just about great

poets must compose
so that many continue to search
the heart of the creator at that moment
I step into the soul of my subject
to imagine how I'd feel
had I been the one in that situation
none-the less,
each one must have one’s own fibre
to brave the knife
the sword,
the curse
the slicing tongue
how can I ever be all in one
so my feelings are the outcome
of one’s peculiar situation
as at that moment

Her captors did not hesitate
To desecrate and mutilate
Her consercrated cavern.

Now it lies,
Rent as the tomb of Christ,
And crying out
With Abel's voice.

The less taken path
Is her open grave,
The dry bush is her wreath.

The marching ants
May pay her homage
With bits of cockroach legs.

The crickets sing a requiem mass,
The spiders weave her shroud,
The blinded earthworms silently
Declare a solemn feast.

I wrote your name in caps and bold
on sheets of gold
to simply glow
to tell and show.

You wrote my name on withered sand
with shaky hand
when winds then blew
and left no clue.

So guess in peace you forced my heart-
my dearest part
to face a fate
before its date.

An affair is brewing

Breaking up complicated
too much to arrange
solicitors, family, pain

I just need something
our sitting room (internet cáfe)
is stifling, smothering
communication, zilch
vacant stares
minds elsewhere

Don't know what to do
but attention I need
before, incomprehensible
now, understandable

An affair is brewing