A poem about dealing with trying not to give into the internal chaos while environmental chaos tries to engulf you
A psychosis fuelled rant followed by a calming, poem by a master.
My homage to Mark Twain upon reading Letters From The Earth. I wrote a letter myself addressed to a select few concerning my time living amongst Mankind.
Let not the excess of lusts and comforts mislead you as they have the sheep of this hellscape, miasma, painted in this poem.
I wanted to repost this poem with audio to exemplify a prose poem that still conveys the style of verse and pays mind to rhythm. Listen closely. Upon Reading Byron's Darkness by Stephen J. Dawson Jr. The snake lie in wait shan't grant you his rattle. The predator wise shan't babel but rather flood venom... Continue Reading →
I sat each night here; same watch keeping time. The same sun will soon climb and dim out my cigarette to press her soft silhouette against my warm linen. Unlike other women, I watch her in bed. She lurks in my head and poetry floods my mind. So, I write them in letters that I’d like to... Continue Reading →