Thursday, November 26, 2009


Don’t change your step harbinger of sleep
nothing but mold grows in the dark,
Festering thoughts are fertile ground,
where anything will seed

Keep step in time, the Night is short
Lengths of dark, puddles of light
and Forest asleep
Every tree hums, and the wind
a breeze quietly breathing
bends a single sapling low.

...another place erupts in the Forest
and the place is now a room
in a building, painted red

the walls, those hateful walls
pin me to my place,
in a desk like a slot, similar to every other...

Monday, November 23, 2009

These Walls

When I lay down, I prepared my self to dream good and long. Determined to have a measure of control over my world, I teach myself to bend time and space (the very fabric of my unreality). I return although, most every night to my elementary school. Here I feel the tyranny of those walls crush my will to remake my interior world. It seems as if my imagination is contained at those times in those walls, held prisoner from me. Like a child I am powerless to this institution that holds such immense power over my mind and body. The dreamer that I am, will awaken though, and it may be soon.
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