Writings Past
Whenever possible, these will have the date and time when they were originally written. I will attempt to put them in reverse chronological order so that we can see personal and literary growth.
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Unknown datesBelow are the writings from my past that are not dated.
Scenes of brutality and destruction Cloud the vision of mortal thought Tales of woe and remorseful experiences Guard the path of existence Signs and songs of lustful greed Extinguish the flames of selfless aspiration. Travels through the brothel of seduction Curve the road to excellence Man falls prey to all of these and is many times Left disoriented and alone To crawl weak and blinded through This mortal coil. -------------------------------------------------------------- Although the night is sometimes cold And all you need is one to hold. Eyes do close and arms do fold And open when the room is gold. -------------------------------------------------------------------- The game of life is one in which you must conform to survive and to rise above. Success is the ability to play and maintain the intelligence and creativity to change the rules. What if, after playing, I don't have the creativity to change the rules? Does creativity vanish or does it simply lay in the mind dormant? --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- What do you see when you Look in to my eyes? Do you see into my soul, or Do you see blue? If you see into my soul, Is it hollow there? Or is it vibrant? A Kaleidoscope of shape and color? When I look in yours I see An antique chest Try as I may, it will not open And nothing else is in view. Perhaps the chest is not for me to see nor mine for you Sometimes lives intertwine regardless Of their true destiny Unable to discern between them and The one with the key Why struggle in vain to open a forbidden door? Somewhere, some how, we will find The key filled hand. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ What do you expect from life? A garden of lush plantation - Wealth in abundance? Life is no more than An empty page You are the pen left to write Your own story. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Only blood can move the curtain And let light through for a moment. What lady stands behind the curtain Alluring one to pass through? She must have skin of silk And lips of scarlet She moves with such seduction Aware of her fatal spell Transfixed by her grace and beauty The blood is freed from their wrists Content to feel their pain, for the lady She is near. Weak are they who run to her The lady with long black hair Strong are they who patiently suffer there - At the split of the curtain. -------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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94-10-10 6:00 pmJOURNEY
And there it was, right before me. How should I approach this situation? Cautiously, I venture forward Unaware of the possibilities. Just walking boldly toward it, passing others who had fallen short or maybe were paralyzed by mesmerizing fear or awe Still, I briskly, anxiously, walk toward it - oblivious to the repercussions There it is! If I reach out I can almost touch it Paralyzed, I stand before it Finally, I build up enough strength and mobility to shield my sensitive eyes. I can hear beckoning from behind me but I cannot discern from where exactly nor do I care. It is too magnificent to leave. Never such beauty have I beheld. I am so filled with exaltation that I feel I might burst. This is why I bore the toils of this mortal coil. I extend my right leg to stop through . . . thrust back with a force from within Confused, I rise and extend my leg once again only this time using deliberate caution Involuntarily, I find my leg swinging back. Why? I came the distance on a journey I could not repeat. I have not the will nor strength Why can I not allow myself to enter? The beckoning suddenly returns Or was it always there but I could not hear it? Closer and closer it sounded. Louder and more passionate seem the cries. There is a congregation hovering above me. Everyone with pain and fear struck expressions. I slowly rise, trying earnestly to assess the situation. Bewildered, I collapse. Exhausted and disheartened, I realize that the journey is still ahead. ----------------------------------------------- This next piece could be a part of a larger work in the future. Frantic screams echo in the dark domed hall. Screams in all directions coming together to create the shrill, piercing cacophony of sounds from which she cowered. She was curled up in a corner with her head sheltered by her arms in an attempt to shut the screams out. Quivering in fear, she crouched. Louder and louder the voices grew and lower and lower she cowered. Moans escaped her lips as she shook her head frantically. A soft endearing voice approached her. He took her in his arms. "Shhh....Jane. I'm right here," he comforted. "There's nothing to be afraid of." She fell limp in his arms as he released the syringe. He set her on a bed and strapped her in for the night. There will be no more screams tonight. ---------------------------------------------------------------- This one could be part of a vampire story. I bent down to kiss your neck. How soft and supple was the flesh. I pierced deep into the flesh. A flood of warmth rushed through me. I shuddered in ecstasy. My heart was pounding against my chest as though it would burst. With pulse racing, I tightened my grasp on my love as they grew limp in my arms. Slowing, I began to relax. Satisfied, I lay on the satin sheets with my love beneath me - motionless and cool. |
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94-09-16
It doesn't seem to make a difference where the world decided to go. I will always have a different drummer. A drummer who beats in syncopation to that of the masses; always moving through the world's core. A core that is never found by those who are dwelling on the surface, regardless of the number of earthquakes.
