My verses in the 21st century

I found him,
the man with no hands,
he was in a desert it was torn with dried lips and torn arms,
and the men, who withstood the dryness,
came ashore on a ship that had the riddles of death torn,
and I found a place in the drifts where the sands blew and were proud of being alone.
with the winds their words scorned.
and reprieved....


Yet I find myself with a gun in the new world,
stones with the leaves laying me down to sleep...

Ya hate it was just a legend,,
war, it was never known,
people they really worked together.

Just a dog catchin the wind barkin...

Don't care see if I care... Zigg zagg your way out maybe...

The catamaran,
thought it could stand, on land,
and found itself drowning in the sand,
seeking the dreaming willow, in a land,
where burnt sand burnt the newborns hands,
where the levels of water from the sea,
was dried up and blinded the men that could see,
a place.. A land... Where the sand was red with the stains from the rusted chains of men,
who thought at one time the fighting could free their hearts,
yet in the end the stench from the wench who brought life to this dying land,
lies on their back laughing and pulling their oily hair back from the blood ridden eyes..

Now.... I can see,
beyound the prism that imprisons me,
past the chasm, where the high notes are dull to the ears, of the evenflows,
where the spirits are giddy and lost in roams in rooms where the shadows nah not in time,
but echoes loathe..

I found a feather from a eagle who could fly above the echo,
the sound we found in the chimes deep bellow in our canyons that we thought we so low,
only yes only to find a grip on our crypts where we thought the organs can only go,
yet as I find my solo, I can dig, with hands in the sands,
I burrow further below and feel tears swell in my eyes,
as the dust of time tries to make it dry,
I am the burrow of life,
feeling for the chimes or sighs of life,
I fell so deep I cannot feel,
the echoes, the chants the sands,
that locked or lost mankind in the chords,
it tries to awaken my mind,
yet disturbs the currents of time..

you are the ravanous beak
I have been awaiting you,
you are the cry in the night,
from the child afraid when their is no candle light...

I have felt and feel your presence,
you are not the dear, not that that steers the neck,
for my mind is found in a ship wreck..

I hear echoes from the depths of hallows of screams,
the closest thing to making it a steam ship in a old mans dream,
is hearing the crows beckon and reckon so much,
in desperation...

I decide to devide,
the sound, as I drown,
I can let go of my mind,
and wrap my thoughts around the faults,
so it says,
what is easy is the wisps as we drift in this land,
without a guiding hand,
we find ourselves judging this man!!!

I will not curse,
I will just jest the mimes hand,
and wonder.....

I fell pasted the palisades,
it gets harder to break the spell.

If I slow down I will fall past the footballs of mans spell,
I am falling....

I am reaching the grasp where the gods hide their faces with masks,
shifts in the wind, the plateau's of sin...

I need the revery to bring me back to sanity,
the rivary the sanctuary I deam as I sin,
My cataclysms is in the whims,
as we breed the seeds in the sin of everything,
the classless have no cry,
it is unsylabylic,
and falling in the spell,
I cry out loud denying the spell,
reaching higher into the twillight,
only to drown in the shallows of mens delight,
Am I alone alive in a time,
where it is to hard to slow down!?

is my pain the only pain felt now?
Who else lies in the tides?
feeling the shallows drowning the deeps?
where we keep the deep secrets?
am I all alone?
listening to her drown?
where is the men past this and every moonlight?
why have I been left to feel this?

I am tired and growing more towards death...
I wish to summon the rest of the silent ones dying n the dread,
I am tired of the wrecked, and reched men broken crying for me to fix their sight!!

Am I alone?
Am I alone?
I am placing my hand into the sand,may it be barried or found in the silent cyclones....

I find myself in this day,
it is tattered, with decay,
the last chast, a gasp from the birth of day,
I find a rythm found, as we find a way to chase the biosness away,
as I look down and see a silent blond child crying the night away...


I can see the seperation of today as I fall, into her spell.
I can't slow it down, she makes me feel alive,
I am speeding up and cant slow down..
I feel alive past that cave I was told to save....

I am here in this accent called english we have learned so well!!1

Call the naves call the dreads,
call the darkness for we are all so fed,
I am listening to her moan,
in life as I soak my oats in the dreams from the dying red woods lost it seems,
I am but at last all that is seemed to be,
a beckon a beacon, guilding the last boats thru the death mans streams...

Hate me if you wish, deny her dying screams and recon you becons,
oh yes they are loud and you wish to welcome her with frowns...

I am part of the cape in the conclave where dreams wish they could escape..

As I sit and touch the words I can feel the drift and feel the fever in the boiling sea's begging me to stop the dream....

If I am hated the aiding of being scared is what magnets the words to the hunger,
decide what you life is a disaster or a free ness to the why and denial of the shadow,
split the atom and see the time, being as one..

you about the same, deny the shame, and cast the cascades to the....

I think I am being summoned to stop....



just to give you a heads up if I find my writing anywhere else me and bill, will more then likely sue the hell outta you.. this is my writing under the copyright laws of ATS..

I find myself, in the echoes of the ship that has come and passed,
our imagination, concaving the again, the waves crashing into the waves again,
where the soars of the high notes of the away with her, goes,
I can feel the beats,
it recons the silk sheets,
it wishes to tear the the seams in the dreams,
where a man lies awake,
in a tormented place...

the new found land.
it is pure and full of mens shovels,
it makes a drench trench find the soul,
to the desperate seeking the sunrise to come up secounds more,
I find the chalice begging for the mens death echoing on the shores,
the sissing of the serpant is trying to rise in the chords,
to many men will fall for what is adorned...

I feel the rise in the sunrise it will blind the vile,
and enforstein the seen dreams,
when the colors of life concave themselves in the minds of the men trappen in the mines,
we will see a one last grasp on love, or the live,
the question of living or nothing in the choice that was once made,
running the weakness into me and you,
what it will take to take that breath, to embrace loneliness,
I can hear the echoes it is hollow...

A blanket covering ourselves protecting ourselves from beleiving the stars are not to be seen..

We made the choice and deep inside we are nothing but to be lonely...

I felt him,
and I felt all the shame,
yet could not cry it out,
my words faded into the what we are not to beleive......

I know where he is, I can see him, he is so far,
past teh animals who raom,
he cries in the night, and makes lions roar....

I cantrived myself in a self lesson where I heard her tears,
she had been crying the words for years,
it sounded like broken words,
and echoes from a tomb locked up in another mans tears!!

I beg my words touch a lonely man,
where I know where he sits,
and I can hear the fits,
from the bellows of men in pits thinking they know it so,
I cry out as I drift
to fit in the shallows...

Yet I wreck havoc, and break the souls who make such walls known,
I am neither your guiding light. nor thine shallows,
I am but a sage who can turn the page...

I will watch you frellick in your ways,
and watch your dying sighs cast in a starless sky!!
I am but no savior I am but the sage who can handle the wavor..

I am but the candle light for sakening light,
may you lie lonely,
and abused, I am the delight in the idea of sight,
curse you for making thyself the metaphore of a sun twillight,
to helll with you, and may you burn...

I am the sight,
in the drowning night,
the sight that can hear the echoes from the words or crumbs falling from the casltes,
in the middle ages of a time without you,
burn without me,
you will burn,,,,,
and burn all that is night...
Fare ye well, and god bless this night,
and ats. thank you for my podium!!!!!!!!!

let them burn now...
for the smell will recon the springs delight.......

I felt the soul of the cantrip,
it tripped on my soul,
it was in the mud, where the shinning light,
was supposed to be shunned from sight,
from a latin word that meant a eclipse from those shamed from sight!


I heard a horn it bore into the shore,
where the sea swayed and cascaded the sounds of undertow,
it made the hounds of war wagger into their staggers!!

I am angerned that the man of the 21st cnetury dream,
cannot see the barks from the hallow,
it is wreched with latin echoes,
from the deepened souls of men,
who find the undertow but a tug to make them feel snug under the sheats of a restlesss man's dying dream...

I am but lost at the cost of the end of echoes,
I lie, in the shade of hades sight in her eyes...

I lay restess indeed alive in a moon glow,
yet I wait for the twist of the damn indiglo,
I am but a phantom, caught up in the red a blue,
looking for her,
where does she lie,
to combine the stars in the sky?
I sit and stir on a pendelum for you..

If bue could be the clue I am cold,
and catching a cold for you..
wake up,
and see the pantrims caught in the cantrips as we lie still begging to see you..


I saw a reflection today as I looked in the mirror, I saw what it is that man is to fear,
then I saw the women of space,
they dance to get a taste,
I felt no shame,
as I was their to tame the wild,
I felt the wind blow,
it caught the damn undertow,
and I rode the show to the window,
where the mist turned to due,
in a shallow misconstrewed event,
that made a messed up band twist the sand,
and question the righteousness of man..

I was feeling alive until the shade turned a facade of my grin to a seeming alloy of tin,
I cried out to the tonight, I felt the confusion of night,
it wripped thru my skin,
and broke the bark of many strong men,
within the tree's that had held the red high,
I felt the weakness of sin,
in the words given in in a time we call divine,,
cursed be the socominess in the socumbs of dirividens..

I can feel the sheilds covering my heart,
and I can point at the marks.
and remember this day,
As I will see the final and last facade...

we will not die, and we last...

this madman is put to rest tonight...

She was the girl caught in the sand,
she held fire in her hands,
and traded it over and over for the premise of man,
yet she found herself deeper and deeper in the quick sand..

Feeling the good as it stood,
artifual and lacking the understood,
she wished for the new world,
where the palace stood,
past the halls of gold,
where pearls made the understanding of god,
where a man stood, striaght and tall,
yet not enough to scare the hood who stood past the stool,
of it all...

I felt the face it stared or tried to stare in one place,
it made hate a made face where war was raw and new,
where many died to build up that face...

As i saw the stars,
they faded into a bed of twillight,
the chandalier, it felt ever so near,
as the depth of her pupils drew me near,
I felt the rise in my blood fill my fear,
into a sweat that made a stench it was contevioruans to the shallows of a man soul,
I shouted out, and found nothing to hear my words speak without,
I lay ashamed with the guns pointed at the sun, a sin as I wondered round the halls,
I looked for a subject to repeat what it was I seen...

I will get the blame,
I am the castle in the sand,
the piano beat that has no ryhme that begs for your reflection in time,
I am searching for something wrong, blaming my gift,
as if it was something wrong,
she was so still,
as I felt her soul,
yet I had to blame it on you,
you were wrong,,,,

Lets have a toast for the punks that hurt her,
before it got crazy,
she will run from me,
she can't see my plan..
the aspact of the next move,
she is the sadness that hunger the vultures of life,
my love just a basic, young and lacking the damage,
yet I will find myslef as a man asking,
what do you want from me?
a cascade or a sunset that leads to lusts delight?
dim em the light, drink my blood, or is it my tearsI am but the singer in the hall, who goes deaf in the shallows of souls..My words echo across a chamber you think you know...

I will not stand in rain so you can see the devil in me...
I am the the heart that gives you all you want,
with the whim of a breath given to me,
as I falter I can see the side of moon that faces the night,
as it cries in delight, where do you slumber? HIding from me..

A time where the moon does not shines rises to this risen tide,
and the words are heard on a voice risen, to leave,
leave it to the weathered man,
leave him to lie in the sands,
just a dreamer calling out to the moon as it risen,
I am known crawling on the backs of men,
just a crawling man riding a wave....

Their once was a signal fire,
it burned louder then the perfect words,
it shown bright and made the felt,
past the sounds caught trapped,
it fell in the rudemary being stuck,
if I did not try to find your arms...

their was a chorus, it wripped thru the rip chords of our life,
it made the singing moment to be open one last time for you,
as I fell a story or two bellow I felt I was not alone,
you were what I was looking at,
any where even away from here,
light my soul, make it somethng worth my choice,
as I lie in the skibes loud voices I feel my soul running for the beats that were asked for.

its summer time..

the star screamed,
it was complacent in the man's dream,
it wrenched and contoured itself in the darkness,
it radiated the shadow and made it cry out to the mast,
it became the vision to be,
it made the premature facade question its place..

A face compounded in the depth of the sea,
it was not time, but a matter,
a prism glistening the irradiating light,
it made beams of colors,
and constricted the streams of dreams,
laying blankets to radiate the solemn lumbers in rocks and wood,
beckoning in a wind, that made time exist,
and blessed the life with vision,
of a place that has the cantripts asking for the disease...

Time...

Time, it is the evanescence of the current that rips thru our dreams,
breathing, is our corress and embrace of comfort,
yet if you listen, you can hear not the hearts that beat,
but the stars that scream..

a shout in time,
knowing it could hide...
It was raw a com placed with the way the love was crying above,
it faded in the echoes from the belief in it all, know where you lie,
knowing how you run,
afar past the drums from the men lost in the echoes,
we find but the ashes,
and sand from the waves,
rolling upon the knolls.
with the current from our voices crying high above,
we replace it with the screams from the echoes from eagles above,
soaring above a void,
a darkness we call levity,
and find the shame in the hearts beating not from a man,
but a lyeing contript seen from afar,
and we call it the desert somewhere we can lose in the high ground as we look from afar,
I can hear the witches speaking their cantrips and seeking the muck and decay,
to devour our day where we see not the mold that grows,
but the life we hold..

A wrenched stiff skeleton has a grip on a beating heart,
it lies in tides,
where even the old men do not wish to die,
a placid beach where if you were to dig,
you would find the shells of men,
who had more to life then just the whiff of what it is we call a man,
running dry he spits into the drift,
and finds a sand storm among his mist,
and wishes to cry but is all but dry in the metaphors,
for his pores are full of grit in the loneliness where the sky is the only companion,
without her he remains lonely and dry,
in a day he feels the next burning without the drifting breeze,
he is still and part of the disease that is the thrill of death,
falling to a disease he calls his knee's..

And in happenstance he is to be remembered in the soul that burns...

the contour,
it ripps into our muridians it makes the men,
sounds like babies again,
asking the sky to bring them to their bodies,
a hymlick repleasal, a facination with the bossums of what it is we difrianciate our souls with,
the last portion of man that begs for what it is we are to last for..

the dream, the scheme the egotistical scheme,
we think we can feel,
or move ourselves to feel the extracts of the the radiation from the stars..

just being a peace of dust is not what fills the hulls of our souls...
adamant and contoured we listen to the humming bird as it vibrates space and time to hover,
yet it is not the cover we desire, but the nakedness we indulge ourselves in,
it is the innocence of the sin.. We find it without a dart in our eyes,
all we have to do is look to the sky,
not even a wonder why,
we are the flamingo who lets pink taint our eyes,
and we stand after the fact,
proclaiming we are but men of many men,
and can see past the sands that have covered the corpses,
who fought for this dry wasted land..

Yet our site has become a near sighted delight,
our hearing has heard nothing but the dull doldrums of our delight,
our taste has become stagnant with salty taste of blood,
for when it is a time to sense such a divinity,
we will but cast it aside as one would in a tragedy..

hope is but a curse,
a curse is but a riddle,
to keep from lurking for the worst,
we find the senses but a jest,
from a jester who speaks with no words,
detailing only the worst...

He drifted in a void,
in a darkness that made sight unknown.

There was no music,
there was no essence to sense with smell,
it was cold and dry,
and it felt like what it is when we are told of hell.

TO MY BELOVED WIFE

he was moving so fast it seemed,
on a steed made of a man who dreamed of speed,
he did not fear the speed, having a control, when things rose to and fro with the gails that blew in the snows,
keeping his heart so cold.

cracking the ice he fought to make a face to attract such graces that frolicked the plane space,
what it took the strength to crack made him feel outta place,
in so many places where men spend time to feed their diseases and forget their lacking of having what it is that pleases them.

he will never forget that night, it was a high tide, and the moonlight reflected its dull beams off of a calm and clean swell, he arrived as if it was contrived. In his own betrayal from a vixen who thought the moves or glides of her soul was enough to please a man's soul, she created the scorn and reopened a scar within his soul..

As wild as a wild fire he was dancing across the seams where the borders mesh with the time, and space making a screen for us to be watched like a tv screen to those that hold our dreams.

First it was like a cold cool touch,
from a lick of water,
touching dried cracked lips,
from the man kneeling with less then life in his lungs,
in a devils playground,
beaten with the sun,
and winded with million and billions of specs of sand,
just as it is to this man,
her glance with her gleam of ice so cool and warn pierced my soul,
leaving me feeling like my life was not life but death, and he was not alive,
he was just hollow filling the boxes of surveys and numbers,
was it the devils touch? Or God's original dream, whatever it was it was only her that could be seen.

A little after this time,
he approached her,
only to tease his own dreams,
as the vixen was spinning her dreams,
with ingredients of his blood it seemed,
with one last view into the hues he had never seen,
he left the square on the fifth point,
to just watch him walk away,
as she could only stare..

What felt like a million stares,
and many moons flying about the sphere,
he finally started to search,
and pray for the day he can see the eyes,
that so say the taste of time,
is but stale and frail,
for the life waiting for my wild mind,
is in her vise her visage her gaze,
her hair that drifts in the breeze of it all,
drifting in the breath of men.

Her eyes give a man know where to hide,
her beauty is the tamer of the beast,
and her mind is the answer to the riddle,
leaving all in the wake,
of the earthquake confused and feeling used.

In the end, he did not find the moment that slowed him down,
he found the slow down of men,
and she protected him,
from the frolic confusion,
that has sucked so many in.

May this to be all our wives,
may love be,
the thought,
we begin,
and end with all our dreams.

The words spin,
as I taste the wine mending the bends in time,
the cascades have been made and put into shapes making shades in a language or taste or sight we only stand in fright when we try to gain the might to bend the light to an understanding, as the prism bends from our logic and scenes in our dreams.

Reality and dreams all fall into the bellows past the screens that filter our lives as we swim in this stream we call it all.

Welcome and goodbye,
don't touch the dyes for this is curated into the site of the scene of what is closest to the god complex man can derive to contrive to even imagine to try to see..

Lets begin,
as we crawl out the hole that was mended for us to teach us how to crawl out into the night into the light,
the revine's we see in the geography have a past and a life at one pass to bring us to pass where we are now sitting upon the desert plateau or the chateau where we have in place the numbers to hold us in place....


Yet further from the language of understanding we still hold the hands of the land, and breath its life with each given moment, yet docile it appears it has granted us these years to yearn, scorn and tear at the ones born waiting for death as we sit still yet still seeking the thrill the remnants birth or the dividends of death we seek the spice of life, trying to catch the drift the lift of the winds the gales in our sails our elders now call the reverberant memories of the prime times.

the effigy is a start,
it happened with the first beat of mans heart,
it grew to the cycle we call the season of man,
it reached the breach of the silent and dark, to the light of the flame,
leaving us to remain deep down ashamed,
as we sit in this part of the world in a time,
where the sky is littered with the the fine lines,
we find our eyes focused on the dust and death of the history we have managed to try to burn and turn into the fisrt beats of our hearts...