A Tale Told

They were two of different kinds, sitting in the corner. They were friends it seemed, meeting for the first time in a long time.

” Tell me friend,” said one, ” how has life fared with you?” For it was quite obvious to him that something was weighing on his companion. He seemed much too old, with time having no say in it.

” You wish to know?” questioned his companion

” Of course, I would not have asked otherwise,” was replied,” I’m worried about you”.

With an exhale the companion began his tale.


Old friend, don’t be scared

I have a secret to tell

I followed the hidden trails

You won’t believe what I found there

Many a fantasy, floating in air

I just stood there and stared


Then I heard them calling me 

I could feel them pulling me

And hear them whispering

They whispered sweet things

Soothing things

Things to beckon me


They showed me lights that made visions

Visions of what could be

What may be

I reached toward them

To find nothing

Maybe they were hiding?

Of  that I convinced myself


Deeper I walked through the hidden trails

‘Till weaker I felt

Was I always this frail?

But further I went

And pushed myself with thoughts of tails

Tails I’d tell of these trails 

Of my journey and success

But my success seemed dimmer

And I was going deeper 


I had lost all trace

They were gone, those fantasies 

withered away it seems

And all that’s left of them is a memory of what could be

I was lost


I mourned what I could not own

I saw it as my end

For what had I left?

Nothing, but the memory of what I could not grasp

My dream seemed a distant past


In sorrow I turned

To find a way back, back from the hidden trails

For the longer I stood

The more my sweet memories shook

But I could not let these trails take them 


I tried to shake it 

This feeling of dread

Turning I ran, ran as fast as I can

Past the ghosts of my fantasies

‘Till a clearing I saw

As I  burst from those trails

And I felt the dread leave my soul

As I hung my head there


This story I tell

As a warning, my friend

Don’t reach for what you can not hold

For this story I’ve told 

Is not just for you alone

But for all to know

Not to lust for the glow of what is unknown

For what may look like gold

May easily be worth nothing at all


And what’s left after this?

After the searching

The waiting and yearning

Perhaps  just a shell

A semblance of hell

With nothing before 

And darkness encroaching


But now this story must end 

Do with it what you can, old friend

And perhaps I’ll see you again”


With his story ended, the companion gathered his belongings, and with a last nod at his friend, he left. Behind him was left a pondering figure, alone, in a silent corner.


























A Wall Too Strong

Here’s an oldie! It’s one of the first poems I wrote after I got bit by the writing bug. Luckily I’ve improved since then  (at least I hope I have).

Lucy, don’t shed your tears for me

I have no heart

Can’t you see?

I live in a world of stone

It’s to cold for your trails of gold

So forget me as I hide

And know you’ll never get inside

I built the wall too strong

It’s of my own design

Made to keep love outside


So hurry, Lucy, leave

The snow is coming, go in peace

Forget you ever knew me

Flee this cold, this unrepentant snow

Go follow the sun, it knows how to love

Leave me to my crimes

To these hollow bones of mine

Run, my dear, and never look behind.

What A Shame

I have another tale to tell you. It’s quite sad, but all stories can’t be sunshine. So stoke the fire and accommodate yourself, and we’ll get started.


They left him by the wayside, frozen in stone

They said his heart couldn’t beat anymore

They shed their crocodile tears, and left him still

Then they went home

He was honest, he was brave, he was loved

That is, ’til the end

Such a Tragedy they cried, as they forgot his name

Such a full life he lived, some would say

Yet non of them new him, for how could they?

