Hello, old friend

When you've died a thousand deaths,
A certain resurrection emerges from this lifeless soul,
An uncertain friendship develops with death Herself.
You realise the pockmarks that had once been signs of dire infection
Are now worthy wrinkles of wise wanderings
That inspire you to invite Her on every adventure...

My final say on Love

I need to rescue this pitiful word from
Being a downtrodden rotten ragged rat of
A word , to evolving to the fresh warm taste
Of honey sprinkled on a green apple, sour sweetness
In a complete and fulfilled sort of pleasure

And nowhere do we know love better than
When it is ripped by loss, by the slow regurgitation of every
Morsel of apple in a pool of hydrochloric acid and rejection,
Every convulsion a confirmation, every gob of spit a reclamation
And that wonderful aching emptiness that is left, can anticipate
Being filled by the same sour sweetness, in some parallel future

Matryoshka

A doll within a doll within a doll within a doll,

Crackless exterior, walls within walls within an emptiness

What lies deep within, no man knows.

Secrets passed from matron to virgin, generation to generation?

A deep red rosy heart full of repressed love and affection?

An identity reaching from grandfather's grandfather to an ancient heritage?

No. Just a tear within a tear within a tear.

And beware, the cracks are beginning to show...

Si vis pacem, para bellum

Replace your cowering shivering fear,
With weary, dignified submission.
Your love inspired you to risk the world's treasures,
Stretched your every ligament beyond its capacity;
Just so your prostration could lift you to the Heavens

She said He looked at her like she was the answer to Life Itself or Children of the Shadows

We live and laugh as if we will not live for long

Although we live forever in the nightmares of

Our innocent mothers, as mistakes, as abominations

And regrets. They love us wholeheartedly even without another half

They hide us and shush the gossip, and we wish we could

Talk from the cradle like Jesus and plead our mother’s cases.

But we know that we are voiceless in our shame, we live with

The guilt of a man who brags of his love yet supports not

The product of such. Men who love too much, men who

Cannot control their love, men who sing on stars and expensive suits

With expensive flowers and gold trinkets until.

Until we wreck it all.

Abortion would have been more beautiful than a life without a Name

Where we are condemned to cower to society’s comfort, in Shadows.