A Cautionary Word

What is a flame to a raging inferno, nothing but a spark

When matching eyes that burn hotter, retreat is the only recourse



Those there eyes

The man that stares into flames with cold dead eyes, no hint of a flinch until the fire subsides
Is more a danger than the flames into a which he stares, for what lies within has more potential for harm, that part that suffers no fear
The person for which no other can scare, no other can stare down or even come close to control

Perfect Imperfection

The broken lie in pieces
The merry dance around
A shadow of the mistress
That cast me to the ground
A shadow of my misery
To remind of the debt I am owed

But the broken little pieces
That make a fractured whole
Are more than just a collection
They are the love that I have owned

Every little fracture
Every little mark
Each has a story
Each a mournful moan
To sing in sorrowful union
With the one who will remind me
It’s good to be broken
Good to be alone

Alone with one who gets me
One who will have every fractured segment
Of the thing I call my love
To whom I pledge all I own




On the fingertips it burns, pure energy that with incinerating logic reduces physical potential to an ethereal state, the tingling sensation a side affect of the restless clawing of air preceding the rabid out pouring of words that with the writers touch turns fragile paper to gilded form.

For the artist it is the longing call of their subjects cause, paper, canvas or stone it matters not, just the frenzy of the creative storm as with lashing brush strokes, hail stones of a chisel or the pencils simple charm that defines with much intentional force.

On the verge of a week that defines every fibre of my path I am perched with anxious activity and nervous pause, a step to which I am resistant but without which I will fall short of the chaotic dance, life as ever with its drama and poetic tones.

I face off demons; relentless cutting at my calm with their rapid claws, angels; whose docile voices and chants of peace conflict my need for action, fuelled by fury and more in need of angry cries, no less to note the fractures of my psyche that with fairy like nimbleness I must avoid.

This post to remain unfinished, until I know more of the events unfolding and their outcomes become clear, a sign my mind’s inherent instability will no doubt fight to establish its own motives within the landscape of my future, as I seek to write, paint and sculpt by own story.