Writings of Sir KyL

Movements of Shadow and Light


The Nice and Accurate Apocalypses of the good Knight KyL

Poetree...... 4

Invocation To The Now Silent Muse. 5

The Winds. 6

The Empty Chair 7

Ilium.. 8

Tristan Moon. 9

Amber 10

Alone. 11

Shattered. 12

Blood. 13

Fossils. 14

Writing. 15

Marooned. 16

Ants. 17

Down To The Sea Again. 18

Broken Hands. 19

Ad Hominem.. 20

My Old Ring. 21

Shadows. 22

Nightmares and Masquerades. 23

A Rose for the Kimberly. 24

The Price Of Peace. 25

Apocalypse, broken shadows and forgotten Dreams…... 26

Thirty Pieces of Silver 27

The Apocalypse and The Masquerade. 28

Distant Thunder 29

Uncreative. 30

Eternal 31

I. The prelude. 31

II. The betrayal 32

ETERNAL: The dénouement 35

The Snowflake. 36

Words. 37

The Dance. 38

Never Enough Time. 39

Hurricane. 40

Anticipation. 41

Travelers And Shadows. 42

Only Legends... 43

The Stare. 44

Pain. 45

Puppies. 46

The Storm.. 47

The Window.. 48

The Game. 49

Patience. 50

Promises. 51

Walls. 52

Tuning Fork. 53

Breathless. 54

Loneliness... 55

Too Many Questions. 56

Masquerade 95: Unbound Spirits. 57

Masquerade 94: The Beast Within. 58

Mythos. 59

Legend. 61

Illusions. 66

In The Temple Of A Once Forgotten Muse. 67

The Departure. 69

Tales of the Dragon...... 71

A More Bitter Taste Than Tea. 72

The Mountain. 73

Bluer Skies. 75

May All Your Days Be Olde. 77

The Flyer 78

The Greatest Composer 80

Sapphire. 82

The Last Word. 83

End Game. 85

Epilog: Le Morte de James. 86

Drivel.. 88

A Walk In Milo's Meadow.. 89

There Is One Less Star In The Sky. 90

A Friend in Need. 91

Golden Angel 92

The Good-Bye. 93

A Poem For A Lady. 94

No More. 95

The New Puppet Master 96

She's Gone Away For Christmas. 97

Just A Friend. 98

Mountains. 99

Sharing. 100

The Lady. 101


Invocation To The Now Silent Muse

When the sun sets each day, can we ever truly hope to forget the light?

In the midst of deep winter snow, do we not think of summer’s heat?

When frightened, do we not think of those who kept us safe at night?

In times of war, do we not remember heroes that kept us from defeat?

So too, must we invoke the now quiescent Muse as we try again to create

and reveal the concealed poetry in the worlds that we discover and explore.

For without her unspoken benison, no words have hope of being great.

Oh, most divine inspiration, for your graces, we most humbly now implore.

Speak to us, as before, and give us the words of passion without bound,

so that all the universe may know how true love and loss must feel.

Give to us the words to lift the hearts of pitiful souls from the ground

and into the star-filled heavens, where every dream grows to be real.

Walk with us through the heartaches of life so others may soon learn

that even the greatest of hardships can be overcome if the love is there.

Let us ease the pain in others who shall forever reach out and yearn

for another that shall never offer anything but contempt and despair.

Oh, faire Muse, where once you revealed glimpses of your soul boldly,

now you reject our pleas, letting our discourse grow painfully silent.

Where once we felt your fire, which fueled our burning quills, now coldly

your silence reminds us of all the wonderful opportunities we have kent.

We beseech you to exonerate the unforgivable, unspeakable sins against thee

and bequeath favor upon your unwavering, humble aficionados once more,

so that we may again set the wonderful poetry from the tapestry of life free.

Oh, grant us this small favor, golden-haired one that we shall always adore.

Sit with us one final time and watch the vermilion sun dissolve away.

Walk with us in the winter of our lives and warm us with your fire.

Help us to forge the heroes we need to keep our childish fears at bay.

Provide us the words to keep our ideals while enduring death’s pyre.

Smile on us again, so that we may feel you sweet magic’s embrace.

Inspire us with the phrases to transform the impossible and give

us the puissance to again write with your divine sanctions and grace,

so that all the world can know your glory and power over all that live.  


 The Winds

"Change is the only true constant under the deep blue sky,"

said Grandfather to me on the day that he was to die.

"We must be like the tall grass growing within the ocean sand

that is willing to sway, bend and endure Typhon’s great hand.

"When the proud trees stand fast and vow never to move,

how rapidly they break is all they ever seem to prove.

Even the vast green ocean takes heed, submits and makes way,

preferring to show its weight on a more calm, gentle day.

Still, the powerful winds constantly change as they blow,

conforming to the power of the stone and earth below.

Yet, given enough time, patient winds change the earth’s face

by moving each grain of sand into a new resting place.

Our vanity causes us all to reject nature’s lead,

so we keep fighting change in a vain effort to succeed.

Like kites, we are cast about without so much as a clue,

simply hoping in the end to have weathered it through.

There is no such thing as change for the good or the bad

and change is indifferent to what makes us happy or sad.

Yes, change is as certain as night following each new day,

but with time’s great persistence, even that will go away."

Then he smiled at me, closed his now gray eyes and joined the past

where everything must go because nothing ever can last.

Strangely, I found that I could not cry at Grandfather’s end.

I drew strength in thinking that he had returned to the wind.  


 The Empty Chair

In the middle of the room, a worn empty chair

rests vacant like a monument to a battle.

Yet if you are really quiet and listen very

closely you can almost still hear the sound of a

pencil being tapped against the tattered, gray arm.

There is an odd kind of silence that now fills the space

where laughter and joviality once danced and played

like little school girls. Now even the rustling of

papers doesn't hold the same impact as before.

Of course, the universe will recover and resume

Its endless march... but for just a single moment,

everything seems to have paused and asked

in the end just exactly... "what were we thinking?"

Now mute, the weathered chair doesn't have the answers

it once did. The hymns have faded and the last notes of

the hauntingly bitter sweet symphony linger

only in our blissful Dreams and fond memories.

How many lives have been touched and altered by that chair

over the years? How many lost souls have been saved?

If only we knew the countless burdens that were

shouldered there without a word of remorse or pain.

They say that now if you listen and you are rather

quiet you can hear the excited cheers of a new life

running merrily through the forest. And then a

slight smile parses your lips and you can't but help to

be happy for the man that owned the empty chair.  



When I first beheld your majesty and grace, I was mesmerized

by your glistening walls and golden towers dividing the skies.

Your great harbor reached out like a worried mother’s arms to her lost

children, or like a Greek whore, to anyone willing to pay the cost.

In the end, do you think that the price of love was too high, dear friend?

Were the wages of the heart worth the pain of seeing my world bend,

brake and crumble into forgotten shards beneath the winds of change?

Could now banished dreams of happiness simply have been out of my range?

Did your delicate mosaics so enthrall my desperate mind

that, for a moment, I felt I held with you what I could not find

in myself?

Yet the tighter I grasped, the faster the sands

of life slipped through my fingers and left me standing with empty hands.

Even now as I stare at the crumbling towers and breached walls

of my once happy youth, wandering aimlessly through bloodied halls,

I can not help but to remember how gently you embraced me

and how every moment I was with you set my passions free.

Is it possible that I always knew my time with you was doomed

or was I too blinded by your endless ballet as it consumed

my every thought?

Should I have foreseen the curtain in the play

was to set far too soon and that for our crimes we all must now pay.

Sometimes, it seems that even true love is simply not quite enough

and that even the greatest of noble warriors is not tough

enough or smart enough to keep himself from being led on a course

of destruction by a woman and the gift of a wooden horse.

Yet even as the sands of time envelop fading memories

and the wounds of yesterday are now like the leaves of winter trees,

I know, deep down in my damned soul, that I would never have been whole

if I had not, just once, held in my frail hands your apple of gold.  


 Tristan Moon

The leaves rustle wildly… playing harbinger to

the approaching fury of the autumn tempest.

Once brightly lit stars wither from above as

if the heavens have finally lost interest.

Screeching rusted chain provides treble to the dull

rhythmic thuds of a porch swing battering the rail.

Still struggling to hold on to the dominance it

demands over the sky, the cratered disk grows pale.

The world turns bright, a poor ashen imitation

of daylight, as fury escapes its earthly bounds.

The roar of burned air, muffled by the cascading

sheets, seems almost tranquil as the rain starts to pound.

Drops twist into puddles and then small rivers which

wash away the sins like dust at a summer’s fair.

Numbness drowns the world with the raw symphonic dance

of shadow trees flailing about through untamed air.

The enraged winds, Aeolian harps without a

score, scream wildly as the maelstrom vents its might.

From between the boiling clouds, sterling fingers struggle

to regain lordship over the argentite night.

Somehow, even amid the chaos and fury,

the falling rain’s cadence brings a stillness to heart.

Inside the soul of a storm, solitude seems to

secretly wish to be confusion’s counterpart.

Gradually, the tempest wearies of its wrath

and concedes to its own inevitable death.

Millions of glowing teardrops, like earthbound stars, dance

across murky leaves as the squall takes its last breath.

When at last the storm collapses after a long

Evening's orgasm, the silence embraces the land.

Forcing its way from behind the last vagrant clouds,

silvered rays stroke the aftermath with gentle hands.  



I am told by those that seem to know, that there are

people that collect amber. They like the feel of

the cold stone as it slides effortlessly through their

roughened fingertips. They find pleasure in watching

the dance of stars swirl within the golden gem as

they hold it up into the light. And while the true

treasure of amber is most often the delicate

creature locked within, this tiny element is

often overshadowed by the casing that holds the

fairy eternally within its hardened stone grasp.

There are, of course, those that believe amber is best

used when forged into jewelry. It becomes a

window dressing serving only to enhance the

appearance and the status of the current one

owning the prize. Like bangles on a dancer, they

pick and choose the piece that will shimmer the most for

them at that moment. And when that instant passes, the

piece is set aside until the next time it is

needed for show. For the insect within, time is

meaningless as it rests suspended in the past.

When I look at a piece of amber, I find a

feeling of incredible loss and wonder wash

over me. As I stare past the layers of the now

translucent rock and at the tiny life that found

itself slowly encased within a coffin of

immobility, I cannot help but mourn for

one that finds itself forever trapped in a past

that offers no chance of change. I can’t help but think

of the places that were never explored and the

dreams that were killed when locked away in the amber.   



I watched her go down yesterday

and there was nothing I could do.

She took in the ocean water so very fast

that I knew our voyage was through.

I cast myself into Neptune’s hands

as I leapt into the vast blue sea.

The rains swept about me like a demon in the night

and the might of the waves would not set me free.

Like a leaf in the wind, I was cast about

as I struggled just to stay alive.

What God or Fate had I so offended

that forced my final hellish dive.

When I was a child, I once heard stories

about men traveling on their great boats.

The wind at their backs, the waves beneath.

The conquered storm and wave with everything that floats.

Great Odysseus, now long dead, keeps time with Columbus

and Poseidon no longer lords over the darkened sea.

Miracles simply do not happen anymore and

No great legend of seamanship will part Pluto’s doors for me.  



Across the room I watch a wine glass teetering

on its base. Performing a delicate dance that

will determine its ultimate fate. Will it live?

Or will its existence collapse into one last

final, albeit spectacular, end that will

fade from memory mere minutes after its world

crashes into broken shards. Each pivot brings the

Pale horse’s rider an instant closer to a

rendezvous with the fragile chalice or grants an

extension to an appointment that one-day must

be kept. And still the goblet spins as if it is

still trying to right itself and extend its life.

From far across the room, I watch this brief, fatal

ballet. My every instinct is to run and

try to save it from the Destiny that is held

within gravity’s slippery fingers. Like a

jaguar my reflexes snap into place and I

find myself in a desperate race against time

to push back Destruction’s army before it can

arrive. Just like in the gray shadows of one of

Morpheus’s dreams, time slows down to accommodate

my efforts to reach the doomed vessel before it can

meet an untimely end. And though all I desire

is to save it, the distance proves impossible.

Before me, a thousand diamonds explode into

Newborn, glistening life as the cohesive bonds

find their manacles broken and surrender to

the power of entropy. In despair, I stand

frozen mid-stride…half-way between my goal and where

I stood. In what can only be blamed on a brief

bout of delirium, I believed I could be

the one to catch the glass in its mortal fall to

Earth. Looking over my shoulder, I see the bright

crystal wine glass I was holding spinning wildly

on its base as if it is trying to preserve,

for an instant, its life and forgive my folly.  



Blood, if it can be truly called blood, slides across

his shoulders and down his chest like Death’s icy touch.

Through the thick smoke, his eyes can’t tell where the screams are

coming from…but they seem to be around him in

every direction. He tries to stumble toward

the nearest sounds but the ground shifts, slides and crumbles

beneath his feet. Crashing to his knees, the sharp sting

in his right arm almost goes unnoticed. Wrapping

his fingers around the twisted metal, somewhere deep

inside he finds the strength to drag himself back up

and onto his feet. If the rage wasn’t so all

consuming, he would feel the pounding of his heart.

Blood is everywhere. It seems to conspire with the

smoke and the dust to summon a level of gray

unearthly surrealness that rests firmly between

Dream and nightmare. The heat seems to be growing worse.

Somehow forgotten primitive instincts tell him

that he should run… There is danger here. There is a

very great danger and if he doesn’t run he

will cease to exist. Maybe it is a cruel prank

of Delirium or maybe somewhere in the

back of his twisted psyche he feels a Desire

to fulfill his duty until the end. Every

beat of the heart, Destruction seems to draw nearer.

Blood has a taste that is remarkably easy

to recognize. It is as if each creature has

some form of innate ability to alert

it to the presence of its blood within its mouth.

He could certainly taste it now. For the first time,

he became cognizant that the fluid he kept

having to wipe from his eyes was his own blood. Now

he understood that Destiny held him within

its hands. There would most likely be no tomorrow

for him or for any of the others caught in

this maelstrom of hatred. And when the heart plays its

final beat, who will be left to hear its silence?

Blood… the fluid of life… the symbol of someone’s new

covenant… But where are those that would make the frail

promises now? Where are they when holy blood is

spilt? Where are they when the smoke is so thick that you

can’t even decide which way to drag the injured

toward safety? Where are they when Despair arrives

and there just doesn’t seem to be an exit left

to take? Just how far can the Proud fall before they

hit the bottom of eternity? Some say that

every action has an opposite and equal

reaction… If that is the case, then what sin

is the heartbeat pumping all of this wasted blood.  



Were I to write for others,

the words would never flow.

