Madness tries its' tricks
But, he pushes it aside
He cannot let it in
He does his job with pride

The guiltless are protected
He does his very best
He takes the sin upon himself
Puts the impure-souls to rest

Tonight, it is a rapist
He caught him as he fled
Too late to save the victim
Sprawled upon her bed

In his spotless kitchen
The chef gets out his knives
Hot kettles boil and simmer
So full of useless lives

Graveyard Train

Coffins move on rails of steel
across a moonlit plain
those within indifferent
to passion, pride, or pain

they met their fate in distant lands
where terrorists now toil
but were they fighting for a cause
or merely foreign oil?

Have I become a puppet to the people I loved,
bowing to their nays and ayes
seeking their approval each time I have served
in every role I have played?

Let this not be true! A man without identity
is a slave to other's perceptions
in all his actions, there is no sincerity
seeking for approval, fearing rejections

I'm reclaiming my rights to be heard
the muted voice has awakened
no longer will it revel in silence
it is their turn to sit back and listen

I walked into my garden today
There you were, I said go away
Why you asked of me, "Can’t I stay?
It is not your time to visit my home.

I have been to your home I know,
that was so you would not be alone.
There staring from your window so
It was the tears I helped you let go.

This garden of mine will be here,
when shadows greet winters cool
It is but a tool of eternity, can’t you see?
I tend it so, that you can walk with me.

error
slip margin of sleight
fault visage
and mirror hosts\

seething haste
of spedthrift
ghost

So I’m sitting there
Being me,
And she’s giving me this look,
With her cold eyes,
And I bet she’s thinking
Look at this Motherfucker.
Acting all mad and thinking in his weird ways,
Thinking he’s beat.
As if he knows anything about that,
Or even if it means anything.
He’s lost in his own damn thoughts
And it’s shit.

.

Mrs Duncan sits in her wheelchair
letting family and friends
press food into her hands,
and tissues to her dry eyes

a single framed photo
graces the polished sideboard.
his long, gentle face, surrounded
by cards and flowers,
smiles out at those gathered there

Mrs Duncan seems indifferent

their youngest daughter, a black beetle,
scurries between kitchen and lounge room
with plate after plate after plate
of food

activity keeps her from screaming

CATCH THE GOLDEN RING

In a circle bound
like a merry-go-round
beginnings seek their end
never knowing when,
I catch the moments
and hold them fast
but soon the present
becomes the past
and the future comes
all too soon.

The tongue of those who can't relate to struggles of the sickly,
Those who don't know what it's like to suffer in silence
From an auto immune disease (multiple sclerosis)
Keeps me depressed and oppressed.

Glaucoma has taken my sight rendered my driving useless
The dimness in my right eye has me wondering
If my left eye will follow.

Figures walking by with blurred faces
Eyes are no more like empty sockets
Shadows in my peripheral.

They say alcohol makes all things better,
I hope this is true; as I drown my sorrow in a bottle of liquor,
Drink till I black out; and shut my mind,
But the more I try to shut out;
Thoughts of you,
The more I see images of you,
Your beautiful face and divine smile,
Can a visage so pretty camoflage such bile?
My heart skips beats,
Every time I see you,
Till I fear I would die of a heart attack,
Let me apologise if you think I hurt you,
(I'd apologise even if I didn't hurt you),