The Nest Is Full
I walk through the domain of the ravenous wolf.
Constantly looking over my shoulders.
Treading like feathers in fire.
Touching nothing around me.... more »
The Pyromaniac In The Library
Searching the banks of recollection,
I find that I have nothing of value.
Ideas plague biblically and roam reigning,
but no true remembrance of happiness.... more »
My Father's Hands
In his hands sometimes lays the snow.
Often times he lets the flakes breathe upon the receiving warmth of his knuckles.
They lay there for a second or two,
They stare up into his eyes, and with a thankful silent nod; they melt away.... more »