As I settle in the chair  before my poetry book, It is only the calm before the storm, that is, the journal unopened,  the storm within hemorrhaging, the blizzard of words to be inked whirl in the lashing wind within my mind.  Begging to be channeled  to...

The pen I hold is my wand.With one motion of it,I create something hauntingly beautiful.Aching sorrows,juxtapositionedwith romance;darkly romantic.Script seasonedwith the Gothic, and the surreal.Dreamy and nostalgic.How is it so?Blending opposites,bridging themuntil they're sensical.My pen, my friend,knows more of my...

Pain in the rain.That's what I callcrying beneaththunder clouds.So no onewill see my tears.So no onewill judge me.Concealing sorrowwithin the rain has been my game.No one sees me!Tears camouflagedby the teary clouds.No one will ever knowmy true pain.Well I'm tired...