Friday, May 12, 2006


A single tear would tell of her sorrow.
A witness to the days gone by,
a life of emptiness.
The pain was hers to bear.

Blindly they surround her.
Strangers unable to see,
unwilling to notice.
Closing their eyes, their image lived on.

The Dancer

Graciously moving,
hands, arms, legs, neck.
Images of life flashes from within.
As a voice, her body tells the stories,
wordless, silent, still.
Seemingly effordless in the move,
yet trembling and warm,
her feet move to make yet another
whisper to those watching.

The Moleskine Journal

He opened the cover, turned few of the pages and bit thoughtfully on the end of his pen.

As the ones gone before him, down the road of greatness, he would join in their ranks and make it.

He would be the one. The greatest of his time. Remembered - and loved - by thousands!

His mind wandered. Thin, silvery threads of his imagination spun pictures in his mind. He lifted his pen...

The inkspot grew - first slow, then faster - as the tip of his pen dug into the pages of the book.

Filled with frustration, he burned the book. Broke the pen. Turned his back to the world he once loved.

Once longed for - one time loved - always looked upon with regret. A life of lost dreams is not a life at all.

Never more!

She dreamed, but not of this.

Powerless, she stood watching
how someone else took hold of her life
and coloured the roads for her.

Silent, she accepted someone else
standing there instead of her. Leading
her into a life she didn't want.

Finally, she stopped. Took a deep breath
and looked at what her life had
become - and she moaned of disbelief.

With two small words, as if taken
from a Poe poem, she regained control.
Unsecure and doubtful, she turned
her back to it all and walked away.

May 2.

Her eyes put a spell on me.
The kindness of her soul made them
shine, and I could feel the way they
made me lose myself from this world.

I made myself look at her - all of her.
Her long, dark hair - curled down
her back - red lips. Her hads, so
small and thin, I feared they'd break
by a mere touch.

Her smile made me want to know more.
Made a fire underneath my consentration,
and everything cooler then her golden
flames was pushed from my side.

I cannot recall the voice she had, nor the
words she spoke. I know not if she was
light or dark - thin or round. All I see
are her eyes - and I feel the spell.
And then - like a breath of air - she is gone.