The ink would not pour from my quill

and the text I would not know.

If another were to read what I write,

the majik would be broken.

In my script, just like in life,

some words should not be spoken.

Were my thoughts to be printed,

they would die like fish without the sea.

For my passion unbridled without myself in control

could never survive if free.

If I were to die tomorrow,

then these words would loose their heart.

Bare bones of emotion and passions are what is left;

only broken fossils once I depart.  



Loneliness taught me how to write

while keeping company with Despair.

Boredom showed me the proper style

while Determination kept me there.

Sorrow fed me the words I sought

while Confusion spilled the ink.

Passion emblazed the lines upon the page

while Hatred made me think.

Rejection gave me the plot from which I drew

while Defeat wrote most every word.

Endurance kept me at the task

while Perseverance ensured I would be heard.

Hope suggested that it would get better

while Confidence assured me so.

Friendship guided me through the final draft

but it was Love that made my words flow.   



When I was a child, I enjoyed warming

my hands around the campfire.

It kept away the evils of the lonely night

and we told a ghost story around the pyre.

But when the light of night comes

from a ship’s mast high in the air,

remember that fire makes no promises.

So it is best to beware.

Often, we forget how fragile our lives have

become as we scurry through our hectic days.

Yet the smell of one’s ship turning to ash beneath you

washes all of the fragile illusions away.

Now I am left sitting alone upon the rocky shore

with nothing but the shards of the ship’s burnt wood.

Enlightened, bewildered, abandoned and bored...

yet more of life is now understood.  



From the broken edge of the cliff,

I look down at the busy world below,

filled with the thousands of little ants

scurrying about trance-like in a quest to

fulfill whatever missions their queen

has decreed is vital to their continued existence.

Never once do they stop to ponder

the nature of the orders that they execute.

Their small minds simply hear the commands

and like a soldier, unquestioningly carry out

the imperial directive until they die or

the queen’s will has been accomplished.

I wonder, as I look at the small insects,

do they ever consider the possibility

that there is more to life than

the progressively difficult task of locating

small bits of nourishment to sustain them

and allow them to hunt for food on the morrow?

Could it be that they are so blind

that they cannot see how much they are missing

as they struggle to meet their society's expectations

or could it be that while I stand here, looking down

at them, that they have learned the necessity of

self-sacrifice for the greater good.  


 Down To The Sea Again

Remember yesterday (or was it the day before?),

when we went down to the beach to play in the surf and sun?

Our passions, bold and brave, could not be ignored.

All we wanted was a distraction; it was a time for play and fun.

We built a castle that stretched out across the sands

and towered forever into the empyrean sky.

Next to this wonder we would proudly stand

and display our achievement to all the passers-by.

As sure as the moon rises from beyond the lonely sea,

the tides would wash away our princely halls;

and the sands we bent to our will, again would be set free.

Yet the uncaring waves of change caused even the greatest fortress to fall.

But as we were but children, the next morning we would return to the site.

New walls and towers were raised to replace the old.

We were determined not to yield to this fight.

Yet each new dawn at that place, the shore was lonely and cold.

When we grew older, we returned to visit the sea

and to play upon the granules of once golden sand.

But unlike in our youth, we were no longer free

and watching the children building their castles was more than we could understand.

We tried so hard to recapture the magic that we held yesterday,

but the spells which we uttered are now forgotten and unknown.

The permanence of the castle’s fragile walls is completely washed away.

We are left to stare at a sea which we don’t remember, barren and alone.

In our youth, we refused to see the folly of our mistakes

and as a result we toiled only for joy of creation and life.

As adults, we want more from existence: less to give than take.

Yet, more and more, all we find is unhappiness and strife.

Wouldn’t it be nice to go back down to the sea again

where we could play among the ocean’s waves and beneath the lonely sky?

Once more we could be children that are free from sin

and then we would be free of our life’s pain once more before we die.  


 Broken Hands

I sit here enwrapped in the arms of this high-backed chair

pondering how my life became so terribly confused.

Beads of sweat roll down my creased brow from my hair

and I simply sit here... feeling spent, depleted and used.


In my left hand, I hold the letter that I read each long night.

Every bitterly ironic word is burned into my now cold heart.

I have long since stopped asking whether or not I was right.

Now, I can’t even remember just how the end got its start.

Tick. Tick.

The shadows around me grow longer and the world fades to gray

but somewhere in the back of my mind I vaguely recall

that this sort of thing is supposed to happen each and every day.

Yet as hard as I try, I can’t remember its purpose at all.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I think there was a time when I could love and probably care

but the friends that stood by me back then have faded

like puffs of thick, black smoke rising into the darkening air.

So I just sit here... broken, tired and forever more jaded.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

There must have been a time when others had need of me

but maybe that illusion was simply another bitter lie

that I told myself so that I could in some strange way be

able to spare the decision as to whether I should live or die.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I look up at the old clock on the great mantle of stone

and wonder how long its arms have been unable to move.

Somewhere along the line it was probably tired and alone

so it gave up and stopped... having nothing more left to prove.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.  


 Ad Hominem

Who shakes the stars from the heavens above?

What makes the young grow gray and old?

When do we know we have found true love?

Where do we hide to stay out of the cold?

Why are there always so many questions and rhymes

with answers that we will never be able to know?

How do we continue even as death’s somber chimes

draw a good knight’s coffin into the ground below?

Can we ever see folly in our deeds before they are done?

Do we have a choice at our roles in the cosmic play?

Are our destinies determined before we have even begun?

Is there nothing we can do to stop the pain and decay?

If we know we will fail, should we still answer the call

to battle or must we endure the horrors as we abstain?

Would we make different choices if we could do it all

again and not repeat the noble catalyst of all our pain?

I think that even the brightest star knows its day will set

but that its light will continue to travel long after it's gone.

And that is something, that we humans, far too often forget

as we struggle to make sense of the chaos, ever and anon.

Yet, I feel there is, within each heart, an insatiable desire

to justify our existence and feel unique within our universe.

This is the fuel that we consume as we endeavor to aspire

to solve our riddles and to find answers to the perverse.  


 My Old Ring

There are two gemstones left in my old ring:

one for you and another one for her.

It’s scarred with the moments a life can bring:

the pain, the passion, the hate and the hurt.

Once a dozen stones danced around the band

promising… sparkling with the chance to shift

my life in the light and to understand

the answers to all the great mysteries.

Time took the gems from where they were held tight

with each choice that I made. But at the time

I hardly noticed the falling star’s light

as it tumbled from my life and my heart.

Only two gemstones left before the end

of my dream and delirium awaits

the chance to watch me twisting in the wind

as death moves her hands across my body.

Ten chances wasted singing destiny’s songs

without knowing the proper words to use.

In between despair’s and desire’s war, long

forgotten hopes fall victim to neglect.

Memories gather like thought’s tiny pools

as I try to recall each gem’s luster.

My own destruction rests with those jewels

and the stories that they could start to tell.

I have only two gems left so I must

make every single little glimmer


Yes, two gemstones left to win my trust:

one for you and another one for her.  



Last night while basking in the embrace of the pale light

of the argentous moon at the mid-point of night,

an ancient fairy came to me with a story so very tragic

it had stolen her will to fly and to use her wonderful majik.

She told me that, much earlier, one most depressing day,

she had flown up to the Mid-day sun to see what it had to say.

The Mid-day sun whispered that from his position high in the sky,

he could see a beautiful young sun that made his heart fly.

This bright Morning sun walked with a charm that so inspired

and so moved the Mid-day sun that he sincerely desired

to forsake his position lording over the Heavens for the chance to hold

the Morning sun before time had passed and they had grown too old.

The bright Morning sun, her eyes filled wonder at the green world below,

saw the great light of the Mid-day sun and marveled at what he must know,

but as hard as she tried to reach out to him in the great blue atmosphere

her rays of light fell short of the mark and were never in time to draw near.

Day after day, the pair reached out to each other with longing beyond compare,

until at last the Mid-day sun found the distress more than he could bare.

"I will shine no more, my fairy friend, until my heart is again complete..."

Beneath him, the flowers shivered and begged to heaven for the afternoon heat.

The Morning sun was miserable and mourned as the clovers and the flowers died.

As the life passed from the green below, the morning sun simply cried and cried.

The Mid-day sun heard the downhearted sighs of his one true and faithful love,

and decided that to make her happy, he would once again shine from above.

And so the fairy told me that the Mid-day sun still shines ‘til this day,

but he does so knowing that he helps to bring happiness to his love far away.

Each new day brings with it the gentle caresses of the Morning sun,

as she looks forward to the day when she can be with her beloved one.

The fairy, weeping as she walked away, spoke with a most solemn tone,

"Remember that eternal hope of the suns is the most power majik known."

Today, I awoke basking in the warm embrace of the Morning sun’s fire

and now I know that her energy is born from a love that will not expire.  


 Nightmares and Masquerades

(Masquerade: 96 Nightmares)

There rests a place somewhere just between the realms of Delirium and Dream

where mortals’ greatest nightmares are born and allowed to grow to the extreme.

It is a place avoided every night as we struggle to awaken.

It is a land so wretched, that even the gods have left it forsaken.

It is here that the shadows always seem to move… even to swirl about.

No matter what we do we can never hope to suppress our urge to shout.

In the hellish unsilence of Destruction, we feel its perverse breath.

We whisper pleading prayers once more for our God to be with us at Death.

Yet we know here in quiet Morpheus’s realm, our prayers will go unheard

and our sleeping souls can be crushed without so much as a single word.

We try to pretend that we are courageous and that we are unafraid…

but the monsters of our dreams can see through the walls of our childish charade.

It knows where we hide deep within ourselves and mocks us with its venal laugh.

The incubus toys with us and draws us down its diabolical path.

The immense ignis fatuus flays open our wretched tormented shade

and makes us all desperately Desire to hearken the coming aubade.

As suddenly as the horror arrived, it starts to fade and recede

and at last we believe that our tortured souls have finally been freed.

They say darkness has a hunger that is insatiable and they are right.

For all the horrors held by mortal hearts are released as they sleep at night.

Each eve’ we feel the terror growing deep inside our souls as the fear burns

and once again we begin to Despair and cry as the nightmare returns.

We try to rationalize that this is but the stuff of which dreams are made

but nothing we can do will prevent the return of the great Masquerade.  


 A Rose for the Kimberly

Bright scarlet... how fragile...

It was cold that evening as he sat

upon the white marble bench crying. He

tried to remember his last words to her

when they parted but they had slipped through his

fingers like the smoke from the campfires he

and his dad sat beside in his youth. The

moon’s reflection upon the sea of white

markers taunted him with each second that

passed. Could he ever again relax here

under these skies without her ghost there to

ridicule him with the unvoiced laughter?

Watching... like a bright plum just out of reach.

Bright scarlet... how fragile...

How essential it is...

Maybe that was the whole point of her game…

Had her grand scheme always been to bury

herself so deep within his heart that he

could never escape? Well, if that had been

her objective, she certainly had forged

success. Even as he cursed her name, he

pined to be with her for one more moment.

From the instance he had first seen her, he

knew that she was the one he had searched

for his whole life. Like a star collapsing,

her gravity crushed him into her orbit,

swallowing up his light and energy .

Bright scarlet... how fragile...

How essential it is...

Crimson on snow concrete...

Even as he spiraled toward this final

darkening sun, there seemed an eternity

of cold and emptiness keeping them apart.

Her spidery tendrils pulled him closer

to her and ultimately would shred the

very fabric of his reality. There

were times when he couldn't remember what

life had been like before she had arrived.

And now that she was gone, he didn't want

to know what it would be like not to have

her there beside him. It was as if her

last movement was to be his denouement.

Bright scarlet... how fragile...

How essential it is...

Crimson on snow concrete...

Blood falls like rose petals...  


 The Price Of Peace

The world outside is burning with the bitter fires of hate.

The issue goes unsettled and there is no more debate.

Crowds gather round the steps of justice and shout throughout the day,

But the unpleasant reality of their lives fails to go away.

They came in peace to vent their grief at the Lords within the Halls,

Yet their passion while stirred in their breast led acts that will appall.

The fires of hatred burn through the night as a beacon to all that hate;

A cry for attention by a desperate few that can only be answered too late.

They marched through the streets causing mayhem and pain.

They were ripping away at each other like rabid wolves gone insane.

Blood covers the once gray concrete streets as the group passes by;

Throughout the chaos of the city a chorus of mothers cry.

"Enough is enough," the Lords declare and sent the Army in.

"There will be no more bloodshed. This terror will now end."

And the tanks rolled into the streets that night.

There they were met by a mob ready to fight.

In the dawn, there was silence across the land,

Not a single soul was left to make a stand.

The streets were now deep in pools of crimson red

And in the muck slept the now peaceful children of Adam, broken and dead.  


 Apocalypse, broken shadows and forgotten Dreams…

“I would give up the entire universe for you…,”

he whispered to her in the kind of moment that

cements two people into a spider’s web of

intimacy, hopeless desire, fear and despair.

The words hung there for what seemed an eternity

without reply, without comment and utterly

without the hope of possibly being recalled

or recanted before the world crashed around him.

“I don’t know what to say…” she stuttered in the kind

of voice that a Literature major uses

when trying to explain quantum theory to a

classroom full of nuclear physicists from Yale.

“You don’t have to do or say anything at all…,”

He fumbled over the words like an Olympic

hurdler suffering mid-stride from a sudden and

intensely torturous epileptic seizure .

Then came the Pause… the kind of silence that even

gives gentle Death a chill as she waits to part the

veil between the “Here and Now” and the mystery

beyond... Even she hates a dead conversation.

Somewhere between delirium and destruction,

a broken specter of the conversation crawled,

like a yellow fog from the Thames, back out of the

strangling depths of the silence’s murky waters.

He wasn’t sure but he thought somewhere in the back

of his mind, he heard the screams of the Ravens as

they gathered to feast upon the remains of his

broken illusions that now littered Fiddler’s Green.  


 Thirty Pieces of Silver

Sometimes in life we are compelled to choose between wrong and right,

but there are questions that sometimes demand more divine insight.

We try to make the best decision but we don’t always succeed.

Instead of improving life, we find that we only impede

the designs of others that were created to ease their pain.

We do the best that we can and always attempt to refrain

from interrupting the carefully constructed strategy,

which has been set in motion and now runs so ineffably.

So the plan runs on and we are compelled to enact the part

that we promised that we never would play from the very start.

Oh, how can I ever be forgiven for what I have done?

My doubts and stupidity have killed your only son?

Could I have known what evils they were going to do?

Would your plan have given me the chance to think it through?

I was with him from the genesis and believed all he said.