The earth opens up and desperately tries to pull people to it's core but the masses scream and flee in terror, clinging to the surface where they feel safe and in control. But who has the control? The core of the earth controls the solidity of the surface. On occasion, the waves crash and strip the surface of it's illusions and safety is shaken off and swallowed. |
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94-05-28 11:03 pm
Here I stand
Alone at the foot of a mountain Looking up at the peak. Will ever the summit be reached? One step after another, I climb with all my might, Unaware of what the next step may be, Unable to see the goal ahead The summit is in sight now, Yet I feel as though I have not the strength or will To reach it. But I cannot return to the base. I do not recall how I got here, So I just stand Alone on the cliff of a mountain. |
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1994 unknown day
The cold of winter cuts through my cloak like a knife through butter - almost soothing. Overcome with helpless abandon, I fall to the ground.
Surrounded by pure and peaceful white, it is as though I am safely out of reach of life's pain and misfortune. The will to rise decreases the longer I embrace this white. Slowly, I begin to feel heavy, intoxicated with purity and serenity. Unable to rise, I allow my self to drift into the numbness that awaits.The white is all there is -- the world is out of reach and out of sight. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Give me your hand that I may cut if off. Give me your heart that I may cut it out. Give me your life that I may live. |
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93-07-23 11:40 pm
What is the colour or pain?
What cold hue could possibly express the agony and Sorrows of life? Is there a hue in the spectrum of light capable of illustrating the Throbbing of the flesh? If there is, Which would it be? Green - The colour of plant life; Lush and vital? Blue - Clear and nutritious? Perhaps blue could express Pain which seems to be such A necessary part of human existence, just as Water is crucial for life. Yes . . . perhaps pain is blue. Or could it be black? The non-colour The consumer of all light As pain is the thief of All vitality and joy that Brightens and colours life? What is the colour of pain? --------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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93-03-30 6:11 PM
JUST DESSERTS
When is it my turn? When will I have A day in the sun? Is such pleasure coming to me? Or will I be the one working Until my dying day to attain Something that is always Out of reach? As I face each new day, I am coming to the unfortunate Conclusion that my reward for Strife is merely One more struggle. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Awakenings "It's time." The phrase flashed across My inner thoughts - It's purpose I understood not. "It's time." It passed once again Only this time slow and deliberate. I could almost hear A voice utter it. "It's time." What is the meaning of this? Why is this happening? "It's time!" Time for what? Am I dying? Yes . . . that must be it! I am dying. "It's time." I know! The message is clear now. "It's time!" Why am I still breathing? Perhaps it is an illusion, And I my breathing has ceased. "It's time . . . To get your sorry ass out of bed, Little brother!" |
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87-10-14 in class
As shadows fall from memories past, my eyes grow weak. My heart is still. The pain and suffering endured in the past is festering inside. It seeps into my bitter soul. The love lost and lives no more present weaken my tired being. The prying, tearing at my emotions was too much to bear. So I forced it to stop. The tears of emotional distress flow no more. It is over for now but someday it must fester and erupt inside again. When I am ready, I will let it continue until its bitter end.
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87-07-24
In the Heat of the Night
She ran her strong hand slowly through her hair. The scorching heat caused her to perspire heavily. Fatigued, she drug her self to her old warn home. Upon entering she felt a compulsion to search the house with caution. She proceeded to do so with no understanding why. As I watched her through my lens, I felt the impending danger and had a powerful urge to go to her, to warn her. But I couldn't. How would I explain myself? To avoid the complexities of the situation, I ignored my intuition and continued to watch. She continued to apprehensively open doors, look in rooms and closets. Each time she opened a new door and peered in, my heart would skip a beat and a heavy feeling knot up in the pit of my stomach. With each exit, a sigh and release. She finally approached the last room and, again, I had the horrifying sense that something terrific was very near. She stood at the door and stared at the knob. Her breathing silenced as she listened intently for unusual movement or sound. Carefully and reluctantly, she turned the knob. The creaking startled the lady to a point near to screaming but she swallowed her fear hard. The door swung open. Believing it safe, she crept in. I looked in the doorway but could not bring myself to peer into the room. I listened in panic and terror, wondering what was happening but still could not shift my lens and gaze into the room. I left the lens. Walked, or shall I say paced my house. Nervous and eerily curious I ran to the room, to the lens, and shifted my gaze. The room appeared dark and there was no sight of the lady nor anything else. I searched every square inch but still, nothing. Then I heard a sigh like the ones you hear on cop shows when a murder victim takes their last breath. My heart raced and the swear poured. I ran out of my house, to her house and finally, the room. Searching for the light switch, I felt a body at my feet. As I switched on the lights a body came into view. Her legs were limp but appeared unharmed but a possible fracture in the right ankle which looked to be oddly angled. No apparent damage to her knees or slender yet muscled thighs. Her pelvis was severely crushed as though something incredibly heavy had fallen on or struck her. Her abdomen was bleeding heavily as was her chest. A syringe protruded from her left eye socket at a 60 degree angle. The eye was shriveled up, her face blue and she was foaming at the mouth. I heard laboured footsteps. I turned to see a man. A large muscular man in his 30s stood in the doorway. He said he loved her. He had to do it. And he would have to kill me too. I tried to talk him out of it with witty humour but failed. Some would hear the screams. Some would hear the fading sigh, and some would hear it all and from their cozy chair simply say, "Goodbye." |
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February 1990
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