marginally enigmatic


A Writer’s Soul

A writer’s soul is a blind battle cry
tempered minds attempt to quiet;
its blood burns with the sun
in depths of undiscovered strength,
dreaming private conquest;
extracting elegance from discord
to forge wings with it;
this is homage to the honing
of the destruction of silence;
witness if thou wilt,
our words echo of stars.

Black Sheep

Don’t wear his wool,
it won’t help against the cold;
mistakenly removed from a fool
who never listened to what was told;

defying myriad canines snarling,
shepherds hungry to box him in place;
guided only by purring starling,
searching for his own glowing grace;

repeating remarks in a tone of snide,
feeble attempts to carve at the core;
each insult quickly taken in stride,
aiding a journey towards something more;

still, misery resides beneath his coat,
cast it aside if found lying nearby;
unless determined to be worthy of note,
passing through darkness into clear sky.

Maiden of God

Beneath the shelter of your wing
was found a solace I once thought lost,
as if permanently forsaken;
longing for the light to touch me,
and to its glory I bowed my head;
watching the ribbon unfold,
and with it, I too unfolded;

revealing unique colors in a variance
of shade that stunned
the status quo;
transcending limitation,
but in the cacophony
temporarily torn asunder;

in your hymn the respite
from turmoil was brought;
a piece of me gathered,
the image inevitably coming forth.

Shrewdly So

An angel’s eyes met mine
for a moment clandestine;
from her gaze I surmised
that all the words of the wise,
or any answer worth it to find,
lie locked inside the divine mind.

Withering Roses

At the peak of my fatigue
I stole a glance in your direction;
the shining source of my intrigue
in which I see my own reflection;
twin tales that tell of truth,
but yet unseen where lips may lie;
in our eyes the burning youth,
a promise that passion will never die;
just for now is it ours to keep,
should either accept the gifted rose;
both unknowingly fated to weep
if nonchalantly a different road chose;
still uncertain what I can give,
if there is anything left at all;
show me what it is to truly live,
grab my hand before I fall.

[一] 二 三 四 五 六 七 八 九 十

An emotional track for me off the “Under Your Spell” album from my favorite band.

I’ve been listening to them for over a decade now, and I’m grateful for every minute of it.


Pain echoes,
so aptly this form chose;
entertaining the formless,
our misery adorns us;

Gracefully struggle grows
into bittersweet crescendos,
applauded in mourning
yet deceptively alluring;

Sticking into the fabric,
desperately we try to grab it;
effort falling on empty ears,
preoccupied with nonsensical fears;

Glistening wasteful behavior,
dissent becoming the savior;
beautiful sustained resistance,
working to balance the difference.

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