Resentment stalks the night troubling dreams
Encroaching on restful slumber, weaving fairy
Tales of castles drawn in air made turbulent
By tempest sweep. Hold her not too tightly
To your breast, lest she make you weep.
Trouble not your heart...
With quarrelsome folk who take a broom
To corners best left alone, And swirling ‘round
The dust cannot abide air unencumbered by the bitter grime
Of harsh undulant discourse except it come
Through subtle falsity.
All Is Not As It Seems...
Oh woe of man and bottles emptied dry to
Bare appease the wounded appetite of creeping
Vines in thickets of distress, where vultures hide, moreover,
Souls laid bare—undressed in darkness masquerade