From the ashes of the past few weeks

As quietly as I entered this little world of free speech and open opinions I will rise from the ashes of instability’s flames, black wings unfurled once more as the embers of creativity burn me from within with the damning heat of a critics sarcastic barbs. So look deep into the night of my mind eye’s bleak and jaded vision of depressions crops reaching full articulated might, no happy thoughts to corrupt the endless winter landscapes of a once positive outlook striped bare.

And should I make it into the footnotes of a passer-by’s casual glance at all the treasures the week will reveal, a twisted smile of ill-inspired and twisted intent will creep itself across the open plains of my world weary face. So till the twilight hours of another day I bid farewell to all those willing to read my words, indulge my depressive edge and grant me a brief reprieve from the endless slaughter of life’s cruel torrent.

So to mark the second of the minute of the hour of the day I ask that with the beverage near to hand you raise a toast, saying under breathe or loud as a banshee’s cry “when hell is at the gates, there’s still a gate standing!”, an evil glance of unnerving insanity conveyed to anyone that would disapprovingly review your little display.

Till the next

Bob Larkin

Outward Eyes and Inward Lies

I burn as ferociously as a hundred suns cloaked within the shroud of a thousand shadows

The outward eyes of casting glances wash upon the vicious reefs of cold relent

Inward visions of the ever reaching landscapes haunt with beauty as realities collide

To break the fragile divide of desolate emptiness that borders worlds of untold wealth

A challenge of intent that only malicious minds of ill repent may cross with time

As upon the fertile ground those chosen for blind obsession will find their feet may tread

The heat of a hundred suns that with ferocious passion burn less worthy where they stand

Shrouds of a thousand shadows cast into endless mazes those that foolish whims have led

The reward for the proven worthy silently waiting behind the cold dead eyes of tearless sight

Never such a vision of beauty has haunted lesser sights with relentlessly heartless taunts

All held within the placid picture of sanity that profusely lies with maddening logic of a mind so bent

Behind a thousand shadows that with unnerving ease present an image of unwilling content