There wasn’t anywhere that I wouldn’t follow as he lead.

His words gave me my direction and gave me meaning in my life.

For him, I would lose anything or make any sacrifice.

At times, I thought that he could be just a little too extreme

and others, moving around him, did nothing but plot and scheme

to create a new empire and see that the current one fell.

He always saw the very best in men but I couldn’t tell

whether he grasped their flaws or was it something he could miss.

So I made a deal with the devil and sealed it with a kiss.

Oh, how can I ever be forgiven for what I have done?

My doubts and stupidity have killed your only son?

Could I have known what evils they were going to do?

Would your plan have given me the chance to think it through?

There are thirty silver pieces laying on the temple floor

And I can’t bear the guilt, the grief or the pain anymore.

Will I always be the betrayer? Is that how it was planned?

Is there nothing I can do to make everyone understand?

Sometimes, we take for granted the strength and many uses of a rope

but for me, it promises release now that I have no hope.

Yet, for me, I fear that God will bequeath me no divine grace

and I will suffer forever in a frozen, wretched place.

But was there any other way that I could have played my last card

or had God always intended for me to play His dullard?

Oh, Lord, can I ever be forgiven for what I have done?

My doubts and stupidity have killed your only son?

Could I have known what evils they were going to do?

Would your Plan have given me the chance to think it through?  


 The Apocalypse and The Masquerade

(Apocalypse: Masquerade 97)

An eerie silence descends as vibrations

from the last note of the trumpet fade

"The time has come…," Rasputin the prophet

proclaims, "for all of your debts to be paid.

You have played around too long and the

honeymoon is finally at an end.

The great granite walls you hid your dark sins

behind are now only dust in the wind."

We stare blankly in each other’s eyes, not

knowing just what next to do or to say.

Just as I think I know the proper words

to speak, you turn and start to walk away.

You’re right, of course, I think everything

seems meaningless now as the sun sets

My broken mind is flooded with a lifetime

full of forgotten dreams and regrets.

Once the world was ours to control and like

vampyres we hunted victims through the night.

Love drove us near insanity and exposed

the beast within to the moon’s gray light.

Like unbound spirits we prowled the earth

searching to justify what we had done.

Yet the nightmares and dreams faded as we

were awoken by the harsh morning sun.

In the light, we felt dirty and looked at

our naked bodies with unspoken shame.

We snarled bitter words and shouted curses at

each other as we tried to appoint blame.

The apple core resting next to that foul

tree bears sole witness to our transgression

and we cannot help but think how upset

God is that we never learned our lesson.

Off in the distance, I heard the thunder

from the hooves of the approaching pale horse

And I realized that, at last, my odyssey

and my pain had completed their course

In these final moments, my sins march past

me like some kind of perverted parade

and now I understand that this is finally

the end of the great Masquerade.  


 Distant Thunder

For Kathy at Christmas 2000, because she asked…

A tumble of gingered leaves sweeps along the once

paved but now broken pathway up old Lakewood

Hill. There was a time when the air here overflowed

with the uncoordinated sounds of children

at play and of overly-taxed, tired parents that

were desperately trying to remember the

freedom that they had held in their youth. Now only

the dull roar of the leaves at play seems to recall

yesterday’s chaos. Time’s gentle rain has eroded

away the smell of cotton candy that pulsed

like life-giving blood through every inch of the

hill and the fields around it. Though the electric

air that provides the illusion of life to the

burnt amber leaves is that of Autumn, this place seems

now to be frozen in a forgotten winter.

From here they watch the leaves dance and spin like phantoms

of the tiny ballerinas that once would laugh,

giggle, and sometimes cry in anticipation

of the magic to come. Now the jocund sounds of

the organ pipes have been replaced by the howling

winds that must come from south of the vast river Styx.

Like misplaced statues of an army that will no

longer be called to march in the parade, they

stand frozen, watching as their finery fades. Great manes slip

from brilliant purples and golds into time’s dull

gentle gray. Bright roses that once held lover’s Dreams

have watched their fiery petals drop away like the childish

game of “loves me…loves me not.” Their grand silvered hooves,

while still at attention, no longer have the sharp

sparkle that seemed to cleave to the light so tightly.

They watch her as she sits upon the back of the

Lippizaner Stallion that once had the name

Thunder painted on a small sign above his head.

Gently, she strokes the unmoving wooden mane. Her

hands lightly caress the broken remains of what should

have been an ear. Somewhere in the recesses

of her memories, she thought she could still hear the

sounds of the organ grinding. Yes…She could almost

feel the motion of the horse as it rose and

fell beneath her. Somewhere between memory

and Delerium, she could see the other great

horses dancing up and down around her. For an

instant, it was like she had never grown up. For

a moment, it was almost like she had never

lost the magic of a girl on a carrousel.  



Writer’s Block,

Writer’s block,

Damn, how I hate

Writer’s block!

Writer’s Block,

Writer’s block,

I can’t do my work with

Writer’s block!

Writer’s Block,

Writer’s block,

I’m going really crazy with

Writer’s block!

Writer’s Block,

Writer’s block,

Won’t anything cure this

writer’s block.  



20 December 1994

I. The prelude

Once after journeying from a far away land,

upon a great mountain’s peak I did stand.

From that spot I beheld such a wondrous sight,

that my heart beat profoundly and my head grew light.

Just past the great lake, beyond the mighty dam,

I caught my first glimpse of the faire lady from Cam

as she sat high upon a great white mare,

with its albino mane flailing wildly in the air.

She could not see me from my perch, so high,

but I knew at her word, I was willing to die

rather than to face an eternity without her near.

Surely this nightmare was to be my most adamant fear.

Never did I tell her the joy she brought to me

on that cold winter’s day, when she set free

the passions, which I had long kept bound,

for fear that another like myself was not to be found.

From that moment on, I had given her my heart

and I vowed that from her I would never part.

So it was, that I was too soon to depart the lady faire,

forced to run from opponents but not knowing where.

But now, I put the cart, as it were, before the aging mare,

so I must speak first of the events which placed me there

in a prison whose torture exceeds even those of Hell

and where the pain was more enduring than a Fay’s spell.

II. The betrayal

It came to pass that I was to serve as a great Lord’s knight

and was charged with protecting the weak and fighting for right.

I believed in my mission with complete and total resolve

and around these tenets my world was to revolve.

Whether charged with fighting against the land to the west

or sent to recover a stolen holy item on an impossible quest,

I embraced my lot in life with fervor and glee without bound

believing my deeds would win me fame and great renown.

Now at that time that I served my Lord and gave him my support,

the faire maiden of my heart was also to be a favorite of the court.

She was there for the Lady but she had the Lord’s ear

and I was the champion sworn to keep her from fear.

It was but a short time before she was to be my closest friend

and she claimed that our bond was eternal— ‘til time’s very end,

which filled my heart with a joy beyond that which can be known.

What had started with mere passion, into friendship had grown.

For my faire maiden, there was nothing she could ask that I wouldn’t do.

No matter the quest she charged me with, I always saw it through.

There were many battles to protect her and defend her from potential harms

but each time it was needed, I was always there to take up a shield and arms.

During this same time, I also earned my Lord’s confidence and trust,

and was award the title of "Knight Protector" and called "the Just."

So when my Lord was troubled and asked my council on matters of import’,

I was always there to advise him or give his troubled soul comfort.

One foul day, the threat of a great war came to my sovereign Lord’s land

and he described to me his plans in the vain hope that I would understand.

To prevent our lands from being bathed in the blood of the dead,

he would give our enemies all of our faire maidens as payment, instead.

No fouler words spoken in creation had there ever been heard

but when I objected, I was ordered silent and bound by my word.

Realizing that the treacherous plan included my dear maiden faire,

I was thrown into a state of horror, depression and despair.

As a knight, I was sworn to follow whatever my Lord would say.

It was ultimately not my job to question but simply to obey.

Yet, I had also sworn to always defend the weak and uphold right

and to lay down my life for my friend, no matter the fight.

So there I was, left without any idea of what to do,

yet either choice would destroy me— that much, I knew.

For days, I lamented over which impossible action I should take,

feeling that with each new moment, my heart would break.

My dearest friend sensed my intense turmoil and pain

and asked if she could do anything to ease my strain.

She spoke about our friendship and about the impact it had

and how she could not bare to see me so hurt and so sad.

As always, her words, like arrows, flew straight to my heart,

and I knew I would have to tell her everything from the start.

But before I spoke so much as a single word of the tale,

I made her promise that not a word would she speak, without fail.

She then told me, "My dearest friend, I will never betray thee.

I would sooner allow the venom of a thousand daggers to pierce me.

For have we not sworn to be friends now and forever more?

Surely, you know that you are one that I truly trust and adore."

So I told her the schemes that my misguided Lord had said

and I told her that if she spoke of it, I would keep time with the dead.

But again she spoke words to assure that my trust was well placed

and with that, we said adieu for the evening as we hardily embraced.

Morning was heralded by sounds that no knight will ignore,

there were perhaps twenty soldiers gathering just outside my door.

"Good knight," called the sheriff, "with you we must have a word.

The Lord is quiet upset at something he’s just heard.

So lay down your sword and cast aside your silver shield.

To the authority of the Lord’s sheriff, you promptly must yield.

Of course, we wish for you to come quietly, without a word to say

but if you don’t, we have orders to fetter and to drag you away."

I knew surrender meant a stone block and ax to my head,

so I decided to fight the twenty soldiers outside instead.

But truthfully, no wounds they could give me would begin to compare

to the pain I felt from being betrayed by dear one, so faire.

Swords clashed and by my sword, twenty innocent men died

but nothing harmed me more than the pain I held inside.

I fought my way, like a man possessed, through the great halls

and avoided certain death by using hidden ways through the walls.

While using such a passage that was quite near the northern gate,

I encountered the faire one that I could never truly hate.

There was terror in her eyes as she sensed the intensity of my rage

and, for a brief moment, she seemed like a frightened animal in a cage.

But I told her that I could forgive her for what she had done

and that our "eternal" friendship was the most important thing under the sun.

She said it shouldn’t have happened... that she was like a pawn before the king

and once her Lord had spoken, like a bird she had to sing.

She told me that she would do anything to keep me from harm’s way

and beyond the fact that she was sorry, there was nothing more to say.

A gentle, loving smile crested the lips of her most angelic face

and then we held each other in a final warm friendship’s embrace.

I never saw her draw the dagger that was stuck in my side.

I simply collapsed to the floor utterly defeated and cried.

She left me there on the stone floor with crimson blood running out.

"But why?" was the only thing that I could manage to shout.

I lay there for an eternity, loosing life’s most vital element,

feeling that all my reasons to live were now long spent.

Still, I couldn’t help but question where I went wrong.

Well, if God had the answers at least it wouldn’t be very long...

I looked at the dagger, which was coated with the fluid of my life

and was startled to realize that it was my own knife

which she had used to betray me and strike with a most fatal blow.

My numbed mind simply fixated on, "How could I not know?"

Contrary to what the sages say, death is not always so very quick

and waiting around to die is enough to make any warrior sick.

So, I lifted myself up on my extremely unsteady, trembling feet

and decided that I would fight my way to the gate and out of the keep.

It occurs to me that God must truly like to play very subtle jokes

because even so close to death, I parried a thousand deadly strokes.

As I mounted a horse, battling as I made a hurried egress,

not a single arrow, lance, spear or knight could halt my progress.

So with an army behind me, I fled from my dear homeland.

But why God had let me survive, I would never begin to understand.

Yet the horse I was riding was strong, hardy and fast.

With great care and proper rest, I could make his strength last.

Having betray my vows, killed my good fellows and forever lost my heart,

I wasn’t sure exactly where to give my wretched life a new start.

So I made up my mind to discover where and why I had made my mistakes

and vowed to continue until I had the answer— no matter what the stakes.

Five long years passed by and the side wound never healed.

The sages told me that the answers to my quest could only be revealed

by God, himself, with his knowledge beyond the scope of measure

and instead of my obsession, I should enjoy life’s great treasure.

But the promise of revelations at the end of time was too far away

and the need for answers consumed my every thought, every day.

As I wandered about the lands, I was called the "passionless knight"

by those that I saved and by those with whom I would fight.

In truth, that wasn’t true for there was one for which I could care

and despite everything she had done, I still missed the one so faire.

The pain I had suffered had brought to my soul a winter chill

which to observers made me impossibly invulnerable and almost unreal.

So I went about and did the things that knights are supposed to do:

rescuing maidens, fighting battles and simply trying to muddle through.

Yet, it was pointless to me because I had nothing to fight for

and I found my thoughts drifting to the one I shouldn’t still adore.

One day, I heard two men talking about the defeat on my land of old

and of how the Lord of the land suffered more than could be told.

The lands were now barren and its great prizes were stolen away

and the people of the shire were left with only memories of a better day.

From time to time, I hear rumors about fairest Lady with her new Lord

and of how because of her external beauty she is still the most adored.

I can’t help but wonder how she has changed deep down inside

and whether she has an eternal wound like mine that she will always have to hide.

ETERNAL: The dénouement

Ten long years parted before I again met the lady faire

with a bitter Northern wind flailing about her golden hair

as she stood upon a great mountain’s rocky and barren slope

having given up on life and utterly devoid of all hope.

Oh, tell me dear lady, what causes this pain and moves you so?

Please speak of it now, for it is imperative for me to know

what evil power could steal the light from the sun

and has robbed the dawn of its glory before it has begun.

Have you grown tired of the songs that call your name?

Have you at last chosen to flee your beauty’s fame?

Or have you, my dear, simply discovered a universal truth

concerning the dwindling brevity within the sands of youth?

Is it some foul words that were spoken to you in horrid jest

and has pierced the golden heart within your breast?

Has some dark knight, with fiery steed, tried to steal you away,

and in the process, corrupted your youth or led you astray?

Have you lost your way along the path of life?

Did you succumb to the pain, hate and strife?

Could you have sold yourself short in the end?

Did you bite the apple and taste life’s sin?

Are you not the great woman whose very words sent

soldiers to battle until they were dead or spent?

Wasn’t it your smile that moved every heart,

and prompted men to cry when forced to depart?

Reality is built atop mounds of uncertain soil

which can change the future with pain and toil.

For all good things eventually will reach a close

whether for good or not, only but Heaven knows.

Now weathered as the cracks begin to show,

simply another victim of time’s erosive flow.

Perhaps, life’s ultimate irony has come true

and those who care but for your beauty are through.

Yet those who knew more than the surface display

are ones that will be there throughout the play.

We are the Little Johns of life, who beside you ride,

Through storm, sickness and the times you have cried.

When first I saw you, my most angelic light,

you helped me define the meaning of wrong and right.

