All Hallows Even

O' dance in the foggy gloom,
baleful creatures of the night,
under the moon macabre,
somber, fiercely blazing eyes
of the ravens, piercing maleficient
minds.

Run away now, my dear
under the inky sky!
Dash along the rickety
old bones, turned to
dust, revived by lurid
dreams.

Drink deep, potion of the dead,
alchemy of the ancients,
cadaverous mouths greedily awakened,
by the gnashing of teeth,
while each pace brings certain
doom.

Too late, for the earth is alive now,
with swarthy hands grasping,
a tangle of arms, pale in the
moonlight, taking you back
from whence you came, to sleep in the
darkness.

Malady of the Flowers

My amorous Dawn,
pause with me for a little moment,
here,
beside the sick flowers,
salacious Dawn,
why must you be taciturn now?

Brooding upon the darkness,
all the while, as the morning air
congeals around the colors of
God's eye, Dawn are you with me still?
I would that your threadbare love,
rival the world aflame.

Along the cottage streets where harlots
reign, glancing come-hither behind
the red curtains, billowy
with the rhythm of ancient blood,
Dawn, will you not rest with me
here, alongside my bitter heart?

Now Dawn, iridescent, resplendent
in the rosy clasp of Helius,
can you sense malady of the flowers?
Transcendent in your lost eyes, I falter
in the hollowness of reason,
and the ambrosia of time.

Empty Shelf

In the night-time hours,
the footsteps of a madman,
remain calm, even against
the call of the faceless
wonders, and the embrace
of the neon widows,
unfettered, unrelenting
the crunch of broken glass,
scattered underfoot, splintered
dreams, yet the feet keep moving
sometimes fast, sometimes slow,
always forward, till
everything becomes one in
the moonlight, still trudging
over bodies, sinking into
the marshy pavement, feeling
numb after one last drink,
and that look in her eyes,
speaking to me from the
edges of memory, soft words
and lips, painted across my own,
yet moving away now, afraid to
die while the night is young,
like a new star, the city
twinkles with pure intent,
yet remains incomplete,
a masterpiece torn by
regret,
gathering dust on an
empty shelf.

Untitled

Through that window pane,
as the rain rolls downwards
beady, loving streams,
in droves the innocents rave,
snarling eyes, with fear
in tow, balefully gazing
out that window pane,
when the waters' rush
outside muddy river banks,
spindly fingers caressing
frozen faces, cold breath
upon the window pane,
Death, that old
reprobate, hanging about the
trees strewn thick like haystacks,
he'll catch his death in the rain
dripping through the branches
like honey,
run away now, the view is grand
and there is safety in
numbers,
behind that window pane.

Silent Past

The morning bell tolls,
for those who listen,
a gentle reminder of
what things may come,
trace the path of the
sun from eastern
shores, for the west
is where all things end,
let your weary mind
rest now, unburdened
by the silent past,
live in the fluid moment,
not what is set in
stone, recall the
night, and embrace
the dawn.

Oct. 3rd

I got a little chuckle this morning when I was perusing the talk threads on Yelp. It's been just about a year since the end of my 3 year relationship with a certain someone, and this person is still obviously quite bitter about how it ended I guess.

What posseses her to do that? - She has a good man in her life, and by all accounts they are quite happy together. Despite this, she continues to make little jabs and references about me in public forums. I didn't even end the relationship - she did - so why all the hostility?

I realize that I'm pretty much an asshole when it comes to relationships; lord knows I've made mistakes, and will likely to continue making mistakes since I'm dreadfully slow on the uptake. But one thing I will never be is bitter. I want people to be happy!

This isn't the first time I've addressed this issue, I know, I know, but it seems to me that people ought to appreciate what they've got, and not let the past run their lives so much. In other words: grow up! Or don't, and remain a bitter and angry person. I'll choose the former, thank you very much.