Prose or poem. I don't know which. Some thoughts, I guess. looking ====== fury in the storm fading lightbehind the eyes sleeping babe inchurch stranger in theshadows' piercing gaze begetter andbirther both milk that satesthe hungry pit silence in thestillness comfort in thecrowd pattern in theweave elegance in thewhole absence in theloneliness treasure in the ground frustration in theglimpse aftertaste ofpromise you turn thecorner where are you now .............

That part which I thought broken is the only part that's whole. It helped me reach beyond myself into my very soul. Not demon at the gate, I see trying to get in But a soldier gone into the breach against oblivion My life you risked, I hated you you brother Caine in me Your motto: to try everything to set our spirits free When I had almost lost it all you showed yourself to be a reflection of His love His creativity Then helped me take another risk, a death defying ...

If she from grace did fall it was not dark desire but fatal flaw that brought her to our midst. Oblivion and Passion Lost are we. Within this putrid place for all to see our shaded husks, forgotten schemes, exploited and abandoned teens and tots. Now, claustrophobic dreams Has she of getting, using misery getting, using endlessly, each time sweet vein and blush of blood envelopes like a flood of death until last breath.

"I dare not try to make the angels cry," thought he, "because I'm scared they might get mad at me. Instead I hope that soon I might be safe, away from fear and shame and also hate ...and not to carry this alone but share the load." Someday inside these words if truth be told

Meter this, but matter that Bother this, then bother that Freaking, tweaking, birthing, shrieking Which beguiling muse begat Questioning, unquestioning Wrestling, then nestling This cursed gift that heaven sent Hell envies every sweet torment Which sin is it I must repent To rid me of this malcontent That's that. Thou brat. ( ..Broody moody festering, endless impish pestering… ) ...

Oh pillow embroidered for human warmth Moreau would find peace within your fabric Inside their microscopic vivisected logic Abomination: A clamouring denial for the whole Of your sacred preciousness And of their own.