Now even after a decade has passed us by,

your sharp wit still causes my head to fly.

So remember, dear lady, when faced with doom,

that your paladin will fight the darkness and gloom.

You have only to whisper the slightest word,

and your will is my command, once heard.

Oh dear, gentle lady, now that your mare of youth has passed

and seeming everything eternal and immortal has failed to last.

Looks, the fleeting illusion of youth, are deceptive and fake.

Only your soul is the one jewel that time cannot take.  


 The Snowflake

When I was ‘bout eight,

my teacher made everyone in the class

use white paper and scissors and stuff to

cut out a snowflake.

I had never seen

a real snowflake ‘cept maybe on TV.

But she roared, glared and ranted and made me

do it anyway.

I bent the paper

this way and that… And I cut and I cut

and I cut… ‘cept when I was finished, it

looked nothin’ like snow.

It looked more like a piece of paper with lots of holes in it.

When I was nine, we

moved to a place where it gets real cold… And

then in the winter, I got to see real

snow for the first time.

I sure was cold but

I knew that no matter what happened… I

would catch me a snowflake… So the next time,

I would have my own.

As the snow swirled, the

flakes danced around me like flies over the

dead ‘possum I found next to the old dirt

road last September.

I knew I had to

catch one… So I chased it and chased it and

chased it but the more I tried, the more it

dodged, twisted and danced.

At last, I caught it.

It was perfect as it sat there sparkling

on my finger tip… shimmering, shining

and full of magic.

For just a moment,

It seemed like I was looking at an earth

bound angel. It was the wonder of an

ice cream in Summer.

And then, while I was

watching, its light began to fade away.

I tried to set it free again but it

was only water.

I never again tried to capture a snowflake in winter.   



"I love you," he said.

But the words came too late...

They fell only on the cold snow

and blew across the frigid lake.

"You can't leave me," he begged

Yet there was no one else to hear.

His words failed to reach the stars above

Or anything more near.

"I'll always be there for you," he pleaded.

However, there was no other there.

A day late and a dollar short

had assured him that she wasn't anywhere.

"Think of all the good times we had," he sighed

To the fringes of Nocturna's dress.

And of the bad times, the silence spoke volumes,

much to his distress.

"I'll never give up... It won't be over!" he demanded

Just to keep his male ego intact.

Yet the vast emptiness that surrounded him

seemed to dispute that fact.

The deeds we do and the choices we make

often tell us more than books...

Remember that real love is a two-way street

and relationships are built on more than looks.  


 The Dance

We move through life thinking we know people

but the truth is we never really do.

We give them our love and our understanding,

but in the end they take the knife and run us through.

Sometimes we walk together along life’s rocky shores

as we try to make each other’s journey a little freer of pain.

Yet, so often, we find that those traveling with us

on our quest are simply using us for profit or gain.

There are those who chose to beguile us with promises

while giving us false hopes with mirrors and hollow dreams

but in the end, we always find ourselves left standing alone,

deserted, abandoned and betrayed (or so it seems).

The worst of the deceivers are those that claim to be our friends

but quickly they forget us once the day’s Sun falls from the sky.

For them, it's off to another party to hear another band

and in their revelry they always seem to pass us by.

But when the time comes that they need help,

we are always the first "friends" that they try to call.

For they know that we are like moths to the flaming candle

and we will always fight on until we burn and fall.

There has to be hope somewhere out there in the night

but I’m afraid that it has long since gone away.

Our dreams have been corrupted by the modern world

and its darkness now scripts the plot line in the great play.

Yes, we move through life thinking we know folks

and eventually we see them for who they really are.

but we still give them our love and our understanding,

in the hope someday their cloud will form a bright, new star.  


 Never Enough Time

If we had just another second, I would stare you in the face

and I would place my arms around you in a final embrace.

If we had just another second, I would speak a magic word

conveying how I feel for you in a language never before heard.

If we had just another minute, I know what I would say,

I would tell that more than anything, I want you to stay.

If we had just another minute, I would take you by the arm,

then promise to guard you and keep you far from harm.

If we had just another hour, I would tell you all that I know

and we would walk beside life's shore watching the ebb and flow.

If we had just another hour, I would tell you how much I care

and promise you that if you ever need me, I will always be there.

If we had just another day, I would stand beside you all of your life

and ensure that you are protected from the slings, arrows and strife.

If we had just another day, I would write you a song to sing

to keep you occupied while I pulled out a diamond ring.

But we simply didn't have enough time for what I wanted to do.

It seems that long before I realized it, our dance was through.

The game has ended and all the musicians have gone home.

And now I'm simply left alone out in the cold to roam.  



Beautiful angel

gracefully dancing through the air

swirling about like a whirligig

swirling through life

never in one place but for an instant

one with the music

life incarnate

Object of desire

a china doll standing on the shelf

drug off her pedestal

drug through life

drugs swirl her near reality for only an instant

the scene is the music

illusionary life

Untrustworthy bitch

sneaks through the shadows

plays with those who cared

plays for life

had a chance for true love only for an instant

forgotten by the music

life alone

Forgotten old hag

barely able to walk

stumbling, spinning out of control

stumbling through life

her mind never in one place but for an instant

remembers youth’s forgotten music

life fading from her.  



The air, bound with unseasonable warmth,

dances about as I sit

waiting for you…

My mind, drifting between images of the decaying neighborhood

and phantoms of you twirling

in my mind…

Stunned in self-amusement, I realize that

like a school boy on a birthday’s eve, I

await your arrival…

Conversations yet to be held wrestle with those

that never will find substance as I continue

to bide time…

More time passes than there are stars in the heavens

as I dream of the moment when

we will unite…  


 Travelers And Shadows

"I am a traveler," said the ashen knight

moving from the shadows and into the light.

"I have traveled boundless seas and seen evil’s face…

Never once laying down my sword or shield or mace.

"They say I am not human but I fear they lied…

Not so long ago I loved, but now that has died.

Or at least, that is the lie I try to believe

for broken hearts are easy to try and deceive.

"I have sworn by my sword to love never more.

Pretending to be happy, like I was before.

Yet there is a disturbance in my force and life

that reaches out and tears my soul like a blunt knife.

"Hearing your voice, my heart soars like an angel’s wings

reaching toward heaven as it twirls, dances and sings.

Like the fallen, your grace is just beyond my view

but each night I speak a prayer just to hold you.

"Beneath my armor, no one may ever see tears

and yet my love of you has awoke my dark fears.

So into evil’s shadows and away from the light…

I trust you will be kind with the heart of the Knight."  


 Only Legends...

To a little girl with her blonde curly hair,

nothing is as secure as when her father is there.

To her, he moves mountains with the pass of his hand.

To her, he is the wall behind which she will stand.

There aren’t many heroes left today;

they have all rode into the sunset and faded away.

There isn’t anyone to push back the horrors of the night.

There are no cavaliers to stand up for what is right.

Once there were champions to leap through the air

and rescue the young damsel from danger and despair.

But Lord Robin and Little John are no more

and the tide of injustice reigns just as before.

Arthur lies buried across Avalon’s lake

and the good Templars have perished at the church's stake.

When even Superman was beaten into the cold ground

there were no other heroes left to be found.

"Only legends live forever," it was once said,

"while the men that make them are interred with the dead."

Yet within the heart of each man lies a fire

that burns strong and bright enough to forge an empire.

But life is filled with chaos above all

and the sturdiest wall will one day fall.

Oh, dear little child it will not be all right,

for a drunken fool has forever turned off your daddy’s light.  


 The Stare

You sit next to me entranced, staring blankly off into space.

There is a fire in your eyes and a peculiar smile on your face

that betrays your thick cloak of silence and reflection

with subtle hints that you enjoyed our recent expedition.

The smudges and spots on your brow of the red spring clay

seem sharply misplaced as the flickering light dances its way

around the twisting strands of spun moonbeams of your golden hair

and yet these marks stand as monoliths of the journey that we share.

With each new-relaxed breath the you draw deep inside,

I puzzle at the vast unexplored world that you hide

behind your walls of deafening silence as you probe the sky

of sapphire for signs of a herald with the answer from on high.

You glance at me briefly, smiling warmly without a word

and in that instant, the silence sings the greatest chorus ever heard.

Then you retreat back into safety of your distant veil of stone

to perform a mental ballet that will forever remain unknown.

There are a million things I want to... need to... should say

but my words die unspoken, tragic victims in life’s play

of the need to preserve the delicate balance of our dance

yet I cannot but question if the smile betrays you in your trance.

Yes, dear lady, you still remain an enigma wrapped deep in mystery

but every second that we remain together, the more I can see

how important it is for me to understand the world beyond your stare

and to discover what enchantment can steal the heart of one so fair.

For now, next to your side I sit staring... merely watching you;

simply being content observing the vastness of the sky of blue.

Yet even the hardest of granite eventually cracks and gives way

and with luck, I will know the meaning of the smile one day.  



There are many forms of pain in life...

When our horse throws us, we are bruised.

If we slam a door on our hand, our fingers shudder.

When we watch others suffering, we are frustrated.

As disease tears us apart cells by cell, we ache.

In times when friends die, we weep and grieve.

The death of a relationship tears at our heart.

Yet all of these forms of pain are mild

when compared to the damnation of the poor

wretched souls that experience true love

and cannot act to see their love realized.

Pity them for they are barred from entering

the ecstasy of Heaven and having felt

their unending desire unfilled, Hell, in its fury,

can offer no punishments to compare to their pain.

Pity them...

Pity those that have allowed themselves

the eternal condemnation of unfulfillable love.

Mourn those that know of the graces of Heaven

but forever are barred for Nirvana’s release.

Heed these words well ye mighty and despair.

Abandon all hope ye who choose to enter.  



13 February 1995

Have you ever stood outside a pet store

watching puppies playing with each other?

At first they seem happy pouncing back and forth

yapping at each other in jestful challenge.

There are times in our lives, hard times...

when we would give anything to live like the playful pups...

We would love to laugh, to jump and to play...

To forget the cages that our lives are made of.

Just as such thoughts occur to me,

I dispel them back into the ether from which they came...

For even the frolicsome dogs rejoice

at the attention they gain from the casual observer at the window.

Few can deny the effervescent joy a puppy

as it has the bars removed to run free

once again among the fresh daisies and clovers

of the open field which stretches out before it..

Yet from the outside of that cold brick pet store

the puppies do at times seem so happy.

In all their vaulting back and forth at each other

could they have so quickly forgotten the joy of the field?  


 The Storm

Oh, my dear Amanda, how did we create this chaos and decay?

When did we lose sight of all we once loved and held so very dear?

How did our greatest dreams so easily die, dry up and blow away?

Where were we when the forces of evil were born and grew so near?

Looking back, even the bad times seemed so majestic and grand.

The good times were forged from the very stuff out of our dreams.

Everything was so much more spectacular than we ever planned

and even the great Sun bowed and embraced us in golden beams.

There were picnics, dances, parties and a hundred songs to sing

as we enjoyed the our lives and the wonders of the world around.

Each new day was as beautiful as a new rose blooming in the Spring,

with crimson petals spread wide and not a single thorn to be found.

When the rains came, they were as gentle as the early morning dew,

giving life’s blood to the world and never asking anything in return.

The winds would caress us with their coolness as they passed through,

while the gentle Sun gave us warmth with a fire that could never burn.

Ignoring Eden, we wanted to be masters over all that we could survey.

So we built ourselves a new world, greater than any ever imagined before.

In the end, we paved over the flowers and smog drove the sun away.

For the name of progress, darkness was the crime we all tried to ignore.

Now, the hard rains that fall, burn the hands and eat skin from the face.

The fresh dreams have been washed away and only nightmares remain.

Our once jocund dancing music, has now gone— vanished without a trace.

Only dirges now fill the air, reflecting our troubled souls and inner pain.

The only flowers folks care about now are the kind that they smoke

and picnics in the park have given way to gangs fighting over dope.

Yes, it seems that, at last, mankind has fallen victim to his own joke.

Where once we lived in paradise, now we own a world devoid of hope.

Yet, even the most powerful of storms eventually must end its wrath

when the hatred and insanity that fueled it, at last draws to a close.

And somewhere a flower will break its way through the concrete path

that covers the world, proving that even in darkness, beauty still grows.

Oh, little sister, only we can secure our dreams and never let them die.

Only we can provide the vision to steer the others through evil’s night.

Against the rain, we must stand and protect the weak from the sky

until the storm is over and everyone can see our rainbow’s warm light.

Then, my dear lady, can we once again know the Sun’s gentle embrace

and listen to gentle violins of Summer as Vivaldi again fills the air.

Only after having faced the dark can we appreciate the light as we face

the future and overcome the oppressions that once caused us despair.   


 The Window

There is a tiny crack that I found in the Wall.

It wasn't very big-- truly no threat at all.

At first, I thought that mortar would do the trick,

But on closer inspection it became clear, the Wall needs more than brick.

Today I looked through the tiny little hole

and witnessed incredible sights of new and old.

What wonders were there, just on the other side!

Yet when my friends asked of it, I snickered and lied.

I told them that "There was nothing beyond the Wall."

I chuckled with triumph-- for I had fooled them all.

So I sat in front of the hole for the rest of the day...

Not again looking but to keep the curious away.

When morning came I returned to the place,

Yet the crack was repaired and clean was the space.

My window to the beyond was again no more,

But the wonders I alone had seen left me greater than before.  


 The Game

When I saw you yesterday, there was a tear in your eye.

You were upset that another lover had passed you by.

Your heart was filled with hurt and pain beyond compare

And you had given in to heartache and despair.

He said, "I love you" and "We will never ever part,"

Yet all that time he was simply playing games with your heart.

All he wanted was a warm body to use for the night

And you were forgotten by dawn’s first light.

Now you feel dirty and broken inside...

You are frustrated that you cared and he only lied.

Sometimes you want to scream and let it all out

But you have too much pride to let anyone see you pout.

He is not the first to hurt you and surely not the last

Unless we all learn lessons from the things in our past.

"People are inherently evil," preachers always say,

Yet if we look hard we may find a diamond in the clay.

Just like you once heard from a wise man of old,

your revenge will be a dish best served cold.

Someday he will crawl back with flowers in his hand

And it will be your chance ignore him and make a stand.

Yesterday, you were feeling depressed and alone

And you trusted me enough to make your pain known.

I can only speak to you about what I can see,

And that is a spirited young lady who is wild and free.

You have seen the signpost along the highway of life,

That proudly heralds the arrival of chaos and strife,

Yet you always survive with your head held high

while others shrink like violets, then whither and die.

Sometimes it's hard to accept pain and move on,

But time soon leaves memories after agony is gone.

