I met a man who told me that he’s looking for the way he might become more free, less encumbered in his life. Poor me, poor me, poor me;

I come to the village well today, though without a need to drink. My worldly thirst now quenched, with home and hearth supplied. I am here to fill a deeper vessel

My father is dead, still he speaks through me; “Don’t say anything....OR ELSE!… There was plenty of “OR ELSE!” to go around.

I see no reason now to disguise this naked heart and soul of mine. You can hide there

Something whispers, certainly not nothing. A subtle impetus to choose to stir and rise

My father has come to dinner; He does not knock. He is not welcome. He is dead. Yet he insists on joining me

I stole myself away from thee and me, for love of sweet Mary Jane.

I read such woeful words penned by a fallen brother; his message cut me deeply. He prayed to all that’s holy that he might cry again.

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

Seems no way out, but deep within. There’s a resonant voice calling from the depths of my being; I am not what you imagine me to be…

This trembling grief is for a long lost soul, a young, guileless child I once knew as me. I truly believed

Way up there on that hill of yours; that most hard-won ivory tower. Hiding there behind your perfect guise

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