Poetry

I come in peace, but not meekly. My hands are open and unarmed; I reach them but do not...

All I know of life is that it changes. These words, I have written but they can’t be written...

There are strange flowers growing in the garden of my mind. Insidious weeds, they are, but delicate: fresh, luminous...

When sleep comes it comes in a wave nothing but time having passed and the whole world gone dark....

Imagine you could make the world in your hands and all it took was a movement; but so precise...

You do not know the words in my heart but I do, and I am not impressed. I never...

Let this be known — or not, but known in the knowing, that goes beyond breathing. Let this be...

Quietly I have become. Softly, I have vanished and inside I am turning to dust. Golden in the sunshine,...