AMMEX

"Unfortunately, I need to live for something beyond myself." She said dryly, adding, "Unlike some people." He scowled, "I live for something." "Yes, yourself. We've talked about that, remember?" "Why are you so nasty to me?" He didn't see it but her hand trembled violently against the leather cover of the book she held. Taking an imperceptible breath, she stilled it and sharply faced him. His scowl dropped at the intensity of her eyes as she hissed at him, voice barely above her normal yet more lashing than a whip. "Because you're too easy on yourself. Because you have so much potential yet you squander it away like it's nothing, as if t

In that look   was all the years of my life   and yours,   coalescing into a moment of absolute   love and understanding. In that moment,   I saw and understood the meaning   of sacrifice.   I saw the lingering echoes of   long shed tears.   I saw the lines of your smile   and the light of true love. I am young. And I have dreams.   For most of my life, I believed that I haven’t   done enough.   That I haven’t become enough. But life isn’t summed up by accomplishments.   It’s not about successes   and failures.   Names, dates, places and popular faces,   they’re only secondary information.  

Atropa Belladonna… It’s a beautiful little flower. In one of his plays, Shakespeare wrote, “Within the infant rind of this small flower, poison hath residence and medicine power… Two such opposed kings encamp them still. In man as well as herbs – grace and rude will. And where the worser is predominant, fall soon the canker death eats up the plant.” What he meant was that inside that flower are both poison and medicine. And just as it is with herbs, so it is with us. There are two opposite elements in everything and when evil is the dominant, death soon kills the body like cancer. But what is good a

            Sometimes, I do not want conversation or company, just the presence of the world, the vague companionship of other people going about their own businesses. As if somehow, the background drone of Life and their lives would calm the riotous whirl of thoughts and ideas in my mind. There is so much to be found in silence, when you just stop thinking, stop analyzing and let the world flow through and around you. Walking down a hallway takes on a whole new meaning if you simply open yourself up the right way. You gain a sense of certainty of who you are, of what you are. And there is a strength to that. A groundedness.            And

        The way I look at it; love, romance and Prince Charming do not necessarily make for a happy ending any more than winning a race or a competition does. What makes a happy ending is something a little less talked about than love: Freedom. The freedom to be who you are without apology and without shame. I do not mean freedom from pain or discomfort or exhaustive trials, of course not. Part of happiness is the knowledge of pain. The freedom I speak of is the freedom to explore the boundaries and possibilities of who you are, of your whole being without judgment and condemnation, without being shunned by those you love. Bliss and happine

I shone my torch up high, a silver streak across the midnight sky. Pretending that somehow, I, with my feeble manmade light, in their distant, twinkling eyes, was a brand new star, a sister-in-arms.

I hear the refrain... Similar refrains. Playing in a myriad of variations on an endless cycle. Overlapping and intertwining, A syncopation of voice and soul... Coming together and bracing against the winds and waves. I believe in love, and its boundless undying energies. I will find you again. We will find each other. And mortal chains and dictates will have no sway over our embrace and the kisses we share. In another world, another life... I will be waiting for you there.

As I go to sleep, In the midst of cold dawn and weeping sky. I throw my head back, into the fire, into the fury, back to the place where I was born. In a rip of sound, I run to meet the past Naked as the day before I could see. Before I became. Before I could call my name my own. I go back to sleep, To dream of that place, To ruin the curtains of confinement and the velvet wall of fear. I meet the heady rush of cathartic pain. And my tears bite into my pride like a metal ring. But I am mortal. I am not sorry. I will not apologise as I scream into the echoes of silence. I fight the lull of apathy and fingers spasming, I grab at the broken d

Of the blossoming rose   that blooms despite the winter chill   and wintry night. In the cascades of falling grays   and blacks, overlapping shadows   casting heavy smiles upon the   summer sun. In its dignified sweetness of epic   grace and courageous poise. The blossoming rose   permeates the tumbling   autumn air. And in the open glade of the   hopeful soul, A gentle awakening unto the   porcelain light. And inheritance bequeathed,   the blossoming rose comes   into its glory,   bursting into CinemaScope.

With sandalwood undertone, Dried rose and juniper leaves, they linger on, wafting, whispering, The scent of days long gone. Behind laughter and clapping hands, A keening trill. The scratch of wood and the smear of ink, echoing in punctuated memory, the sigh of what has been. Madly spinning, Madly crying, Madly laughing. Plans upon plans on secret handshakes and special places. Jack and Jill went up the hi;; We lived to live the next day though. Never wondering. Never stopping. Never pondering. Magic and lipstick, songs and high heels The band played as we stepped upon the stage. A fluidity of motion, we wiled the time away. Like coruscati