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Description
an x-ray into the psyche,
a portal into the realm of existential awareness
oh come alive, poet. wake from your slumber.
open your eyes and rise above the light.

i write because my silent heart needs to have a pulse.
there is life in the old man;
there is life in the young soul.
i write because without the notion of pouring
words like a fountain onto fertile ground,
there is no life; there is no meaning any longer.

i am nothing more than the dog-eared pages of an
albert camus novel without the heartbeat of a poem.
i am nothing more than the empty bottle of scotch
lying on the floor, spinning around to find the
person who might offer these cold lips a tender embrace.

i need the spell of music; the symphony of words,
pricking my skin and allowing the deluge of my soul
to pour outward, like a river running out from a chasm.

my mind cannot find stillness in the chaos
without the sweet taste of emotion and sentiment on my tongue,
a visceral temptation. i crave the decadence,
yet search for the salvation which comes
when pen and paper intertwine like two lovers
achieving perfect consonance deep within the night.

Description
an x-ray into the psyche,
a portal into the realm of existential awareness
oh come alive, poet. wake from your slumber.
open your eyes and rise above the light.

i write because my silent heart needs to have a pulse.
there is life in the old man;
there is life in the young soul.
i write because without the notion of pouring
words like a fountain onto fertile ground,
there is no life; there is no meaning any longer.

i am nothing more than the dog-eared pages of an
albert camus novel without the heartbeat of a poem.
i am nothing more than the empty bottle of scotch
lying on the floor, spinning around to find the
person who might offer these cold lips a tender embrace.

i need the spell of music; the symphony of words,
pricking my skin and allowing the deluge of my soul
to pour outward, like a river running out from a chasm.

my mind cannot find stillness in the chaos
without the sweet taste of emotion and sentiment on my tongue,
a visceral temptation. i crave the decadence,
yet search for the salvation which comes
when pen and paper intertwine like two lovers
achieving perfect consonance deep within the night.