In this life, Sir Barrow was a dragon. He was lying in a dark, damp den, sleeping. His enormous body was rising and falling as…
Category: Poetry
Sir Lancelot was old. His horse, a white mare, was every bit as gray and old as he himself looked. His armor, well made, shiny,…
I let my failures guide me Deep into the rabbit hole. Why do I crave this suffering? Oh, masochism of failure! It's beautiful in its…
I am living a lie. Tears crystallize in my eyes And turn into shards of glass. I am living a lie! Why happiness is always…
The past is dead. It's dead alright. It's dead like deadness of the night. The more I think of it the more It chases me…
Verse 1Birds, birds, birds, birds, flitting through the sky,leaves, leaves, leaves, leaves, trembling as they fly.Winds, winds, winds, winds, cold and sharp and stark,pins, pins,…
Insanity grips me within - I'm melting like ice in the sun. I cannot attempt to begin To fathom that I am the One. How…
To a poet the Universe is poetry: it does not have a fixed form, it is not always understood but it is always beautiful. To…
I am out of control... Like a boulder descending a mountain slope Like a runaway truck on an icy highway Like a burned-out stage of…
I see through the abyss I aim for the light but I miss I hit my head on the wall And I cry I sense…