Black Magic

Good Lord, Bloody Hell

What Am I doing here?

Watching Harry Potter

Doing his silly things

In a make-believe scene

Good God, Bloody Bastard

This bespectacled boy

With a Sorcerers wand

Hypnotizing and mesmerizing

Everyone.

Good, bad, bloody thing

Harry Potters holding people

Like puppets on a string.

Crazy little things

I am fond of thinking

Making a big thing out of nothing.

You find laughter in things that are immaterial

Things that capture your innocent fancies,

Paper drawings of iron dragonflies and silky butterflies,

Hampered by leaden wings that cannot fly.

You long and desired for the great beyond

That exposed your predilections for

The uncertain butter-soft fragility of the human soul

Melting the essence of your sweet and rebellious psyche

You capture internally all the beauty and horror of the bygone eras,

The dreams of the innocents and the follies of the damned;

In Love and war- lust and desire- faith and myth-

-In a world of make-believe.

I envy your bold and daring persistence

In chasing and reaching your elusive dreams

For I am still here, mired in my own sweet mirages

Dreamscape

When I first look into your eyes

My heart beats so fast

Coz I saw the world in a flash.

My mind starts to wonder

Quietly it searches for an answer

As thoughts of you began to linger

Dreams that could last forever

Slowly slips through from my fingers

As my mind began to wander

Truly, I went to sleep to reach a dream

But I woke up in a nightmare!

Delilah

As she lay there sleeping

I crawled in silence, shears in hand,

Mouth agape, trembling and doubting myself

Staring at the blue-ribbons that adorns her golden tresses

That flows down to her 24- inch waist.

Breathing deeply and slowly,

I started to chip with care; gently they fell softly like

Feathers along the aisle of dreams; drowning in

Simple but exquisite grace among the masses of dead yellow bands

Neatly piled and compiled in the sand.

I created a masterpiece!

A fools crowning glory of insanity.

In a cold February morning, with a lone candle burning

I find solace just by looking at the ashes of the once proud and mighty

Dreadlocks!