The Psychologist

He stands in the attic
the wood old attic
staring at his subject
in the name of his study

His subject stands still
so perfectly still
But it's not her he studies
rather his own reaction

He measures his pulse
jots down a few notes
yet never removes his stare
from his subjects unblinking eye

How strange it is
that he wishes to know
the effect the dead has
on the living soul

Ah yes, she is dead
half rotten flesh
web like cloth
hiding her bones

She is hung from a rope
black hair so long
a look of murder on face
a face of murder on him

The two stand alone
in the wood old attic
a single candle burns
for him to take notes

His heart stays steady
he caresses her hair
no effect on his soul
no reaction in his senses

perhaps a new study
will need be conducted

A Dark Tree

I am a dark tree,
that lives in the field,
watching over grave stones.
They provide my meal.

I am a dark tree.
Single I remain.
Purpose to consume.
Their souls I do drain.

They suspect me not,
While their bodies rot.

The Cloaks of Truth

Falsities in the eyes of Truth are small

They are born, live well, and die well

And Truth looks down and smiles

For He knows they are no threat at all

Ah Falsities! How you still struggle to be

Envious of that eternal Truth you see

Whose very shadow tears you apart painfully

For you are no match, and He knows this, truthfully

Shut up! We Falsities are cunning Sprites

We'll give you a Kiss and We'll lick your feets

HA! There are many of us, but few can fights

And of us who can, we'll show you rights

We'll tell you something TRUES

That once we stole the Cloaks of Truth

And they are our strongest Weapon

For not many challenge us in the Cloaks of Truth

And we walk into your homes

And creep in bed with your childrens

Where we whisper in their ears

And twist their dreams into our machines

And you will wonder how that could be

And we will tell you,

we came by invitation only

Diversity

Diversity is like classical music.
The changes change.
The beauty is appreciated more and more,
the more you listen.
Yet, no two performers perform the same.

It is appreciated by those far and farther,
Bringing those two together.
It's older than the old tunes of father,
and his father's father.

But the question comes,
of what is said of me,
when I say:

That despite this music's
musical insight to the divine,

I sometimes like a beat.

The Man Outside His Shack

There sits the man in the fading sun
The air still hot and the labor done
Outside his shack a victory won
And tears down his face that just begun

Twas ten years when missionaries came
They did not come to reduce his pain
nor give him food nor God to proclaim
For if they had he'd remain the same

No, they brought a school those years ago
which brought his daughters great things to know
which brought escape from a one deathblow
And filling their souls with God aglow

No more would they rubbish through the trash
No more be covered in soot and ash
from burning their dead who could have last
had they known what's known of middle-class

They left for a greener side of life
not looking back to that land of rife
The man was left, proud, with tears of blithe
while stars illuminated his strife

Ode to a Life

The night is almost at an end.

The new born sun starts it’s ascend.

The last jet streams fade in the wind.

The colors which my soul depends.

My spirit soars with the new light.

Horses now chew dew powdered grass.

Life giving birds demand release,

Feared no more by the night’s demons.

I run, my view on that fair sky

Though the tree’s silhouette leaves try

With their mass to glory defy

And my dog, he runs by my side

The run is done, the mind is clear

The tree’s have lost, the sky has won

All heaven reigns loose upon this life

While my dog, he rests by my side

That day went on like other days

Yet had I known, I would have saved

Both him and all the tears I cried

For while I worked my dog, he died

It was a car he climbed into.

But child ran past and closed the door,

Unaware that our sun gives life,

Inspires life, and brings it to end.

The day was done, the sun had set.

Tears rose ornamenting the stars.

The dog, he rests in the cold earth,

While his greatness runs through my mind.

Cheer

I am in the moment of sound

Wear, yes wear, the mind wonders round

No need to express in structure

Break that

I am on 

What is it you see

When you wake up early

Witness to the sun

The same sun that tanned the skin of the greatest of our race

The human race

That has lived and has been

The simple fact of existence

It had to be

Even though it may have not been

This stream of consciousness

Does not ripple the intellectual hunger

Rather it stretches it

Until it has encompassed all

Let’s begin:

We are the children of ghosts

The world is for the taking

The stars shine for the same eyes as Socrates

The man who understood the mind

The mind that stretched across the night

The same night we hold

With the stars playing out their wars

On the nothingness that surrounds

And their only cheer is from life

However it’s not enough to live to cheer

It must be a thought to cheer

That evening war so dear

A Slackers Recompense

I've been slacking.

I haven't written you a poem.

I haven't drawn you a picture.

I haven't given you a flower.

And yet you still stay.

I know I've been slacking.

I haven't told you fun stories.

I haven't made you smile lately.

I haven't surprised you in any way.

And yet you still stay.

But I'll make it up to you.

Here is my poem.

Here is my picture.

Here is my flower.

They'll all be packed together.

When the petals fall.

And the night moon shines.

When the thorns glisten.

Crimson red.

And the fireflies act.

As Dancers.

As Fairies.

As Angles of the wood.

Trailing their path for us to follow.

Their soft red homes glowing along the way.

Up the ancient oak.

On the branches formed for sitting.

And their dance gives birth to stars.

Illuminating the indigo sky.

I, The God of My Dreams

I am the god of my dreams

I control the matter they present

And this time I know where I am

And this universe is under my command

I’m talking to you in that conscious realm

Inviting you to pull away that veil of reality

Inviting you deep within this dream

Which is all at my command

Proof that I am not a brain

Here we go running on the jags

Of the cliff that’s an instant death

We fall, the real thrill of bats within

But I do not wish to leave

Fly!

The whisks of clouds on the starry night

Warm breezes pushing

Like hot candy on my third sense

And you my beautiful other in hand

How joyful to not be alone

To gaze into your starry black eyes

Which are nets for my whales of love

Resting on our golden lilly pad

Which glows bright on the dark water

Where the fireflies dance around deep

A Sight of Hope

I am on my deathbed

My body is dead

My mind is fine

I think of my life

And I ponder

I ponder that which was given to me

Either by some incredible chance

Or by design

How I hope for the latter.