You create what you feel and ultimately what you are.

Only you keep yourself from catching a star.

So don’t worry what other say to you or do,

Your flair for life will always see you through.

So today, let’s not shed a single new tear,

Because for you the future should present no fear.  



You had a smile on your face today--

The first I had seen in a long time.

It was the kind of vision I dreamed to see--

A sight granted by the Divine.

Your eyes seemed to sparkle--

there was a new fire in soul.

There was a glow about you

which asserted that you were back in control.

You carried yourself like an angel aloft--

Yet wings weren't needed to hold you high.

The cheer in your voice said everything it must--

You would no longer have reason to cry.

You seemed to be happy when I saw you today--

and what joy the thought brought to me.

The world is too full of gloom and sadness;

It is long past time to set yourself free.

You were in love as I spoke to you--

I'm not sure you realize it yet, but that's okay...

In time you will understand from whence the glow came,

And 'til that time I will wait and never go away.  



What fuels the fires of your rage and your hate?

What passion drives you to hurt those around you?

Did your champion not come or did he arrive too late?

Were the sacrifices made by your friends too few?

What causes the tears that stream down your face?

What pains you so very deeply inside?

How could any defeat have you feeling such disgrace?

Has someone you trusted betray you with a lie?

What demon has stolen your once bright light?

Did he promise you happiness with end?

Could he have touched you gently throughout the night

and left you with scars that will never mend?

Are those tears that now fall, like the autumn rain

on your soul, a testament to the sins which you must bear,

or could they simply be bitter monuments to the pain

which you must hold inside and can never hope to share?

Have you forgotten how your laughter used to sound

as we walked in the golden sands by the bay?

Did you forget that your true friends are always around

and that we will never be found very far away?

Do you even remember me and what we were all about?

Have the hardships of life so chilled your heart

that that the spark which fueled our friendship has burned-out?

Or have you chosen to move on and force us apart?  



Last night I had a dream about a maiden with golden hair.

She was witty, charming, and ever the lady fair

as she spoke to the dark and weary recesses of my mind

and wove her ancient spell which caused our souls to bind

for all eternity in an embrace that transcended any trance

and called forth remembrances of the primeval dances

of old which stripped away the bindings of civil men

and thrust us headlong into the heart of unrepentable sin.

My wayward voyage suddenly seemed to alter its course

from the moment my named flew from her golden voice,

and asked me where my odyssey would carry me to.

My answer, a failed attempt to obey, came as but a few

words which failed to capture the spirit within my breast

and fueled my heart to wander endlessly without rest

until stumbling to describe the one true thing of my desire

which was embodied by the passion in her amaranthine fire.

Tonight, there are no dreams about an angel in the dreary night,

who steals my soul with her sharp wit and enchanting light.

No faint illusions dance about within my barely conscious mind

and weave their dark, enticing spells—promising happiness behind

the wall I have erected to protect my fragile ego from harm’s way.

Instead, into my world, like the shadowy twilight of the coming day,

Fate transforms my pale dreams, visions of hope, which I lock and hide

within my heart, into the enchanting avatar that rests by my side.  


 Tuning Fork

Have you ever thought about a tuning fork?

I mean really pondered exactly what it is they do.

When touched, it is cold, metallic and hard.

The smooth metal seems ordinary... common.

But when struck, something magical happens.

It achieves supremacy and frees a perfect ‘A’ note.

With each repetition, this simple tool grasps perfection.

No matter how hard or softly we strike, passion escapes.

It’s like the metal wants to reach out with its music.

Inside, there is something divine that craves freedom.

And once it releases its spell, it never wants to stop.

So, it hangs on to the enchantment until the energy fades.

Then, it returns to mediocrity, only shiny and cold,

Waiting patiently, silently for the next time it can sing.  



As you enter the room, silence falls like cold rain

in winter while your presence steals their attention.

All the men struggle to refocus their eyes on

their dates before a critical threshold passes.

The women all whisper "bitch", "jezebel" and "whore"

in a sub-audible curses as you draw near.

Ironically, you are ignored, hated and

the object of lust (desire) simultaneously.

Your hair, a swirl of flame and light, is the topic

of debate from on-looking jealous seraphim

that claim you are blonde or that no mortal like you

should be given such an angelic appearance.

Oblivious to the conflicts being waged over you,

you twist your hair (as if it needs more attention!).

Like the great Pallas lording over the city

from her hilltop temple with spear and shield in hand,

there is a defiant power in your stance that

proclaims you sole lord of your own destiny and

elevates you so far above the scourge and wrath of

humanity that you must be a hidden god.

As you speak, the men gently tremble where they stand.

They wrestle to maintain their false decorum and

their composure even as their more savage and

primal instincts struggle to overcome ghostly

shackles imposed by our modern society

and its carefully crafted rules of etiquette.

Like a nervous school boy at the prom, butterflies

sail through my stomach like spring petals in a storm

as I build strength to make my way over to you.

I stare into the mirrors of your soul that are

shifting ocean tides of sapphire and emerald,

and I can see that you conceal some mystery.

What unforgiving nightmares does Lord Morpheus

haunt you with deep in the eternal arms of night?

What life has been stolen from you by winds of change

like the down of an April clover cast skyward?

Whose caresses slowly slip away from your thoughts

like blood that flows from a fading rose’s severed veins?

I wonder if the breathless others can see your pain.

Do they feel the desperate separation you

hide or are they fooled by the outward facade that

you use like a cloak to conceal your agony?

Why do they never see beyond the illusion

and hear the silent torture of your beating heart?  




How empty the word that I now feel

that tears its way into my soul.

The wounds it makes remain unseen

yet the damage it does feels far too real.


How I do hate you most of all

as you strip me of my accomplishments and fame.

You, and you alone, have the power

to crush a man's pride and beat him 'til he falls.


How bitter is this disease you breed within men

and that grows more savage with each day.

Is this the curse placed on us by God

as retribution for some unknown and distant sin?


How much longer must we embrace

before I will leave you for great Pluto's shore?

Yet in death would I find escape

or does in there rest a more solitude, lonely space?  


 Too Many Questions

If I had you in my arms tonight,

Would I tell you that I love you?

If I had you in my arms tonight,

Would I say how much that I care?

Does it matter how much that I do for you,

If these simple truths with you I do not share?

If I were to hold your soft hand tonight,

Could I caress it like a mother does a babe?

If I were to hold your soft hand tonight,

Would our worlds ever be the same?

Do these questions to you sound like I rave

Or else do you cower from fear of shame?

If I were to wish you were here,

Would you gently reveal to me inner truths?

If I were to wish you were here,

Would you smile for me again?

Can these questions be but reflections of youth

Or are these merely signs of our end?

If I were to tell you that I will always be there,

Would you believe that I was telling the truth?

If I were to tell you that I will always be there,

Would you ever say "I do?"

And can in this lonely world these questions be answered?

The answer lies only within the heart of you.  


 Masquerade 95: Unbound Spirits

Do you know the kind of chill that makes your skin crawl,

as you walk alone down a dark, deserted hall?

Did you ever pass a graveyard late in the night

and thought you saw movement just out of the light?

Could you have heard the movement of steps in your room

only to find no one waiting inside the gloom?

Have you ever known a fear, beyond all compare,

when you hear the voice of someone no longer there?

Have you ever seen a shadow pass near your eye

that scared you so much, that you wanted to die?

Do you have the feeling someone watches you here

and can you feel down deep inside your growing fear?

Would you ever believe that the long dead could speak,

rising from the cold earth to wander and to seek

those that they hated throughout life's bitter charade

and draw close the curtain on man's Masquerade?  


 Masquerade 94: The Beast Within

There are times when the light fails to shine as bright

and shadows of gloom reach for you from the edge of sight.

It is a night of horror that lingers forever-- without end.

It is time to free the fiery passion of the Beast within.

After months of hiding in the shadows and gloom,

the Beast has risen to herald in death and certain doom.

Fear is the meat that shall feed the lust

And return the unfortunate from dust to dust.

It is time once more to end the civilized charade,

and return to the shadows of the great Masquerade.  



The hot sun seems to suck the energy

out as it reaches from high overhead.

From this vantage point, the great god Re can

watch each of the ant people move about

like pebbles thrashed by the Nile during the

Season of Life. As far as the eye can

see, tanned workers, bowing under the heat

like oxen with heavy loads, go about

their daily routines. Laborers strain to

move the ominous stone blocks from the green

water’s edge and toward the temple of a

newly mortal immortal god-king, whose

name has already faded from the minds

and the prayers of the struggling masses.

At the edge of the great structure, a stone

statue of the new god stares out blankly.

Here, next to the waters of Eternal

Life, it is not uncommon to watch the

children playing with their wooden toys as

they sing the songs that only appeal to

the young or those of light spirit. In their

impassioned faces it is possible

to imagine a future without the

burdens that plague us in this world of pain.

Through the childish songs, those that are willing

to listen can find the answers that the

Book of Going Forth still fails to whisper.

As they dance about, even the gods must

find enjoyment in the folly and the

merriment that consumes youth’s every thought.

Along the river’s shore, the children’s eyes

spark hope and make promises of greatness.

In a home, made by station to be far

from sacred shores, gods hear their canticles

and receive offerings for far more than

the family can afford. The eldest

daughter of the house, barely seven, had been

blessed with a keen wit and eyes that Horus

would envy. Around her neck, Aika wore

a necklace of fine stones that had once been

her mother’s. She liked to imagine they

were as grand as those of the god-king’s wife

and that someday she would be a grand queen.

Some days she dreamed of a time when she could

work beside her mother. Then she would dress

and mark her raven eyes as an adult.

Standing outside her home, she imagined

the wonders that would pass before her eyes.

Each year, there comes a time of great joy for

those residing next to the life giving

River. It is a season where the dark

waters flow through the man-made channels and

nourish the crops that bring prosperity

to the sun-drenched lands. It is a time of

danger when the Nile can swell suddenly

and the only recourse is to yield to

the water’s power. It is a time when

a child of seven should not play so near

the shores. It is a time when prayers are

said, that gods hear their canticles called out

and receive offerings for far more than

the family could afford to make.

Now cold gray eyes stare up through fine linen

and promises of new life seem distant…   



Fado… Fado…

In a much simpler time, in a place that has become but a distant memory, he lived by the great river. During this age, the men had not yet arrived and his only company was the great animals that came to the edge of the river to drink. To him time was meaningless, the past, present and future all collided in a blur of chaos. He saw the arrival of the great cities and the God-Kings that would some day command the river. He saw the great green marshes and savannas give way to the harsh, bitter heat of the desert winds.

But most of all, he thought, he would miss the animals. Once they were gone, there would be no one to keep him company.

At night he would marvel at the dance of the great stars above him and reach out to them with all his might. But they would never accept his caress…

And so it was for a time… Not a long time or a short time… but some amount of time that is needed to transform a paradise into an arid hell. To him, it was all-meaningless. He neither felt, nor suffered, nor hungered…

But he did miss the animals… He would look into the heavens and for just a moment, he was sure that the great dancing lights had formed their images.

The people had come and they sailed past him on the great river. Like ants crawling across a carcass they went about doing just whatever it was that people did. Of course, unlike the animal, these dumb creatures could not see him. They would simply avoid being wherever he happened to be. And so it was for more time.

Then one day, a human pup came to the river’s edge like many humans do. This time however, the pup sat by the water’s edge and spoke to Him. At least, He thought the pup was speaking to Him. He wasn’t really sure, because language was something He had never needed.

In all of his memory, no human had ever seen Him, much less spoken to Him. It would have been a great curiosity to Him had He had the ability to feel. Then the pup did something rather strange. The pup waded into the water… deeper and deeper. It didn’t try to swim or to struggle as the rushing waters pulled in down into the darkness.

This caught His attention and he chased the drowning pup along the river’s bottom. At some point, the pup tried to scream but the silted water choked off all sound.

Then He decided that the pup should not stay within the water. He reached out and grappled the drowned pup. He wasn’t sure just how to hold the pup because he had never touched a human before. As he surrounded the pup, he felt his energy start to wane and for just a moment, there was time…

He felt the pounding of a heart… There was a burning rejection of water… The darkness… The tumbling… Sharpness and ache… Agony…

Then He was free.

Stunned, He watched the body drag along the river’s bottom.

He knew that he would have Time again.

And he did. When he would see the humans walking alone near the river, he would surround them and feel the pulsing of their hearts. He knew their fears and their dreams. He saw their Gods and heard their silent cries.

At first, they were only his toys for a short Time. After mere moments, they were all used up and He would have to find new playmates. With practice he could make them last for a Moon or maybe even longer.

And so it was for a very long time.

Then things changed. More humans came to the river. These were different. There words were new and their ways were exciting. Eventually, He took one of the new humans. In their minds, he could see distant lands and great temples of marble. He heard wonderful music and knew of their great mysteries. When that that human had expired, He came to a decision.

One evening while looking up to the sea of lights, he decided that the time had come to leave his river. As he made his way along the shore, stars rained from the Heavens as if saying “farewell.”

And so his journey began. Where He journeyed, He left a trail of discarded humans breadcrumbs to mark his path.

For what must have been a very long time (He knew this because when He was with a human, He knew something about time), He explored the great cities and rivers of the world. He met others of His kind along the way but generally He preferred to wander in solitude.

Then there came the First One. The First One saw Him when he was without a body. As He approached the First One, he could sense the blood and knew that the First One was close to the discard point.

As He was about to travel on, the First One spoke to Him… to Him.

“Demon, angel or spirit…,” said the First One in Latin with far more strength than a dying one should have had. “If you aid me, I will give myself to you…”

He paused for a moment.

The First One said, “Spirit, let me finish my quest I beg of you…”

He looked at the First One for a time… Why should He bother with a human that would expire so quickly. No, it would take far too much energy…

He started to move away.

“Damn you then spirit, I will defy God and the Devil, to finish my task…” And the First One started crawling away from Him.

If the human were that determined, why should He take Him. It would only be for a moment and then the First One would expire.

He surrounded the First One and slid easily in.

From the moment He entered, He knew that something was different about this one. The body responded easily to his thoughts. His vision… His vision was vibrant. He felt alive like he never had before.

Unlike the other humans, he could clearly hear the voice of the First One talking to him. It was calm and collected. He knew why the First One was so desperate to live.

As They stood up, there was no weakness. He felt the strength of the First One’s convictions flowing through Them. He knew that he had found a match.

Together, They succeeded where the First One failed. And for many years, there was great happiness. They gradually became less and less He and the First One while the merged into a single being.

Then the world changed. Someone discovered the truth about Them. So in the name of so-called religion, they bound the First One to a large pole. He tried to reach out to the human’s minds but He had been with the First One for far too long. They were One.

As the flames consumed the body, He watched the embers floating into the sky like a thousand stars rising back into the heavens. As He watched the First One’s body being consumed, the skies opened up and ten thousands stars tumbled from their perches.

After that, there was darkness for a long while. Cities came and went. He just wandered along the dark rivers. He was without shape and without form and without purpose.

And so it was for a time… Not a long time or a short time… but some amount of time that is needed to transform a forest into barren city. To him, it was all meaningless. He neither wanted, nor suffered, nor hungered…

But he did miss the First One… He would look into the heavens and for just a moment, he was sure that the First One’s image had been formed by the great still lights.

From time to time, others would call out to Him and He would be there for a short while. None of the others were what the First One had been.

Then as he drifted far away from the great river, He heard the voice of a small child crying out into the night.

“Please help, me…,” whimpered the boy child with desperation. “Please help me… anyone….”

He paused for a moment.

“God,” continued the boy, “if you let me live, I swear by my existence that I will serve you…”

He approached as the shattered boy slumped down against the concrete walls of the makeshift cell.

“GOD DOESN’T MAKE BARGAINS…” He whispered into the boy’s mind.

“I just don’t want to die… I just want to go home…,” whimpered the boy into the shadows. “Please don’t let me die…”


“Please… Please… Please…,” the boy said with fading strength.

And then He surrounded the boy and the boy was now His.

This time, the merge was different. Past, present and future slammed into Him. He could clearly see everything that would pass in Their future.

He saw Them walking along familiar rivers and touching familiar walls. They read in the old languages and the marveled at art that had long ago lost its meaning. He saw the great triumph success and the hollowness of singularity. He watched as They gathered and helped others of His kind become more aware. He held the hands of the two great loves and cried over the first’s betrayal. He stood in the grassy field and watched as the Heaven’s began the Countdown toward his death with a shower of a thousand falling stars. On the same day for three years, the heavens would cry. And He saw the End. The death of this boy that He would raise into a Man.

He wiped the single tear from Their eye and he moved into the future.  



I’m spent… my magic is all but gone…

I’m tired… so very tired…

I saw something that I wanted… needed… and I went for it…

But like so many things I have attempted, I failed.

Now what am I going to do!?!

I love her…

But she can’t or won’t love me…

She says she does but it’s a lie. I can see it in her eyes and I can feel it in my heart.

I have been such a fool.

Now it’s too late. I love her with all my heart and soul.

What do I do now? So I sit here… frozen by inaction. My heart aches, burns, for her.

But I know she doesn’t love me.

I just don’t know what to do or where to turn. There are times when I wish I was stupid. You know, too stupid to catch on to the reality around me.

Instead, I have to superior and see through the illusion…  


 In The Temple Of A Once Forgotten Muse

The jungle growth is so thick, I can barely pull myself forward

through the tangles of the twisting vines which reach out with iron fingers.

Somewhere in the dark recesses of my fragmented mind, wayward

thoughts conjure up illusions of familiarity and linger

on the broken images of a forgotten ancient temple.

Beads of salty sweat caused by humidity sting my strained eyes

and I wonder why nothing in my life can ever be simple.

Yet, as I press on, the fear of the unknown I feel slowly dies.

I have walked this trail long ago wearing the sandals of another life

and carrying the burdens placed upon my soul by the hands of fate.

My legs, numb from fatigue and from the trickles of blood caused by knife

-like thorns barring my way, scheme with blind ambition to deviate

from my destination and to find safety beside a warm fire.

Blood, sweat, and grime paste my tattered shirt to my chest even as my

strength ( or is it hope) is sucked from me by the heat’s unseen vampire.

It is all I can do to resist the urge to lay down and die.

Time loses meaning (as if it held any before) until at last,

I find myself standing before a broken sun-bleached stone column

at the edge of a place that stands as a monument to the past

and rests in jungles of neglect: forgotten, deserted and solemn.

Weeds pry apart the white stones of the steps I climbed in my youth

while the defiling vines tear away gold which emblazoned ancient frieze.

Though crumbling and shattered beyond hope, this is where I found the truth

and the safe place that I left behind with such remarkable ease.

Mid-shrine, she stands there, in stone, a piece of art nearly two stories.

Sunlight leaps through her still glowing golden hair forming aureoles

of pure light as inspiring as when I first beheld her glories.

Her eyes are the mirrors through which men know the nature of their souls.

She seems untouched by the ages that have passed since I called her name

or uttered an invocation to the silent muse before me.

Looking at the marble statue I cannot recall why I came

but I know that having returned here I have set my demons free.

Among fallen columns I find a dead man in eternal rest

wearing what must have once been the fine robes from which all dreams were made.

There in crumbled hands, held tight next to ribs which once formed his chest,

he holds a tablet, so valuable to him that he must have paid

for it with his very life and yet, until today it was lost.

The cold stare of the naked skull tries to comment on its sad state

but as with fragile living things, silence is Death’s ultimate cost.

I lifted the work and read the words carved deep into the plate:

When the sun sets, what choice do I have but to embrace the cold night?

In winter’s embrace, summer is a dream as I trek through the sleet.

What once frightened me, fades from memory when exposed to the light.

Once the war is over and heroes dead am I any less complete?

After the ashes of hardship have disappeared, I know the great

Muse which once inspired my words and hopes has been replaced and ignored.

Her forgotten benisons, which I once used to dream and to create

have been replaced by new miracles and new worlds I have explored.

And though the language was one I had never heard and never read,

and, by all the graces in heaven and hell, should never have known.

I understood exactly what must have been passing through his head

and why he must have chosen to die here in this temple alone.  


 The Departure

"It’s time to go..."

"Already? It feels like we just got here."

"Sometimes it’s like that."

"From what I can remember, it sure was a lot of fun."

"I can’t argue that point."

"There were so many people. Each one unique and interesting."

"Sooner or later everyone stops by, if only for a little while..."

"Oh, and the great dance was so fascinating. There was love and adventure and passion..."

"And pain... and hatred..."

"Yes, but as I remember, that was only a minor part of the story. The real focus was on love. It was about how we all can be happy."

"How short sighted...."

"What do you mean? There were lovers, acts of kindness, sacrifices and children... Lot’s of children."

"That’s true but wasn’t all of that just window dressing..."

"What do you mean?"

"The real story was the struggle to stay alive. And everyone ultimately loses that game."

"I suppose you’re right but I don’t believe life’s about how long we live. I believe it’s about how we got along during the journey."

"But in the end, it's all meaningless. There are no second chances. Once you die, it’s over."

"But that’s the point of having children. They are our immortality. Through them, we live on eternally."

"Yes, but what’s the point. They live... they die. End of story."

"We also have the ability to start the ripples which can move all of humanity to be better. Like a stone cast into a calm lake, we can start the wave of change. We have the potential to aspire toward heaven’s purity..."

"Or shock Hell with the potential for evil."

"Yes, but that’s the gamble isn’t it. We are humans with the blood of billions of years on our hands but we have the potentially to say ‘not today.’ Each morning when we arise we can say, "Yes, I have the potential to be evil but I won’t do it today!’ And that’s all it takes. Every day saying, ‘I won’t do evil today."

"But people do not enjoy that path. It’s far too hard. Everyone wants the easy way out."

"But there are those noble characters who aspire toward a higher state. They sacrifice themselves to me the world better. They raise humanity to a higher level through their pains and their love."

"But they too die. And with their death, the cycle begins anew."

"No... that’s not true. Like the spark that starts a forest fire burning, their ideas are carried with the wind to others. They inspire the next generation to reach higher. Like I said earlier, they are the ripples in the pond."

"But given time, the ripples in the pond stabilize and disappear. Ultimately, the pond returns to stagnation."

"But the importance is that the pond has been changed. No matter how hard one tries, the pond can never be the same again. We have the potential to do the same to humanity. We can stir-up the pond. When we love... when we cry... when we care, we change the world around us. Every action that we take or don’t take changes our world."

"You presume that the changes improve the situation. What if they are negative? Or more appropriately, what if the negative and positive cancel each other out?"

"That’s where our capacity for love tips the scale. It gives us the drive to fight harder against the tides of evil. We have something to fight for, while the opposition does not. The universe around us does not care whether we continue or not. So we can use that to our advantage."

"But isn’t humanity its only true enemy? As dominant creature on this planet, humanity could transform this world within a week. But they haven’t. Instead, they fight over the price of apples."

"I can not deny that but look what we have done. We have walked on the moon. We stay warm on cold Winter days and cool in the Summer’s heat. Diseases which once killed thousands are now virtually unknown. We can travel half way across the planet in a matter of hours. We have risen to unimaginable levels in just a short amount of time."

"And in the process, man has raped the planet and left it for dead. Where old diseases have passed, new more deadly ones have arisen. Entropy can not be stopped."

"Entropy? I cannot believe that mankind is destined to decay. We have too much to offer the universe. We have too much that we can do before it’s all over."

"But as you pointed out, ‘the universe does not care whether mankind continues or not. All things die. Winter always follows Summer. Nothing can be done to stop that."

"I guess your right. I’m going to miss being here."

"Perhaps, but all good things must come to an end."

"Well then, I guess it’s time to go..."

"Yes, sometimes it’s like that."  



 Tales of the Dragon  


 There was a time when I was quiet small,

that I met a man dressed in gold.

He carried a book, as I recall,

and he said it was a million years old.

I laughed when I heard what he spoke,

for I thought it was but a lie.

His words must be no more than a joke,

which he believed in my youth I would buy.

Yet I decided to give him just one chance.

So, I told him I would listen to his magical tale

and before I realized it I was entranced.

The stories, I have carefully scribed here without fail.  


 A More Bitter Taste Than Tea

Once upon a time in an imaginary land there lived a good knight called George. Throughout the land he was known for his virtue, charity, and bravery. One day while riding his horse through the dark woods of the land of Discontent, he came across a maiden with golden hair resting against a tree.

"Good day, my lady," he called to the stranger as his horse paced beside her.

"Good day, Sir knight," the Lady responded. "What brings you so far into this disconsolate place?"

"I walk the world alone in the hope of doing good," the paladin responded. "And besides there seems to be far more evil dragons lurking about in the forest."

The Lady smiled with a Cheshire grin and asked if he would mind having a cup of tea with her so that she could hear of his great adventures. Flattered by the generosity (and never one to pass up an offer from a beautiful woman), Sir George gladly consented, tied his barded steed to a tree and the Maiden led the flower of chivalry deeper into the forest.

"Do you save many damsels in distress?" the Lady queried.

"Only those that truly need my help... My job is one filled with danger but the most important part of it is choosing right from wrong. After all, what good would it do to rescue a maiden from an evil knight if she were in love with the evil knight?"

"I see," the Lady mumbled as she twisted her hair. "How do you tell if a knight is evil? Does he always wear black? Or are his teeth as sharp as lion’s?"

"No dear lady, nothing like that... Evil has always been relative. Most folks don’t even consider there actions evil. Is a dragon truly evil if it kills a person while looking for a decent day’s meal? Is it wrong to kill a robber when he’s threatening the life of your family? I think not."

After wandering for what seemed like an eternity, the pair reached the outside of a cave.

"Within that cave is where I live good Sir knight." the Lady said cheerfully. "I think your way a thinking is most honorable and I am sure that you must be a most excellent warrior. Most of all, I am glad that you have come to tea with me."

Beguiled by the charms of the Lady, the knight-errant overlooked the clumps of dragon dung to the left of the cave's entrance. His thoughts hung on her every word as she questioned him about his latest quest. Resting his shield and helmet by the doorway, he overlooked the portrait of the golden-haired damsel and the tall scaly creature hanging in the hallway.

Seating themselves in a large den, which had been burned out of the granite around it, the paladin described saintly acts and lost, loves as the Lady poured the cinnamon tea.

As the conversation continued, Sir George of the Huntington soon discovered that the Lady lived in this castle of rock with her husband who was out preparing for the evening meal. Feeling himself grow suddenly more tired with each passing moment, the knight struggled to follow the conversation but found the world about him beginning to swim.

He never even saw the rather large red dragon that killed him.

What’s the moral to this little journey, dear soul? Never have tea with a maiden while sitting in the dragon’s lair.  


 The Mountain

By now you all know the story of the old dragon Tor-Ree,

who lived atop the peak of the jagged Mount of Entropy.

They say he’s been there for almost a thousand years without end.

and that he suffers from a form of pain that even time can’t mend.

One day a hatchling, known as Amos from the Dark Green Sea’s edge

decided he must know more about the one upon the ledge.

He flew as high as he could and climbed the rest hand over hand.

Reaching the peak, he found Tor-Ree gravely surveying the land.

"Tell me old one, what sin has condemned you to this lonely place?

What crimes have you executed that could cause one such disgrace?"

inquired Amos with an air of urgency within each word

but the old dragon sat there pretending he had never heard.

For three days the pair sat there and not once had the old one spoke.

Finally Amos grew tired of the ancient one’s subtle joke.

Just as Amos rose, dusted off and began to walk away.

Tor-Ree looked up and decided that he had something to say.

"There was once...," crackled the archaic one from his unused throat,

"a woman so faire that even the most stoic would take note.

Hundreds of years now past, it still hurts to hear the name Lenore

and know I will wait forever for the one I most adore.

"We first met in the time before the Glass Desert came to be,

where we lived in a hamlet at the edge of the Southern Sea.

Lenore, though young, was the model of charm, of wit and of grace.

Just a trivial word or glance from her would make my heart race.

"She was everything that I dreamt of while listening to the ocean’s roar

for truly nothing could compare to the majik of Lenore.

Over the years, we became an almost inseparable pair

and in truth, I would have done anything for my lady so faire.

"From within her passionate soul, emerged an incessant light

whose purity peeled away the uncertainties hidden within the night

and, for the first time, left my poor, wretched soul free to explore

the wonderment that life had to offer me forever more.

"I was far happier with her than my limited vocabulary can say.

To me, she is warmer than the golden orb, which heats the day

and she is more radiant than the brightest stars or moons above.

In truth, on earth no other dares compare to the one I love.

"There comes to every afternoon, a time for darkness to fall

and the nearing of night is an event that we may not stall.

For night’s embrace serves its purpose in the Cosmic wheels

and the unmerciful Fates don’t care whose love they try to steal.

"She told me that she ‘needed more time and that she would return.

All the world lay before her and she had so much more to learn.’

Not wanting to hold her back I told her it was time to go

yet the pain from each word was more than anyone else could ever know.

"I said ‘I couldn’t wait forever!’ and then I crawled up here

where I have sat alone lamenting many a horrid year.

Hoping... praying...begging for mercy with all my shattered heart

that one-day she will return and we will never again part.

