Swaying in the breeze

Nine times,

Nine lives.

Nine blinks,

Nine wines.

Nine songs.

Nine nights,

Nine men.

Nine planets,

Nine moons.

Nine times nine,

Neighing in denial.

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Stupid Sunglasses

Stupid Sunglasses,

I have so much to say.

The message is lost,

Let’s try another way.

You had a loose screw,

It needed tightening.

Part of you broke,

You kept on finding.

In a moving car,

On a hilly road.

You jumped about,

You burst out.

There was no need,

For all that fuss.

You blocked the sun,

And now you have no son.

Like I said before,

The message is lost.

Just like the sunglasses,

A bow to my blindness.

 

Ka-boom!

Oh, headsplits and splinters, go away.
Nasty litle tricks you play.
Deluded, hallucinating, is that you?
The water’s too cold.
And the sunlight’s too harsh.
The noises that sink in beautifully are a din.
Nimble fingers, shaking.
The wait’s over.
Enlightenment dawned.
The dance of the devils,
The sway of the wild.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel.
It will wait till eternity.

Mother Earth

Wrinkles in time.
Footprints in sand.
The lily in the pond.
The patter of the rain.
Illusions on a caravan,
In a desert of delusions,
The lure of the mirage.
Calling out, not there.
A madman and his whims,
A million stories of the sea
A flashlight and a path,
The sounds of the night.
Silhouetted and soft,
The jewels strewn across.
The water in the sun.
The black got blacker,
The air got thicker.
The tall towers passed.
Against the shadows dark.

Diablo

Winter,

Spring,

Summer and

Fall.

They came, they went.

Something thawed.

A night owl,

Hooted aloud.

A bat hanging,

Screeched from the bough.

In dark robes,

Weilding a scythe,

A faceless figure,

Glided in the night.

Roaring and thundering,

He beckoned the sleeping,

To worship him and bring,

The blood of the weakling.

Stranger thoughts were never thought,

Scarier tidings were never brought,

The seasons changed from winter to bright,

And yet this monster would not slide.

Tired of waiting and wanting,

He moaned a hideous whisper,

Left atop a shrine that was pointing,

To neither heaven or hell’s emperor.

Cried he, not from the hunger,

But from his weakened surrender.

Back to the forest, he glided,

Until the new man was knighted.