Hope migrates tosunny island shores.There is no sorrow,roses always bloom,and the birds of paradisefly forever free.The salty oceancleanses the rotfrom the skinand the heart.

My gothic castle stands  with spires outstretched  like fingers dipping into  the thunderclouds.   Blue stained-glass  windows for eyes. Colors of the sea beam through.    Though in this mind  the light distorts into something paradoxical.    Something  hauntingly beautiful.  So I ink the page with words    that evoke  internal ghosts within  my readers...

That clinking you hear within my chest, is a heart beating against its confinement,  one in the cold iron of chains. My soul itself rattles at the pain.   Wild hearts need to be free and unchained.  Embracing my wild heart I did, I found strength...

When hearts are chained together,you know that love is undying. When hearts unchained,you know that it was mere infatuation. When hearts chained,you know that you share heartbeats.When hearts unchained, you know no two beats are the same. When hearts chained,it's as...

Poetry is painting with words. Painting is poetry without them. Lust is poetry with bodies. Poetry is lust without them. I wonder if someone else has thought of this.