It Lives

(image from 




Wasted portions of misunderstood and ignored knowledge

held for ransom, like a secret never told,

Stealthily gaining momentum

from its gravity turned stale, and time lapsed in hiding. 

Soon sheethed in the murky shadows,

lurking in the zone of the unknown,



Wanting to free, but hopelessly shackled,

a hostage whose only solace is reveling in a newfound medium,

Somewhere between complacency and torment,

it gathers rapacious auric silt and slime,

Like the ghost of thoughts put to rest,

And stories never told,



It plays possum in the night,

only to keep a watchful eye

upon the Earth.


Devotion and loyalty to reticence

is its only oxygen in the struggle for freedom,

Befriended only by the sound---HUSH!

And speak, but only for the rebirth of itself,

At its core, once long ago, enlightenment, metamorphosed into

a haunting, churlish, savage scowl.




is the tortured spirit of all things 

misunderstood, held in secrecy,

the words and thoughts of the wolves

who walk with brazen ostenatiousness

in the sheep's hide.




1:31 am



Author's Notes/Comments: 

Words of knowledge unspoken turn to ignorance, and then to rude, abrasive, violent language and even acts.

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book reading

do androids dream of electric sheep the book i did read.. short story compared to the story of life.. i read the book of you and flip its pages quickly quickly my friend.. lover unknown person known.. lover known person unknown..

i read that book and as i do soft fingers trail across text.. the book of you has pages stiff and soft.. rough and smooth and at times i read it slowly too.. every puntuating mark a shock to my brain every train of thought rushes to my heart..

and i follow it chapter and verse to get to the heart of its creator.. i read the book of you and hope that it is not word for word as society has written..

but sometimes it is.. your passion plain to see becase you are used to being read by the average reader instead of hunger of imhotep.. child locked in a room trying to find the cure for a dying mothers cancer i sift through the words.. one on by one not missing a single stroke of the pen or drop of the ink pressed to print..

pages flip so fast they catch afire upon my fingertips..their heat fans out as i read on.. every day a few more pages but i know ill never be done because you are constantly changing the story.. new passions and mysteries write themselves in the book of your life.. new moments spill upon its pages..

im a book reader but let my fingers do the walking..

Author's Notes/Comments: 

each heart is its own universe its own history and myths and secrets.. read each story well before reviewing it..

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The Lost Youth

The Lost Youth

Ever seen the sheep ,tied to the pole?
gaily grazing within the limits,
gifted by the ropes, so short..
thanking the master for the treat.
does the poor soul know its fate?
to be milked, till her udder dries..
then ,she sees the knife so sharp
recalls the joy in masters eyes,
when the grass had made her plump..
too late too late it is now,should have
broken loose, when still YOUNG.
thus ends the tale of many a sheeps,
who had opted to live ,with the flow

Roshan N

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the state of present day youth

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My Work

“Gaze into faces,
get behind eyes.
From so many places,
fed so many lies.
All satiated,
starving for more.
nauseating encore.
Imbalanced, heavy scales,
bearing unjust weight,
all who would reign must fail,
policy is bait.
Only one more swallow,
deep, filthy well.
Thirst always follows,
hunger’s dinner bell.
And, so we take the mark,
clones stamped in red;
sheep left in the dark,
bones, bleached and bled.
But, still I will rage
defying gravity;
incarcerated in this cage,
I choose to be free.
For I will not surrender,
I will not kneel,
to the Great Pretenders,
serving the next meal."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Politics, anyone?

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My Work

Insolent minds;
are welcome to the view.
Sounds and colors climbing
to their heart's delight.
Pull down the blinds
nobody's watchin,true?.
Marvelous assumption
this rendering of sight.
Information is a bane;
communication, grief.
Emaciated ecstasy
is languishing in children.
We just want to breathe again,
oxygen's a thief.
Is this our legacy
chained in sheltered prisons?
Soul starved refrains
require new incision;
dying while supplying
cures for old infection.
We cry for rain,
then alter the decision,
Mother Earth is dying
to see her own reflection.
Make no mistake;
I too, love release.
and I like to feed from my blank screen.
Known to placate,
anything for peace.
But I'd rather tend the musings in between.
Yet still they rise;
attending to the masses.
Paying; bowing lowly
to the idols they hold dear.
News dues come at demise
of the quivering classes.
Sheep approach death slowly,
grinning ear to ear.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I have a political stance. I abhor politics.
Eyes open, ears up....

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Black Sheep




Dedicated to Ashley L. Bragg




"Why?", you ask....


What words

in what order

should fall

into place

so that you may see

that "Why?"

isn't the question?

For so long

have I been

this way

that "Why?"

is no longer

of concern

I am an


and metaphoric being

Of which

I employ

that which


that of a sheep

and a wolf

For once

was I a wolf




I preyed upon

"innoncent" sheep

They were not weak



The sheep

played no games

They simply


Coasting along

unaware of

of the tactics

and strategies

that were in play

Now, I am

one of the flock


grazing along

head down

Only able to see

what is inches

from my face

This is my role

And though

I am no longer

a wolf in skulk

The blood...

MY blood

of the wolf

still runs deep

and runs stronger now

than ever before

I am

I am

I am


"Why?" is not

the question

The question is....

"Who am I?"

"Who am I?"

I am who I am

A wolf.

- Jan 22 / 2011

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was written out of hurt, anger, and frustration about the fact that my girlfriend at the time and I wouldn't allow me to open myself up to her. Funny thing is that this poem was originally started as a love song for her to sing.

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