They spent all their time worried about their dimes

 And barely looked up to mourn a life that was not their own

 By tomorrow they’ll forget the clothes he’d worn 

And they’ll say ‘what a shame, it seems I’ve forgotten his name’


A Thousand Faces On A Shelf

A thousand faces on a shelf

Forgotten remnants of her inner self

Each one formed for someone else

Made to fit another’s heart

Then discarded, like a forged piece of art

Who was she? None will ever know

Her story’s told on epitaphs engraved in stone

A thousand tombstones in a row

Forgotten remnants of her inner soul

Each one reads the same

Here lies someone else

Long Ago Image

I saw a picture of who you used to be

And wondered if I’ll ever meet him

I saw him dancing happily

As the winds rose up to greet him

Nothing could wipe that smile of glee

As he danced in freedom

The man, the one you used to be, well he was in Eden

With a torch held over his head

But then the serpent came, and started to dim his flame

It grew smaller that torch he held

The flame grew colder as it slowly bled

I saw your torch grow to nothing

But a match you held, and hid it in your pocket

Your Eden had turned to dust

But now I wonder

If the dark gets to stifling,  and you’re tired of seeing shadows

Would you pull out your match and light it?

Just to see these caverns



As A Tear Drop, Frozen In Glass

She was as a tear drop, frozen in glass

Slowly falling, ready to crash

I saw her blink as she opened her eyes

She showed no fear as the sky passed her by

The fragile glass started to crack

and with it her heart, even though she fought

But she closed her eyes and waited for time

To reach up and grab her, and tell her she was done

She held her breath and refused to shake

But it seems the end wasn’t ready to play

Old Man, Young Man

Old man, young man

What form can spirit take?

entwined in these


and forgotten name

Young eyes, old eyes

withered just the same

truth and lies

forgotten ties

old paths new to take

Old time, new time

times have never changed

remembered years, forgotten years

it’s all the same

Die old man, die young man

what difference can it make?


Generations of Dust

It’s a nice evening. I’m glad we could meet again. It can be a sad thing, watching the day end. Brings to mind thoughts of mortality. But I don’t fear death, just a meaningless life. Though I’ve found meaning, I’m still learning. It’s a lifelong endeavor, this quest for knowledge. And I pray to God that in the end someone will take the small amount of wisdom I gathered, and add to their own.


I saw the generations riding

On a slow trek through time

I watched from a distance, as the space between them drifted

further apart

And the generations of old disappeared on the wind

With a howl they reminded those still there

of the things that had been

And then in silence they laid

On this never-ending plain

Their parcel of time, now laid to rest

I shed a tear for them

For it seemed no one else cared to mourn their end

So caught up in all the footprints they could make

For those following in their wake

And forgetting the trail they walked hadn’t always been made


My dream is old, it’s been used before

It’s not a path never taken, with leaves strewn across its floor

It’s a well-worn trail of a want to change the world

For I dream to change the world,

but so do many others

Now the way I go about it,

that’s a different matter

In money, I have none to give

In knowledge, I have still to soak

In courage, I have not been tried

But in want, I am overflowing

For I want to do many good things

I want to lead armies with valor

I want to fly in a sky so blue

And to touch a star in a night of scattered lights

I want to be strong and outspoken

I want truth engaged and lies broken

I want to spit fire and walk in strength

But these are just wants, part of my dream

I tell people none of these things

What do you wish to be? oh they speak so free

As if this were easy for me

with a smile they ask of my inner heart

My secrets, my wished, my hidden desires

So with a smile I answer

My wish? My wish you ask? Well of course,

I wish to change the world.

Little Flame

Ever watched a flame in a candle? It seems almost…..fragile. As if any small misplaced breath could snuff it out. You fear that each exhale will end it. But it doesn’t. You blow, but all you accomplish is making that small flame dance. It takes a precise breath, dragged from your lungs and aimed at that flame to snuff it out. But still, it does not go easily. It leaves behind its essence to resonate in the smoky trail left floating, and in the charred area where it once stood. It won’t be forgotten.

Little flame, dancing in a hurricane

keep living

The found weight of a frozen fate

it means nothing

Hunter winds and thunder calls

they keep coming

Secret dreams, begging for a safe abode

cry louder

Tiny heart, with burdened weight

keep pumping

Take a breath, of gentle air

keep breathing