Twisting Smoke

I see upon the twisting smoke the source of darkling dreams.

Awkward angry figures that do naught but writhe and scream.

I see upon the twisting smoke an image of my soul, clouded and ephemeral, tattered and alone.


Echoes & Currents/Wanderer’s Demon

Echoes and currents of thoughts and ideas, of dreams that died and words left unsaid.

The regrets that haunt my sleep and rattle around inside my head.

Ephemeral currents of sadness too deep, of happiness unknown, and this anger I keep.

It’s like a ghost on my shoulder, the demon that speaks, it provides unspeakable inspiration, yet the cost is too steep.

The exile is lonely, the wanderer is cold, I stumble through this night, and all I want…

All I want is a home.

Tipping, Tapping, Don’t be Caught Napping

Tipping, tapping, tipping, tapping, don’t be the one that is caught napping.

They’ll snatch you up and eat your soul. Slough off your flesh and devour you whole.

Then you’ll awake and wipe a sweat drenched brow and think to your self just a dream nothing more, nothing less, just idle thoughts tipping, tapping at my minds door nothing more, nothing less.

Tell me my friend, how does that comfort sit when you pull your hand back and see the blood on your clenched fist?

How does it rest with a throat torn raw from the screams of hell,  that idea that whilst you were napping it was only just nightmares  tipping, tapping, at your minds door?

I’ll say it again and I’ll speak no more, I’ll not be the one napping as they tip and tap upon my door. It’s never just a dream, or at least that’s my fear.

Because quite truly friend, while it is a dream, and it might be less.

There is a chance, a slim belief, that those tipping and tapping at your mind’s open door, might indeed be something, not less.

But quite dreadfully more.

A Simple Seeming

Once I had a I dreaming that was much more than simple seeming,

Upon finding myself waking I found my form was shaking

With tears that were streaming and voice that with a quavering

Was calling for that feeling that dreaming that so much more than simple seeming

That image of a life, of a living breathing self with a calming caring touch

Something beyond this existence, this simple being

I find myself wanting this feeling this thing that had me living

Had me more than just being, more than a black casket husk

I had a smile, I did know joy, and I had a love all my own

But upon my waking I discovered my woe, because I did behold

Alas, it was but simple seeming, just a bit of careless dreaming.

Nothing more but simple seeming, and yet the seeming won’t be seeming to leave me be.

Splitting at the seams, the careless dream has shattered my hold

Damn and blast that cursed dreaming, that simple seeming that I see upon my sleeping

It won’t leave me be, I can’t forget that feeling that left the tears streaming and oh…

Oh, I wish I could.




Empty Air

I sit here and stare

At the empty Air

And wonder what it is I wish was there.

In that spot, that empty air.

Perhaps a muse, one to inspire my word and make me dare?

Dare to try and dare to do.

Dare to live and do more then survive.
Dare to thrive.

Or perhaps I see, in that empty air, a lover instead.

One to make me see the world, one to make care.

One to make me feel like more than words on a page.

One that might set me free of my own dreadful cage.

Oh I sit and stare at that empty air, and wonder what I wish was there.

Not that it matters, not that it changes.

The air remains the same, no wish comes true.

Nothing is there in that empty air.

No matter what I do.