I’m not really here right now. I can only be here when no-one’s a… and I know no-one can see me. Even when i speak to you, I’m sort of not really here.

Who of you will follow where I’m bound to go? None that I can see. None that I can name. No-one that I know.

There are no pictures on these wal… no mountain lakes nor sailing ship… Not long ago there were no walls Life was lived outside your window… I’d tried to live within four wall…

Listen. There it is. The hum of perfect silence at the centre of all that is, and isn’t.

Some time ago, I made my way down to the crossroads, to try my lucky hand at the devil’s gaming tables.

How does a landed mariner ever tell a living soul about the exquisite rapture of the sultry siren’s song ? As it echoed through the mist,

Hello, can you see me here? Please, might you stop awhile. I am the one you pass by daily as you hurry homeward bound. I am that one who’s least of us.

trust the one who seeks the truth doubt the one who says he’s found…

These words I cry do not come easily; as if they echo from the cold stone depths of a long forgotten tomb.

Your end? My end? Where the hell’s the middle? You say this. I say that.

Not a poem. I hurt; like a Frankenstein monster. Iron fist. Unrelenting.

The old man, who thinks he’s dying, approached me with these words. I am sorry

I was seven years old. I approached the priest in earnest… “I want to take the lord Jesus in… He instructed me to kneel and pray… A week passed.

Time wears away at me, like water on a stone, oh, so slowly, but inevitably, drop by drop,