"An eternity passed as I waited on this mountain top

for the unyielding anguish within my broken heart to stop

but like the pain Prometheus bore, the hurts renews each day

with thoughts of my now absent favorite living so far away.

"So that, young one, is my lamentable tale of pain and woe

so carry my tragic story to every lover you know."

Then silence fell as the ancient one looked out over the land.

Amos rose paused a moment and then simply said "I understand."

That day the hatchling Amos stared out across the Dark Green Sea’s shore

thinking about the irony of the story of Lenore.

A single acidic tear rolled gently from his great wide eye

as he watched the great golden orb setting in the crimson sky.

Now you know the rest of the tale of the famed dragon Tor-Ree

and of why he sits high atop the rugged Mount Entropy.

Yes, dear children, he’s suffered through a thousand of years of pain

but his sacrifice testifies to how well love does sustain.  


 Bluer Skies

The crisp night’s air twinkled in anticipation as Christof made his way through the great forest. Already he was late for his appointment with the mighty and all, too-powerful Dracus Imperious, the Dragon King.

Cutting through the evening’s shadows, a warm light danced about from the Great Cave’s gold encrusted entrance. Humbly, Christof with his coppery neck and his well-armored belly dragging, crawled toward the massive throne.

"Speak," thundered the ancient one from atop the throne in a tone that reminded Christof of a parent speaking to a child.

"I... I am Christof," he stuttered with a tremble. "I thank your lordship for indulging me..."

"Get to the point!" interrupted Dracus.

"Well, your omnipotence, I have spent my whole life studying the legends of the Mythical land of Realtus. According to the ancient text, it is a land where gems are as large as cows and purer than honey. The air is filled with the sweet smells of fairy dust and the warmth of the sun is divine. It is a place free from war and hate. One can simply kick back, curl his tail up, and eat gems until he’s pink in the face."

"And what of this children’s tale?" growled the Dragon King in a slightly impatient tone.

"My dear, most generous and wonderful sovereign, I have used the forbidden elven majiks and invoked the name of the High Elf Lord, Ernie..."

"My Gods... What has possessed you!" roared the Dragon King more in fear than in outrage.

"I have located Realtus," peeped the trembling dragon.

The words hung in the air for what seemed like hours. For the moment, no one dared even to breath.

Suddenly, in a roar of celebration, the Great Dragon voiced his approval and preparations were made for the long voyage.

For many months, Christof worked day and night to prepare the ship that the Dragon King had granted him for the journey. Day after day, he recalculated just how long the odyssey would last and how far Realtus was. Every thought was, however, driven by dreams of how sweet the air would be and how wonderful the gems would taste.

When his contemporaries would encourage him to play volley-human, he would remark that the games in Realtus would be much more stimulating and then he would walk away. When friends would ask him to fly with them, he would remark that "The skies above Realtus were so much bluer, that to fly in the dreary skies above was unthinkable."

As the time for the departure grew closer, Christof grew more obsessed with the majesty that awaited him in Realtus. Each passing day saw him grow weaker from lack of food; because as Christof would say, "The gems in Realtus were made of such high quality, that the anticipation of their taste made all other gems taste bitter."

The day that the great ship left for Realtus, all of the dragons in the realm attended the celebration. The best gems were provided by Dracus Imperious as food for the crew. Trumpets declared the importance of the event as squadrons of dragon soldiers flew in formation above. The Dragon king gave a wonderful speech about the importance of discovery and progress. Beautiful ladies kissed the mariners for luck even as other patrons donated the finest of clothing.

Silently, from the bridge of the Obsession, Christof watched the revelries of the lower decks. Struggling to stand, he staggered to the announcement platform.

"It is time...," said Christof weakly.

His first officer, hearing the mumbled words cleared the ship of visitors and the voyage was begun.

For weeks, the tiny ship made its way across the turbulent waves that lay between them and Realtus. Even as the ship’s quest continued, Christof grew more infirm from lack of nutrients. Logicus, his first officer, begged the stubborn captain to eat, but the only response was "In Realtus, the gems are much sweeter. It is worth the wait..."

At the mid-point of the night of the 187th day, the lookout spotted land. Logicus was awaken to confirm the sighting as standard protocol demanded.

Ordering the ship to half speed, the blue dragon peered through his looking glass and clearly saw the moon lit beaches of the new land.

It was Realtus. It had to be.

Rocketing across the deck to Christof’s cabin, the first officer pounded at the door like a battering ram. Seconds seemed like minutes as he eagerly anticipated telling the captain of the success.

No one responded.

Opening the door, Logicus could see the captain still leaning over the charts of the way to Realtus. Approaching the great oak table, Logicus knew even before he reached Christof that the explorer was now venturing in the undiscovered country of death.

As Logicus sat on the glistening shores under the bluest skies anywhere and ate his fill of gems the size of cows, his mind for a brief instant drifted back to Christof. "Alas, poor captain, you were right."  


 May All Your Days Be Olde

Once in the city by the dark blue sea

a dragon named Kalvin, grew old.

Rumors whispered that he was ten thousand and three...

some elders claim he was many, many more.

Nowhere under the clouds hanging in crimson sky

had ever a dragon lived so long.

The young asked, "When will he die"?

as they too grew old and sang their songs no more.

Generally, dragons simply adore all the pomp of their birth;

there are festivals, and dances too often to count.

But great Kalvin wanted nothing but to hide in the earth,

and be bothered by the foolish children no more.

You see, as dragons grow old, their magiks grows stronger,

until at last they are too powerful and cease to be.

But Kalvin held on to his power much longer,

because he refused to let his magic go free.

Most dragon rejoice in the art of displaying,

their powers before the young ones while they fly.

Yet while using their magiks, their control is decaying,

so that by the time they grow old they will die.

Kal never was one to show off himself when he flew

and he always felt it was far more important that his peers

remember him for what he did and not for what he knew.

This was the strength than conquered death and took away his fears.

Once, I heard rumor that a dragon of bright gold,

came to steal great Kalvin’s magiks away.

But only a foolish, evil child could be so bold,

and ancient Kalvin was prepared for the day.

There once was a great forest of glass beyond the emerald hills,

and that was where Kalvin and the gold dragon clashed.

The forest burned as they worked to break each other's will,

their jaws crunched and their claws slashed.

The gold dragon realized he bit off more than he could chew,

as he was burned by great Kalvin’s magic flame.

But it was over for the gold dragon for he was now through,

for Kal’s claws were quite sharp and so was his magik's aim.

Yes, children, in the city by the sea of dark blue,

a great silver dragon named Kalvin will now sleep.

His ten thousand three years are now through

and his magiks are again his to keep.  


 The Flyer

Long ago in the grasslands, just south of the Darkwood,

beyond the Mercury River, a small dragon village stood.

In that hamlet, a hatchling named Amanda was born,

who destiny decreed would live a life of scorn.

Amanda was different from most dragon of her day,

because once she had an idea it would never go away

until she had seen whatever challenge she met through

but just where the obsession would end, no one quite knew.

The other hatchlings laughed when Amanda looked to the sky

and told them stories about how some day she would fly

so high that she would be able to reach out and touch space

and feel the light of the stars caress her ruby face.

So each day she would practice harder maneuvers in flight

from the time that she awoke until the crimson sky’s last light.

Friendless, she focused on the great challenge at hand,

for it was a sacred task she held which no one could understand.

Each passing day Amanda did her best to put up with the grief

but it seemed an endless task with little hope of relief.

Still each morning she lifted herself a little higher into the sky

while the pleasures of companionship simply passed her by.

When she turned nineteen, still quite young as Red Dragon’s go,

there were whispers that she was the best flyer by those in the know.

Nowhere else in the world was there anyone who could compare

to her expertise and power as she moved through gracefully the air.

Then one day a councilman came to fair Amanda and spoke,

"We have a special mission for you and this is not a joke.

For years you have flown higher than all the rest,

some say that when it comes to flying you are the best!"

Amanda didn’t know just what she should say,

but of course she could out fly anyone, any day!

The elder spoke with purpose in his voice

about the dangers and that Amanda was the only choice.

She was to fly higher than any dragon had ever before

and finally, a challenge that made her heart soar.

She was to be the first to touch heaven’s pearly gate

and in the process make the hamlet look great.

With excitement bubbling just under her brow,

she told the councilman that she was ready to go now!

Every dragon in the village came to watch her that day

standing at the town’s center, she looked up and was away.

"Fly higher... Fly higher... Fly higher!" shouted the crowds,

until finally dear Amanda was higher than the clouds.

She started to rejoice as the blue parted, for at last she was there,

but then came panic and burning lungs as she ran out of air.

So far from the earth, in the heaven next to space,

the daring young flyer starting falling from her place.

Spinning around like a great top, twisting free and loose,

Amanda tried and tried to stop her fall but it was no use.

As she was falling, she knew that she was soon to be through,

so Amanda decided it was time to try something new.

She spread open her wings almost twenty-feet wide

and instead of her flapping, she just tried to glide.

Just when the crowd was filled with doom and despair,

Amanda found herself coasting on the pockets of air.

Everyone danced about her for hours it seemed

and Amanda knew that finally she was at last redeemed.

So when next, little dragons, you look into the sky and stare,

simply remember that unshakable determination put Amanda there

and next time someone mocks your dreams to your face,

simply tell them the story of how Amanda reached space.  


 The Greatest Composer

The crimson sky over the land of Rubies

once was filled with the sweet music

of the greatest of all dragon composers, Marti Consentus.

Marti could create a dragon song a day

and each song brought tears

to the eyes of the young dragon girls.

Each note that he created was divinely inspired

and perfectly followed the note before.

So great was the fame of Marti Consentus

that dragons traveled great distances,

from beyond the great desert just over the emerald hill

and some as far away as the edge of the land of men,

just to hear the beautiful music.

His songs were his magic and the spells that he cast

have never been surpassed anywhere before or since.

It is true, what they say, that Marti Consentus

was the best that there ever was or will be.

Yet this story must have changed somewhere along the lane,

as he navigated the great cross waters of time,

for very few of you knew of the music that came from him,

the master of the great dragon song.

One day as the great master was composing what may have been

the greatest of all dragon songs, a man came to him

and offered to improve the music of great Marti Consentus.

Marti listened to the human describe a great machine,

which could turn the music into writing at once.

He told great Marti that with such a great thing

he could create three dragon songs a day.

Hearing the man’s offer, Marti thought for a while,

pondering the little human’s every word.

Three dragon songs a day would be beyond incredible

and would shake the foundations of the music world.

Everyone would now hear the great music of Marti Consentus.

No longer would he have to spend a day creating, writing,

and learning his new, improved dragon song.

For now in the land, by the city of the dark blue sea,

a device would give Marti the gift to create many new songs.

When offered this device, Marti didn’t think twice,

for now all the world would see his true genius.

The device, paid for in gold, was given to Marti Consentus.

For the next three straight days, Marti slaved away

creating musical score after score.

These may have been the best works ever of Marti Consentus,

but he was writing so fast he could not stop and listen.

To write, to write, that was the passion this night

of the great dragon songwriter and his device.

Well after eleven superior songs of the dragon lore,

Marti grew tired from the push.

He sat back, to catch his breath,

but the machine kept writing for Marti Consentus,

and it seemed far from through.

Surprised as he was, he leaned forward and told

the music device that it must now stop, but

the machine failed to hear the pleas of Marti Consentus.

At last in a rage that lasted for days,

Marti smashed the machine in the rocks,

but the battle was over and the greatest of the composers,

was no longer the greatest of old.

The machine had now beaten Marti’s compositions to pieces,

and left his career in shambles.

The world no longer cried to hear a song by Marti Consentus,

instead they looked to a squirrelly man with a book

and a device that bested the greatest.

Once again the sky over the land of Rubies, is filled

with sweet music of the greatest of the dragon composers,

But nowhere can be found a single work by Marti Consentus.

The machine can create ten songs a day,

and somewhere far, far away they bring tears

to the eyes of old, great Marti Consentus.  



Long before the age of men, in a time when dragon’s ruled the land,

a great dragon searched for the perfect gem to fill his golden band.

Both near and far he was known for the wonderful deeds he would do

and it was said that unlike most silver dragons, his enemies were few.

One morning, a salesman offered the most beautiful ruby ever found.

Its fire fueled the passion of ruby collectors for hundreds of miles around.

Even though the great silver dragon, for this gem, lusted and desired,

this one fell short and was not the prize for which he had always aspired.

Once, the great Imperial king offered a reward for a deed that was done.

He presented the most brilliant diamond ever to rest under the golden sun.

Though the diamond’s resplendence sparkled without that of compare,

the dragon knew that the passionate love he needed, was simply not there.

One day while walking, the dragon came upon an emerald that seemed to be

the most perfect treasure that he had ever raised to his eyes to see.

He studied it for hours, pondering its facets in the day’s shifting light.

After reflection, though it was wonderful, something wasn’t quite right.

Late one night, while resting next to a rock forged from times of old,

he was tired of searching for the gem needed to fill the ring of gold,

when he noticed a small stone glistening in the moonlight’s pale beams.

He reached out and plucked the sapphire from the stone road’s seams.

Its blue core, a passionate fire, captured the dragon’s neglected heart.

Once he heard its sweet songs, he knew that from it, he could not part.

At last he knew just what it was that filled his soul’s desire—

It was the cold, azure light that waited within the heart of his sapphire.  


 The Last Word

Across the fog-blanketed moor, Sir James clattered in his silvery, wet armor as he stalked his prey.

"Here it ends," he thought to himself without hearing his lips release the words. After battling his opponent for eight years, the conflict had entered its final moments. Pausing for a second to re-secure the makeshift bandages that covered his left arm, the paladin prayed that his wounds wound not stop him from completing his holy mission and ridding the world of the Evil one.

Breathing hard, the knight forced his eyes to probe the shadows for any sign of the monster that he stalked. He knew the creature was out there waiting for him. The question was "where"?

Cautiously, the good knight moved across the field where the only sounds were those that sprang from the rattling of his armor. The faded sky above him grew grayer as the sun yielded to the threat of the nighttime sky; yet, the champion of chivalry pressed forward. Before him, the moor ended. Beyond it lay the Dark Wood of Malcontent where he and the Spawn of Satan had first met.

It would be waiting there for him.

Unsheathing his broadsword, the knight prepared himself for the battle. When this latest round in their eternal fight had begun earlier in the afternoon, James’ shield had sacrificed itself in preserving his life. Having failed to protect the arm that carried it, the pavis had purchased its owner the time he needed to deliver what should have been the killing blow. Yet the hatred, which had fueled the conflict over the years, had given the monster Odeen the strength to escape.

