Fall. Rise. Fall. 


A passage through 
a place in time 
Brutal salt 
and sour wine 
poured upon 
an open wound; 
climbing high 
to fall too soon 

Friends of All 
appease 
Pick him up- 
don't clamber 
about the fear involved 
Curse him. 
Make him feel wanted 
and pray now 
that he falls again 

It's still the birth 
of creativity 
Gluttony for the souls' 
hungry, prowling eyes 
a source for words; 
God. Love. Money. 
So in need 
of the friendly lies 

Let me bow 
my head in silence 
hide my eyes 
from a weary world 
solely to recreate 
the castles crumbling walls 

Rebuild my tower 
of turbulence, mystery, 
quiescent power