The Messenger And so at last I come to thee, Like thousands gone before To pluck my beak at my ebon breast And drop a black feather at thy door... Behold the dusky down as it descends, Regard its gyrations and pathway well— For upon length of descent thy length of days depends— It is a summons to Heaven or to Hell! Other eyes than mine watch the feather fall, The orbs of He of whom I am but the messenger. ...
and i am afraid i'm very afraid of taking a deep breath and drawing a knife wrenching it into my heart and finding - too late - only empty space small flecks of what may have been blood tiny shards of what could have been life there are days, Dorothy, when i am jealous of the Tin Man.
That Little Man Who Wasn’t There Let me tell you what it is like To exist on the fringe, To be a Shadow of The Man That you might have been. I used to walk into a room And people noticed that I was there: But now I always feel like That Little Man Who Wasn’t There. I can feel the eyes as they scan me, When I pass down the street; But the smiles freeze on the faces, And our eyes just never meet. ...
THE LOVERS Darkness is a lady that dances with Light, A gentleman, he, proud and noble. The shapes they create with their intertwining bodies Cause the mind to grow giddy with disbelief. And the eyes ask themselves if they really saw The things the mind says simply cannot exist. No finer dancers in the Universe exist, Weaving a pattern unmatched, Miss Darkness and Mr. Light. The Earth is their stage, their dance familiar ...
She Wept, She cried… She felt impure… A wound inflicted… It had no cure… She knew not what to, Say or do… She could not start Her life anew… She said all through Her helpless cries No hope left… In her tearless eyes… She felt as if she’d, Lost the race… Fear and sadness, ...
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