Come to Me

August 23, 2013

I close my eyes a thousand times a day,
Because in the dark, I always see your face.
You get me through all my darkest hours,
In the dead dry desert, you’re a bed of flowers</p?

So come to me,
When I’m asleep;
Live in my dreams,
And never leave.

’cause it’s your memory that keeps me going;
Though you’re gone, I feel your presence growing.
I never thought that I could live without you
But if I close my eyes, it’s like I don’t really have to

In a crowded room, I can feel alone—
You always knew when to take me home—
But if I turn off the lights, I can feel you near,
And when I go to sleep, well you’re still here.

So come to me,
When I’m asleep;
Live in my dreams,
And never leave.

When I’m asleep, come back to me.


A Lifetime

March 31, 2013

A lifetime looking—
nothing found. 
Still, I say not waste,
for a lifetime looking
is a life of purpose, and
though I never found you,
I know from dreams
that you were worth a thousand lives. 


July 1, 2012

To be so close
To almost have it all
To reach out with my hands
Fingers stretched
And almost be able to touch
And then
To take that final step
To grasp, to hold, to clutch it to my chest
To feel the divinity of realised desires
To bring it to my face
To breath it in
To touch it to my lips
To taste
But O, to find only ashes in my mouth.

Lullaby (Unfinished?)

March 21, 2012

I’ll sing you a dream
if you’ll listen to me;
I’ll make it a good one,
just wait and see.
I’ll whisper a nightmare
into your ear
and send you to bed
with your greatest fears –
I’ll follow you down
into slumber so deep
and toy with your mind
as you restlessly sleep
and when you awake
in the pitch black of night –
cold sweats and shallow breath –
I’ll torture you from the shadows
with blood-chilling fright.

xix. She Sells…

August 25, 2011

like seashells held to your ear
echo foreign lands and happy times
but as we know too well,
the sounds you hear in shells
are only lies we tell ourselves.
Are dreams any different?
But still we dream,
not because of the promises they make
but because of what they represent;
because every lie told
is a glimpse at a truth that could have been
or could be
just like every soul sold
is a reminder
of a world where angels reigned,
when the devil existed only in nightmares
and stories told by mums to naughty kids.
Now, we need these dreams to see those angels
and to believe that the devil isn’t real.

vi. Coffee (Haiku)

July 13, 2011

Bitter black coffee –
aroma reaches across
the border of dreams.


Posted here.


May 28, 2011

tick-tock, chiming clock,
midnight calls
tar-black backdrop falls
full moon lights the night
like day
you feel your consciousness begin to slip away
to be replaced
by fear’s embrace.
For when you sleep,
you cannot hear
it creeping up on you,
filling you with dark ideas,
thoughts that haunt you
when you wake,
that taunt and threaten to make
you do unspeakable things
that live in songs the devil sings.

you try to keep it all inside,
you feel like you cannot confide
in anyone, and so you hide it
’til it’s gone
or ’til you think it has, at least
but it will surely come again
to feast,
and bring along a stronger pain,
this beast,
like poison coursing through your veins
like screams inside your brain
that slice right through, contort, distort
your thoughts
’til all that’s left is fear.

you wish you could scratch out your eyes
but what you fear lies not
beneath the skies of this, the waking world
but in a place where peace curled up and died
a place you cannot hide.
The things you fear live within
and that unbridled din
is in
your mind.

xxiii. Sunset

April 15, 2011

Driving into the sunset.
Really, that’s the dream.
Be it driving to
or driving from
or driving with,
it’s what we want.

To leave the world behind us
and escape to a place beyond the horizon
or else be headed for that brighter future,
that greener grass, that better life –
a loved one, a job, an opportunity –
or else to be lost in the moment
on the road under the sun holding the hand
of the only person that matters.

The car, of course, is important:
It must be fast, sleek, brightly colored.
Top down, wind in hair, sunglasses on,
one hand on the wheel, one not giving a damn,
sunset swallowing you up.

That hollywood ending.

But that right there,
that’s the problem:
Rolling credits; they’re the problem.
Title songs; they’re the problem.
Because when the sun goes down
and you’re still driving,
or when your car stops
and you’re already there,
what comes next?
The movies all ended but you,
you have to go on living.

xx. Books (The Schmoth)

April 12, 2011

The people in the books you read
are all so much better than me.
There are smart science guys
and spies with keen dark eyes;
handsome jocks and
sports stars strong as oxen;
romantic Cassanova’s;
insatiable lovers;
wealthy royal heirs;
mysterious neighbours from upstairs;
actors who are actually worth their hype
and soft sensitive types.
So every time you put your glasses on
I worry that come morning, you’ll be gone;
gone to find the men that haunt the pages,
teasing women through the ages,
taunting guys like me
who are trapped in this reality.
I’d burn them all to ash
or trade them in for cash –
I’d throw every last one out
but still I doubt
that you’d forget
about the men you’d met
and dreamt of having for yourself
inside the books upon your shelf.

v. Dreamer

January 5, 2011

Where do you go late at night, when the shadows fall?
What visions of dread do your sleeping eyes see?
What is the nightmare that violently beckons your call?

What is the horror that every night keeps you in thrall?
When the morning arrives, why won’t you tell me?
Where do you go late at night, when the shadows fall?

What is it you beseech in your fearful dreamer’s drawl?
Who is the object of your frenzied mumbled plea?
What is the nightmare that violently beckons your call?

How do you keep your eyes closed through it all?
How can you sleep when your screams waken me?
Where do you go late at night, when the shadows fall?

What evils stalk through your mind’s twisted hall?
What class of monster possesses the key?
What is the nightmare that violently beckons your call?

What are the demons that through your dreams crawl?
Where do they drag you, so unsavoury?
Where do you go late at night, when the shadows fall?
What is the nightmare that violently beckons your call?