(High) He was high— higher than the rock he was standing on, close to the sun: flying like a phantom for the freedom which was

If the spell is broken, there remains no genuine life; Machines and robots rule in rife; No hands to reach the sky, No moon in

Bloody clouds reflecting the sunlight like condensed sort of some red wine— gave a different color to the road of life. The violent violate plants

A god nearby listening to our guitar, A loaf of bread with glasses of red wine, A book written in Latin left from Romans, A

Once in my life, your life was better than mine. It was when you held my eyes in your frozen heart; You could see me

Early in the morning, yet outside dark, At my desk, brooding on my life, Coffee tasted too bitter but still hot, I had my usual

The tentacular roots in my existence— somewhere between “to be or not to be”— were reaching down the abyss of unfulfilled desires;   There, ME

Seeing myself put in a grave– being alone under the ground, dark, no sound, no music loud, I remembered a poem by Mary Frye “Do