those precious moments we search for
in the far recesses of our warped minds
we keep searching for solace,
as we leave time behind

and

march towards a stage
where rage

is the order of the day

and
page by page
we recall those very moments tall
we wish to time and again recall
but moments of momentum
are all so very few
we all love memories
how so ever old or new

Unscathed by decisions made
Knowing no one will relate
How I behave is the effect
Subliminal silence
Tattoos. Artistic dialect
Chemical vibrance
As I place pieces of my soul
Into poems untold
Hidden behind what I reap
I've sown an impression of deep
Darkness

cascade this blade of light
sharpening the eyes
your stare finds me
through the thicket
and dream wicket

How you lead me
transfixed through resolutions
of moods and emotions

how far i travel
shadowlands
you find me with
a look a call

the delicate footfalls
behind me in my
labyrinth halls

to lean against
an arm
and feel this
soft length hair

alive like the worlds
winter wonder
in the morning
arctic air

By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake