To live without tradition
To live without religion
But rather to have faith and hope ... for all
Simply to be one and not divided
Not to be seen as man or woman
Neither black or white
But as a person
Is that really so much to ask
Not to be a race or gender ... but a being
Just a being of self
No ugly ... no pretty ... no rich ... no poor ... no status
Just a person ... an existing and living being
Radiating Love towards all
To know that the light needs the dark
And the dark needs the light
Both need to coexist
No-one can perform a good deed if there's no evil to conquer
The street sweeper won't have any work
If there weren't people careless enough to pollute the environment
And so also the ants carried your breadcrumbs away that you left on the kitchen counter last night
But still it's good to dream
To dream of a perfect existence
Of a place where there is only Love and peace
A utopia I believe does exist beyond what we know
The perfect dream
The authentic dream

Looking for inspiration
In a desolate dreary wasteland
The same **** just different days spent
Hoping life will finally make sense
Cos I've got bored and aggravated
With the drama that will unfold
Is this really the end of the road before me I behold?
So I form facts from fiction
To avoid repetition
Of dreary events to which each week ends
Cos my yesterdays tomorrow
You know so my yesterday will follow today
A bit like Bill Murray
From that film Groundhog Day
But with a lot less adventure
Or comedic reflection
A script not to question
No seems between scenes
I'm caught in a dream I can't see me come free from
And those are the facts son
There's no lights camera action
No glitz and no glamour
Definitely no famous actor
With the hardest tasks keeping track of
...
Straight from morning to night
In the flash of an eye
The same simple ending
A yawn then a sigh
Only to wake with a shudder
Butterflies inside flutter
Feeling nothing but gutted
No new day
No new dollar
It's the same as before
As you walk out the door
The same route to work
To prepare for the worst
And they call it White Collar
Should be Call Centre Curse

you were black when i was white;
you were the moon when i was the sun;
you were a one hit wonder when i was on repeat;

you were dark when i was light;
you were bleak when i was a silver lining;
you were a silent film when i was in living color;

darling, you were merely a crack in my armor that i filled myself.

I have to prove this tonight. Mind over matter. Thought is sharper than any knife, and moves faster than any bullet. Thought leaves the body at 10,000 signals per second, if propagated correctly it goes directly to who you send it to. It grabs friends along the way. Friends who want to **** for you. They will hang out around the target and then actually go into others and into the target. They can take over cells, thought, and well being. I am sending them tonight. In a few moments I will release these white stallions to trample and to bite the backs of the dark ones who travail in the shadows. No hiding. I know the routes to send them. There will be a lot of friends. The good spirits that are beaten down and awaiting their bodies to finish the dying process. They are in purgatory. I help them, and they are thankful for me, as I am thankful for them. I hope they are more gentle this time...I truly do.

pale sickness
you're white as a sheet

draining illness
your clammy white skin
rots

deathly light
the diseased white sun will bleach your bones
after the doves pick them clean

sickly white
your cracked teeth clatter out of your skull
dominos in a dead white jar


trembling hands the color of spoiling milk
carefully cradle an almost translucent infant
mother and child
both far too weak to feed

the only thing that grows here is decay
white mold thrives on your hoarded white bread
while outside the safety of the white picket fence
there is not a single soul who does not
recognize the white of an unburied skeleton
under a full moon

A sensitive
little white
flower,
opens
her
petals
by the
opening
of lunar
light,
seeking
to heal
others
as they
lie in their
dreams, she
whispers
to them
within
their
hearts,
“hear 
these
words, 
and 
allow 
me 
to take 
care 
of you, 
allow my 
petals to 
heal your 
wounds, 
I will gently 
touch your 
tears and 
dissolve 
them 
within 
my own
heart”
the soft
wind
tousles
her, the
painted
one
touched
upon the
flowers
heart,
“tell
me the
secret
to flight”
the fragile
one asked,
it flew
again
into the
nightly
hour,
she felt
a dew,
she
looked
up, it
was the
florist,
who
sung
to her,
“the
secret
is love,
where
it is,
there
is flight”

little glowing flakes
blissful and divine
snow glistens into my bright blue eyes
the beauty of simplicity
of a simple blank white canvas
means winter is upon us