This time, it would not be so fortunate. Now, Lucifer’s child would pay for the burned villages and the imprisoned maidens that it left in its wake. The monster’s defeat had been the sole quest of the man in the suit of metal for many years and now victory was at hand.

Into the forest the warrior ventured as shadowy forms danced wildly through the blackness of the branches. The silence about him was deafening. Still he pressed on.

As sweat rolled down the paladin’s brow, his keen eyes found evidence of the beast. Glowing like the last light of a dying candle, a pool of the dragon’s blood congealed along the truck of a fallen tree.

"I’m coming for you," the knight errant shouted as rage filled his voice. "Tonight you will die."

The only response was silence.

Deeper into the brush, Sir James ventured.

From all around him a hollow voice softly spoke, "Hello, old friend... And so it ends. Our dance with death at last has drawn to a close..."

Every muscle in the crusader’s body tightened. Pushing his senses to the limit, the gallant cavalier readied himself for the attack.

Not being one for melodrama or suspense, Odeen the Dragon crashed through the forest behind the knight and the fray was renewed.

An orgy of fire and blood danced through the ashen sky, while the clanging of sword and claw drowned out all other sounds. Hours seemed to pass as the two enemies ripped away at each other. Finally one of them lay dead among the twisted debris of what had once been a forest. Fragments of armor and broken scale littered the scene while nothing dared to stand.

Wearily, the knight arose from where he had fallen out of exhaustion.

So much of his life had been dedicated to fighting the beast, which now that it was over, there was no satisfaction. He stared at the broken body before him.

"What was left for me?" he wondered. The last of the dragons was now dead and as everyone knows, without dragons, knights are very close to being useless.

Sir James looked down at the splintered remains of his great sword that rested on the ground in front of him. It had served him well over the years but now it was useless for the were no more dragons to fight. Those talents that he had honed would no longer prove to be useful. In many ways he had defined his life by his enemy and now that Odeen was dead, he had nothing.

Of course, there would be other foul villains for him to face: black knights and foul wizards. But none would prove as challenging as Odeen.

Throughout all of the years they had been enemies, he never would have considered the possibility of mourning the death of the beast but now he wasn’t so sure.

Leaving his sword where it rested, the paladin turned and slothfully made his way through the dark night to face an unknown future.  


 End Game

So you laugh at the marvelous tales that I spoke,

and you think that my muses are too grand.

I would tell you, dear children, that this is not a joke,

but I am afraid that you wouldn’t understand..

Yes, there was a time when I was quiet small,

and I spoke at length with wise a man of old.

He read from the ancient tome that revealed all

of the stories of the Dragon which have been told.

Then he looked up at me with a spark in his eye

and a faint grin creped across his wrinkled face.

Then from his back grew wings and he started to fly

back into the bitter cold darkness of outer space.



 Epilog: Le Morte de James

He stopped to rest for a moment. He hadn’t remembered it being so far. And was the forest always this thick? Was it always this hot? Well, at least he wasn’t wearing any armour.

He squinted and forced his failing eyes to survey the ashen sky overhead. It would be dark soon and that meant the chill of the night would soon creep into the world about him. He hadn’t prepared for that contention.

The last time he was here, he was in such a hurry to arrive, that he had hardly noticed how far he was traveling. But that was a long time ago... a time now forgotten by just about everyone.

But the trees, the trees would remember. As he looked about, he realized that the young saplings surrounding him could not have been here the last time he was. Of course, the dragon’s fire had burned the forest around him. How could he have already forgotten that? Thirty years sure could change a place...

Slowly, he shifted his weight and continued on as he limped on through the thick brush. If he could still ride a horse, the trip would have been easier. One too many falls had ensured him that his days as a horseman were over. With a steed, he could have been here in half the time.

Hacking his way through the briars, he stopped only to nurture his nagging cough. There were times when he thought his lungs would simply give up but he wouldn’t let them. Not today. He had a final quest to achieve today. Tomorrow, he could rest.

Finally, through the thorns, he caught a faint glimpse of rusting metal.

So there it is. Hobbling over to the ruined steel, he hoisted the broken and oxidized remains of his broad sword into the air. It was amazing that after all these years, he could even recognize it as his sword. But the sword had given its life protecting him. Foolishly then, he had abandoned it here after the battle. he didn’t think he would need it anymore. He had killed his nemesis. The war was over.

He had been wrong. Not about the killing his nemesis part, but about the war. It never ended, there was always some form of evil lurking about in the shadows. Every time he thought the war was over, someone else had moved in the picture. And every time, he had been standing in the evildoers' way.

Things had never quite been the same after that day though. No one else could compare to the evils Odeen had mastered. No one else could quite generate the sheer terror in the population. No one else tormented as many maidens or destroyed as many villages. And no one else ever had been a worthy adversary to him.

Briefly, his mind wandered back to the final chase and the battle. He vaguely remembered something about losing his shield in the fight. He slothfully stretched his now arthritic left arm in the position he had once used to hold his pavis. It automatically held there.

His eyes strained to find Odeen’s resting place. There it was. There is where the monster had fallen. The bones were gone now. Either decayed away or serving as a keepsake for some forest animal. But that was where the beast was felled.

Shuffling toward it, he felt the texture of the ground shift. Laying his sword beside him, he felt the earth beneath him. Half buried in the dirt and leaves, he found the remains of one of his gauntlets. Now decayed beyond any hope of use, he still forced the tattered glove on his left hand, which was still locked into the shield position. Picking up his rusted blade, James continued toward the point where Odeen died.

"Hello, old friend... So it ends. Our dance with death at last has drawn to a close... Tonight we will die and with us the memories," he screamed out into the ether. And somewhere, deep in the darkening forest, an owl was awoken by the noise.

His minded became enchanted by the memory of that moment. Madly he flailed about at the dark shadows of the limbs around him. Lunging wildly in every direction, he slashed at the phantom of the long dead dragon. The imagined spirit always proved to be too quick and his broken blade never did make contact.

The strain was more than he could take. He watched the world spin about him as he dropped to the forest floor.

Wearily, the knight arose from where he had fallen.

So much of his life had been dedicated to fighting, that now that it was over, there was no satisfaction. He stared at his broken and aged body. His once mighty arm trembled with insecurity.

"There is nothing left for me" he said looking up to heaven. "The last of the dragons is dead and without dragons, I am useless! I am old. Let me die..."

Sir James looked at the splintered remains of the rusted great sword he held in his hand. It had served him well over the years but now it was useless because he no longer had the strength to fight. Those talents that he had honed over the years are no longer useful. They were betrayed by the failing of his all too human body. In many ways, he had defined his life by the enemies he kept and now he was prepared to join Odeen.

There would be no more foul villains for him to face. And if there were, he no longer had the strength to face them. Better to fade away than to die a sickly, old man.

Throughout all of the years since the final battle, he pondered whether Odeen rested in the after-life laughing at him for the wreck his life had become. Yet, in his heart, he felt that Odeen would have been saddened to watch him die of old age. There just wasn’t enough time. There never was.

From all around him a hollow voice softly spoke, "Hello, old friend... I’ve waited quiet a long time for you to join me..."

With lightning reflexes, the ancient knight-errant spun about to prepare for an attack.

"I have come for you, James," said the hollow voice. "The game begins anew... We now have an eternity to finish."

"Spawn of Satan, I shall not rest until your kind is no more...," yelled James with unearthly vigor.

Leaving his body where it eternally rested, the paladin turned and joyfully made his way through the dark night to face an unknown future without end.  




The Early stuff

Or stuff that just plain sucks  

 A Walk In Milo's Meadow

I have never written about true love

for I live in a world of hate.

I have never danced with angels from above

and I pray it's not too late.

I have never asked to stop the pain

that lingers throughout the land.

I have never stroked a lion's mane

or given any beast a caring hand.

I have never walked along the Alaskan shores

and looked at mankind's wrath.

I have never explored the British moors

or wandered the dying Amazon's broken paths.

I have never stood under the sky

with the crumbling world about me still.

I have never seen a planet die

and I pray to God that I never will.  


 There Is One Less Star In The Sky

There is one less star in the sky tonight.

There is one less angel above.

They say that death has turned out the light;

They say that death has crushed the dove.

There is one less verse in the song of life.

There is one less lark to sing.

They say it was caused by hate and strife;

They say there won't be a Spring.

There is one less joy for me to know.

There is one less heart for me to share.

They say it was time for you to go;

They say that you would never have cared.

There is one less flower to brighten the day.

There is one less masterpiece to see.

They say that the curtain had fallen on your play;

They say that we weren't ever meant to be.

There is one less reason for me to live.

There is one less light in the sky.

They say that you had nothing more to give;

But I think their words do lie.  


 A Friend in Need

I won’t have to say good-bye to you.

There are no more words for me to say.

To me, it was clear that we were through

the day you went away.

When times were darkest you called for me

and like a paladin, I ran to be at your side.

But now that the storm has gone and you are free,

I’m like a coat on a summer’s day— cast aside.

There were times when we were very close

and we knew each other’s thoughts well.

Now I find that rapport but a ghost

as I am left alone in my own private hell.  


 Golden Angel

I looked upon a great angel

whose hair was forged from gold.

Her every move drew the attention of the stars.

She was brave and young and bold.

As she walked the world stood silent

while she lordly strolled by.

All of heaven was hers to command:

the earth and moon and sky.

I once looked upon and angel

whose beauty was beyond compare.

Never before (and never since)

have I beheld a goddess so fair.  


 The Good-Bye

There is something that I must tell you before I go...

There is something that I really should say...

It's nothing that I'm well practiced at,

so bear with me and I'll try any way.

I've never been much of a lady's man...

Quite frankly most ladies give me a fright....

Yet when we're together something special happens

and everything seems to work out right.

Every time that I'm around you, my heart leaps for joy...

Never have I met another for whom I could care more....

As old as I am these cold winter days,

There are none like you that I adore.

When first we met, you were less than a friend...

You were simply another casts among the crowd...

But now your soft voice, gentle face and flowing hair call to me

And they do so strong and loud.

The Lord knows how careful I've been not to push too hard....

Yet with each passing day, you've become more important to me....

You are now a vital part of my existence,

like a sailor and his need to return to the sea.

Yet I fear when my words are known, that the majik will be undone...

You will have felt a different song with your heart....

And once again I will be left to wander--

To walk alone through desolate, yet all too familiar, parts.

But for the chance that you and I could be together...

If only I could be certain... If only I could see...

I would give up all that I am today

In the vain hope of setting my love free.  


 A Poem For A Lady

When I first thought to write of you,

No lines fell on the page...

For how could I describe your majesty?

No words did I dare phrase....

I thought to write of you a second time

And the images were so immense...

How could an amateur at the art of words,

Hope to capture your elegance?

The third time I tried to write,

You were there within my soul...

Here I had the inspiration to try

To show the world your whole...

That time was not the last,

And never could it be...

For each time I looked into your heart,

There is more and more to see.  


 No More

I have no more tears...

I will not cry...

The future is filled with fears

But I refuse to lay down and die.

At every turn I tried to fight...

I always stood my ground....

Yet now that I have seen the light,

My options will abound.  


 The New Puppet Master

I have a friend somewhere out there with a tear in her once shining eyes,

For years she felt alone, down trodden, weak... (she bought their lies!)

She listened to the voices of those that do use...

At every turn they tried to feel more powerful and to force her to loose.

Yet that time has passed with Chronos' bitter sand...

No more will she be the child or the fragile puppet in the stand.

Today she is resuming control of her destiny and her life....

At the helm she will be, standing forward against tribulation and strife.

I have a friend somewhere out there preparing to sail through life's turbulent sea,

And to her go the blessings of a new life and the hope that within there's room for me.  


 She's Gone Away For Christmas

She's gone away for Christmas

and now I sit alone.

She's gone away for Christmas

and now is far from home.

She went away for the holidays

and I'm alone with a shining tree.

She went away for the holidays

and won't even think of me.

She's gone away for Christmas

to visit parts unknown.

She's gone away for Christmas

and without me, she now roams.

She went away for the holidays

to spread joy and Christmas cheer.

She went away for the holidays

but I wish she were back here.  


 Just A Friend

I close my eyes, yet she’s still there,

I see her smile and golden hair.

Her angelic laugh rolls through my head

and washes away all my fears and dread.

I say to myself that this love cannot be.

She is just a friend... that is all to me.

But my hearts got a mind of it own...

It doesn’t hear my mind as it whines and moans.

Sometimes I just don’t know what to do...

Cupid’s arrow has pierced my heart right through.

I try to forget he every move

yet my memories simply won’t approve.

I try to drink these thoughts away

just to make it through the never-ending day.

But when I look next to my side

I see she’s there with nothing left to hide.

Why must I play this horrible game?

If I love her, won’t everything still be the same?

Oh, for just the chance to let her know

that I fear she may one day go.

What can I do to keep her near?

Should I speak the words she should not hear?

Yet if I give in and make it known,

Fate may still leave me here alone.  



This night I sit below the starless sky

couched under the waves of clouds wandering by.

The moon is wrapped in their down's embrace

Yet this sight does not force my heart to move.

Across the continents I have explored,

There were shrines, temples and women adored

That swept up this lonely mind

yet has left me far from fulfilled.

A quill and ink is all that I now embrace

Yet my mind is haunted with images of your face.

There is a sparkle in your eye that lifts me beyond the mortal bounds

And only within your shadow can harmony be found.

Yet for now these words are mine alone...

My true feelings shall for now be unknown.

As the gentle limbs sway beneath my winter's breeze,

There's an eternal candle burning for a springtime that may never come.

And this does force my heart to move.  



I screamed out your name in the dark of night,

But you were not there to hear.

When I called for you it was out of fright

For I long to have you near.

I remembered your face deep in my mind

when I thought of you yesterday...

Those piercing eyes-- the sorrows concealed behind--

had almost faded away.

I thought of the time not so long ago

when you were my best friend.

You were so important to me, more than you know,

I wish you could be here again.

I protested strongly at the winds of fate

which had forced us then to part.

Yet how could our efforts have come too late...

Why isn't now the time to start?

I laid the roses upon your grave

and as I did, I began to cry...

Your tender caress is what I now crave...

That and the chance just to ask "why?"  


 The Lady

There was a fire that burned in her eyes

that made all hearts stand still.

Gazelle-like she moved with purpose in each step

and carried a look that was bound to kill.

Eyes followed wherever she went

yet it is said that she was quite scandal free.

As an explorer off the world she had no limits.

Her only fence was how far she could see.

I never found the name of the dark-haired saint.

Overlooked, she passed me by...

But just being given the chance to glimpse from afar,

gave my heart the encouragement to fly.   



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