Look Of Love

I Will Always Adore
Everything About You
The Color of Your Eyes
The Soft Flow of Your Hair
The Curve of Your Lips
Your Long Neck
The Gracious Flow
Of Your Legs
As You Walk Towards Me
The Warm Smile
The Look Of Love

A Drunken Night

It was a Dark Night
Wait
Darkness Means Depression
Let Me make it a Bright
Moonlit Night
The Leafless Tree
Stood Still
Contrasted Against the Sky
With the Moon
Hanging Awkwardly
Amongst the Barren Branches
We were out for a walk
And I said
Every Life on this Earth
Has a Purpose
So what is Yours
Is it Peace
or War
Or Maybe
The Opera
Or a Party
In Either Case
Make Sure
That Your Life
is not a Wasted Life
And Remember that
True Love
Always Wins.

Paris The Massacre

Blood T
            r
             i
              c
                k
                  l
                   e
                     d
Down
From The Bodies
Some Dead and others Dying
Your Red Shot Eyes
Remind Me Of the Massacre

Buddha's Secret

And this is What Buddha Said
Suffering is Every Where
You cannot Escape From It
But in Death
So You Might As Well As
Embrace It
And With Years of Meditation
And then Enlightenment
This Is All he Could Come up With
So I Bought His Statue
And Stuck it Under A Tree
And He Sits There
Cross Legged
In Rain, Sun or Snow
Does not Take a Vacation
No Beach
No Party
No Concert
Just a Smile on his Face
He and His Secret.

Black Holes

Every now and then
I Run into this Writer's Block
Where My Mind is Empty
Devoid of Thought
Emotions and Desires
But I still want to Write Something
So I do Introspection
And Extrospection
Hoping to Find
The Cure
Words Beyond
The Wall of Silence
But All I find is
Emptiness
Vast Amounts of Dark Energy
The Black Holes that Consume the Universe
Also Exist Inside.

The Pendulum Swings

The Pendulum Swings

Up and Down
Much Like The Moods of the Skies
With Every Swing
Time Keeps Marching
Like A Soldier
Looking To Kill
Looking For Glory
And Me
Like a Coward
I Close My Eyes
For If I don't See
Or Feel
The Swing of the Pendulum
Time Has Then Stood Still
And Death has Not Marched On.

The Race is On

When things come to a Head
And I can't think Straight
I sit down to write a Poem
It is not that Poetry helps Me
To Think Straight
Or Eases my Mind
It is that  Poetry Helps
To see the World as it is
Crooked Lines
Curves at High Speed
Potholes and All
The Race is Always On.