I do not cry for the Future

I do not cry for the future,
I cry for the future that shall never be.

When I look to the east,
I like what I see,
but I cry for I know
such things may never be.

Waking dreams are vibrant,
more vivid than those at night.
For one retains all memory
of that which was dreamed,
but with none of the denial of night.

I do not fear for my future,
but I despair for it none the less;
for I have dreamed of what I would become,
but not how it might come to pass.

Trance I (or "Dust to Dust")

Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,
swords to plowshares,
steel to rust.

Flames to embers,
youth to age,
wood to flotsam,
hate to rage.

Shards to splinters
rock to mud
silt to grit
and tears to blood.

Armor shatters,
torn asunder
drowned with sorrow
drawn down under.

low and piercing
the widow's scream
of forlorn hopes
and blemished dreams.

Thinktank II (or "To Know Thyself")

Knowledge of oneself is paramount.

If you do not know who you are, how can you hope to relate yourself to others?
If you do not know what you like, how will you decide what to do?
If you do not know why you do things, how can you expect to achieve happiness?

It is only when one masters knowledge of oneself that one can hope to form relationships with others. If you do not know who you are and what you want, what hope do you have of finding someone to compliment you?

Prosepoem II (or "Nosferatu")

They had planned it so perfectly, yet it had gone so wrong. The two are dragged into the throne room, beaten, bloodied, and weaponless, their once magnificent armor now rent and torn. They are pushed to their knees, unwilling supplicant to the Dark Lord. He stands over them, his sharp, gloat of fangs looming above them. He drinks deeply from the golden goblet clutched tenderly in his outstretched hand. Red wine? Hardly. The emptied goblet thrown callously aside, the Nightstalker glides towards his prisoners. This close, they see the power in his eyes, the strength bristling in his yet-dead flesh, feel the stink of a thousand thousand lifetimes of hate, despair, and agony. His voice is cold. Halting. “Your plan failed”. He states – matter of faculty. “Do you know why?” The Umbral Creature’s eyes dance with malice. He turns. Gestures. A figure enters the room. The prisoners lethargy suddenly dispelled by renewed strength of anger. “She fought at first” he drawls. “But I eventually… persuaded her to see things differently.” A clawed hand stretches out, casting cloak over shoulder in a grandiose gesture. “Come here”. Inexorably drawn, the red-clad female approaches. She slides in next to him, nimbly extending into the waiting space between his arm and side. The fearsome claw slides down, resting easily on her hip. “She’s mine now” laughs the Lord of Terror. In utter delight at the disgust and contempt of his prisoners, his second claw caresses his captive’s face, moving down to her neck. Lingering, lingering on her neck. “Come. Kiss me.” The thrall leans in, eyes closing seductively, one hand bracing herself upon his back, the other roaming his fearsome chest. It stops over his heart, clutching the fabric of his exquisite regalia as she pierces his haunting features with her lips. The prisoners sit motionless, numbly suppliant at the wrongness of the moment. She draws back, admires her lord’s once-noble features, a smile playing about her face. In the span of an instant, the coyness is gone. In the span of an instant, beautiful features twist with hatred and contempt. The Duskbeast’s eyes widen, too late! Too late! Her hand, is glowing and before he can even express his incredulity, his surprise, the glowing shard of her hand pierces his breast. The light extends, piercing his back, a sword of light in a most unholy of sheathes. She pushes, and the Prince of Darkness falls back, dagger of radiance piercing his heart. “Go to hell” she spits.

Thinktank I (or "Loves")

There are three types of love -- friendly, passionate, and companionate, and they must occur in that order.

Without friendship, one's relationship has no future.
Without passion, one's relationship has no drive.
Without companionship, one's relationship has no legacy.

He who loves before falling in love, loves long after love has faded.

Prosepoem I (or "Dianna")

They find themselves on a bed. They grin and smile each other, their hands yearning to caress the other, to sculpt each other’s body, to discover one another. Yet they are not alone. There are others in the room, chatting and joking around with each other. The two snuggle closer, chatting in excited whispers, attempting to tune out all others in their room. At once, all other voices fade as the two leave the natural world behind, completely lost in each other’s eyes, the smell of each other’s hair, the smooth curvature of each other’s flesh. With a resounding clash, the door smashes open, revealing another friend. He joins the merriment in the room, but also brings the news that despite the late hour, their room is quite loud. Self-conscious now, the two leave the room, looking for somewhere more private to consummate their new found love. The girl leads the way – she has done this before, she knows what she wants and where to get it. The boy walks behind her, continually altering his distance from her, going ahead, than behind her. His attempts at stealth do not work, it is blatantly obvious the two of them are traveling together. Yet this late at night, no one is in the halls. No one is around to chastise the two or bring embarrassment to the boy’s face. The girl strides purposefully forward, leading the boy down a long passage whereupon the material of the building abruptly changes. No longer are they standing on linoleum with plaster walls. They have entered the student clinic. He has never been here before, and finds himself looking around blankly. The girl leads him around towards one end of the facility where there are tiled basins – 4 feet off the ground, with centers slightly depressed. There is a couple already in the basin directly to their left, and the boy’s face runs hot with anticipation. The girl climbs into the basin, covers herself with the blankets, and coyly invites the boy to join her. The boy grins sheepishly as he begins to follow her – he has brought no protection. Though he knows what he wants, his sense of righteousness prevents him from pursuing his preferred method of expressing it. As soon as he is in the basin with her, once again hands go exploring, forms are hugged tight, smiles plastered indefinitely on the barely-minted adults. A strong, resounding voice echoes the lover’s alcove and a large, meaty man appears. He pays no attention to what is happening in his basins – he drops a small package in each of the occupied basins, his eyes remaining fixedly upturned the entire time. As quickly as he appeared, he is gone, and now the boy smiles in earnest. He turns towards his lover, who flashes a foxy smile back. The world seems to turn upside down – red and blue beacons of light go bouncing off and around the tiled walls, flying from the girl’s fingers, seeking the halls from whence the two had come. At last the foreplay is over. The girl opens her mouth, still smiling. “Come."

I sit bolt upright, breathing heavily and extremely agitated. It is quite a long time before I can get back to sleep.

Lament III (or "Nervous Litany")

How do I get a girl to love me?
How do I let her know I care?
How can I tell if she yearns to see me?
And if she does not, stave off despair?

How do I know if she finds me boring?
Does she sigh and nod or just walk away?
How do I know when she's just being friendly?
When she winks, grins, or smiles at me what do I say?

How will I find a girl who loves me?
Rather than someone out for some fun?
How will I manage to pull together?
Just to risk being crushed, cruelly undone.

How will I know if wie'll stay together?
Will we get along smoothly or not at all?
How do I stop her from getting quite angry
If I won't stop and talk, or give her a call?

How can I hope to plan for the future,
When truth be told I'm still haunt'd by my past?
How do I start my long side-tracked journey
To find someone to love at long last?