It’s hard to find the words to say

When who you love is gone

For shouts of anger and dismay

Have little hold on God.

There is no rhyme or reason

When those so loved depart

And in the broken season

There’s naught but shattered hearts.


Behind the Masquerade

With witty words and fluent phrases

I’ve performed on many stages

Dazzling critics with my charm

All this done to my own harm.

For to the master of disguise

The world’s a stage where none can hide

Save only by appearing as

One who hides nothing he has.

But as such kept in secret still

Is the heart and active will

For none will often see beyond

The stages lights and magic’s con

Thereby while hidden it’s free

The heart to rest alone in peace

Until that time when someone more

Than pretty faces well adorned

Makes an entrance through the walls

And for that form the heart will fall.

Thus stripped of masquerading games

The heart and soul sits on display

And sleight-of-hand cannot replace

The truth behind the curtained stage.

So here I sit in solitude

Pondering what can I do?

For all the wit and charm of mine

Is useless to the purest mind.

Somehow you’ve gained an entrance through

These walls for years I’d built and hewn.

My bag of tricks is thrown away

The mask at last ripped from my face.

The games are worn my words run few

I didn’t know I needed you.

My hearts been stolen by another

More than thoughtless broken lovers

By an angel I can’t reach

For I’ve not yet learned how to speak

Without the workings of my mind

To cloak my feelings in disguise.

For years of painting on a face

Of smiles kept my heart at bay

Always left behind the stage

Not welcome in my masquerade.

But like an angel sent from heaven

You broke the chains, opened its prison

And now revealed for what it is

The gilded stage has lost its bliss.

Though critics scoff at purity

And players scorn reality

I find anew my soul is kindled

To pursue what once had dwindled.

Wait for me is all I ask

Till I’ve learned to live with no mask.



What more is left to say?

I’ve heard it all before.

Every heartfelt phrase

Asking, begging more.

Every turning page

And every closing door

Fell curtains to the stage

Throw dust upon the floor.

We love the spilling waves

When life’s on pleasant shores

Until the winds of change

Usher in the storms.

So tell me what to say

Don’t leave me bruised and worn.

I cannot loose the chains

That bind my broken form.

Yet Another… Midnight Musing

I find, somehow, that my thoughts lie in a state is lethargy at the midnight hour. Not apathy, but lethargy, albeit the simplest of notions is enough to set them ablaze. It seems musings of the heart and mind are desirous of being entertained but the sheer busyness of the day drives out all intellectual convictions–save for those whose content merits dedicated attention even through the normalcy of mundane routines.

In reality I find no mystery to this seeming peculiarity. But merely mention here as a passing remark to the perfunctory nature of these thoughts. My musings–amuse me. My thoughts, at times, intrigue me, while even so all the while I wonder at their brevity, and challenge their utility. For what idea–no matter how brilliantly conceived by men of high intellectual understanding–or what creation–composed as may be upon the bed of silence within the active mind of those whose self-awareness will allow this question–has any merit in the everyday lives and existences of those who either read and observe those works, either for amusement, study, or far simpler, merely for the sake of reading and understanding, have to offer? There will doubtless be no sudden expediency to attention when before there was none. There will be no remarkable remedy to laziness, no cure for cancer, no practical application from the ideas themselves in any form whatsoever. Save only if action is taken upon those ideas will evidence of their merits be demonstrated. While further still the frequent musings of an intellectual mind will admittedly offer no such possible action. For the mind whose soul intention is to increase in activity–to further one’s own ability to reason, debate, and understand–the concept of actionable thoughts are not necessary. The very act of conceiving thought is enough to satisfy this individual without the burdensome continuance of those thoughts into the mundanity of life.

This if this were to be taken as fact we can assume that the very act of intellectual ponderings in itself is an amusement of the sort that can challenge the films, novels, and poetry most pedantic of thinkers will tout as considerations of ‘cultural awareness’. Leisure time spent engrossed in these musings, and their more or less useless applications them can be seen as nothing more than time playing any number of trivial novelties which seem to so engross the general populace–cards, video games, drink, drug, and relations. This concept of the nature of thought itself can assuredly be evidenced by the historical existence of those individuals whose entire lives existed merely to engage in and disseminate intellectual thoughts. (Consider the philosophers of ancient Greece.)

In closing I will run the risk of patronizing my reader by apologizing for what may very well be an extemporaneos example of such musings that I have all but dismissed as purely academic and superfluous. However I must here remind my reader of the title of my post–and if you have deferred your time to my thoughts up to this portion I will not offend you my self-evisceration–but rather suggest you assess work, any work, by the quality and merits of itself. Not by the astuteness, or verbosity of its author.

…and without further ado. I conclude my midnight musing on musing.



In streams flowing from broken hearts

Bridging worlds once set apart

Of heartfelt minds to nature’s rain

Thoughts on life seeking escape.

They scarce are bidden yet still come

Present as the morning sun

Or dew upon the watered fields

When morning, night, at last reveals.

And in subsequent disdain

They are discarded away

But not before the pain that caused

Them to appear has turned and tossed

Through sleepless nights and weary days

Increased as light ‘neath eyes gives way

To stains from hurts that darken still-

Painfully burns and breaks the will.

Separated soul and flesh

What’s inside is all that’s left.

For teardrops never give but take

While hurt is all ever remains.


I just wanted you to know that’s it’s alright my Love

I will disappear without a fight tonight my Love

I may be called insane or crazy telling you goodbye

But in my heart I understand that I, not you, should cry

So live as long as you must live in freedom from my love

No longer will I darken pages with my hopes for love

You have your wish I will no more be in pursuit of love

From your heart hidden behind walls impregnable to love.