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e c c e n t r o c i t i e s

pennys fallen through the floor
like ghosts that slip like whispers
through the doors

storms of soot beneath
thoughts that climb
and linger

the score

the stair case
and sharp
eccentric gleams

like electric loans
flourescent scenes
rust and ashs
in a tray

your voice still
and off the history
of parting stays

a lullabye
of sobs come

Editing stage: 


of a different life
one which you existed
play with the sound
of your voice

tears of betrayal
run down my face
i can no longer
stay in this place

Keep Writing,

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

A lovely sad song written as only you can.
We may hear your story one day
As the clouds clear and you walk free of before times
There we will see you stand erect and a man of being.
Take care fellow traveller there are many at your side,
Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

relationships gone by, often intrude during the night. A dark and lonely staircase, light forced through odd shapes, can remind us of things that were pleasurable and we wonder where those people are and what they are doing now. Do they think about you, wonder about where you are? My only criticism is; that you used "like" twice. Maybe try "as" instead of the second one? I feel the emotion here. ~ Gee

of sleep........but I fall back and dream on....
hard to do....

we can think we are as smart and on ball as the
rest but wake from a ball rattling dream
ha ha

going to dream


author comment

Young Wolf Prince of forgotten ways
Walk where the light is the brightest
Talk to those that please you
Don't suffer fools as they will depress you
Seek the wisdom of the Spirit
This wisdom has held you and yours always,
I walked with the Fathers of the years
They talked of things I had yet to see
It pleased me so, they cared
That they knew of me,
Was good for my ways.
Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

sweet soliloquy
brushes the tangled mane
lanugos tendrils
drip forgotten ecstasies
curls unfurl
eyes asleep
shadows of dressing
behind the breathing curtain
each tendril
a love song
singing a different tune

away the little car enging would sing..
alone in the bed
the expanse of window behind the screen
revelry of hope and loss
of writing and television
record discs would bring me visions
waiting upon the return.....

author comment
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