I'am a man of words,
nothing more, nothing less.
My thoughts can be as graceful as birds,
Or they can be dark and hollow,
demeaning less.

My words have their own life, they stand on their own.
My words can cut like a knife,
pierceing the flesh,

denudeing the bone.

Yes they are my words...
and my words alone...

Poetry & Aphorisms (From inside the center of the
human cyclone)

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There was one who cried out,
"Please let me be me! Let me heal me!"
But alais it was not meant to be.

The people who governed me could not see,
they could not feel the pain that was inflicted
within me.

They can silence my physical pain, but they cannot
silence my mind.

Demon's close to me scream out "You will die here!"
fore you had the gaul to reasure one whom you loved,
that they would not.

I'am sorry, for now I must live with those sorrowful
words, for the rest of my life.

Now as I dwell in the house of sickness, I will soon
enter the theator of pain.
I now know what I must deal with...

To live is to struggle, to leave is to be free.
I have always prefered the struggle...

Poetry & Aphorisms (From inside the center of the
human cyclone)

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I believe that I was put on this earth
for a very special purpose, of what
why and when I know not.

I do know that it will be by a higher
authority other than man to decide what
lies in store for me.

I somehow feel, reguardless of any possible
situations or circumstance,
good or bad, logical or ill-rational,
God is not quite finished with me just yet...
( Poetry & Aphorisms from inside the center of the human cyclone.)

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At days end through teared eyes of grief,
for the afflicted souls I had witnessed that day,
my mind and my thoughts would bare no relief,
as my feelings lead me astray.

No God is not dead!
As so many mindless mad men would say
I'am not worthy to question his way.

I just wonder if the little armless, legless
girl I had seen today, would look up to God tonight
and pray.

Everybody has their own cross to bare.
It's just that some are meant to bare it,
barefooted across broken glass... ( Poetry & Aphorisms
from inside the center of the human cyclone.)

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There is a force higher than man's own comprehension
that knows only what fuels the firestorm
behind the eyes of thought, motivation and turmoil.
It is there in that deep dark core of all
that can be imagined stir the winds, that can spiral
the human cyclone... ( Poetry & Aphorisms from inside
the center of the human cyclone.)

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I came to you,
naked.
I came to you,
broken.
I came to you,
unfeeling.
You saw my desperate lackings, through eyes of virgin
steel, and thus...
Draped me with the cloak of your heart,
Molded my pieces back together with your love,
Polished my un-certainty's with your positive grace
I shall no longer need to look back upon yesterday.
As I gaze at the moon, I will always, always think of you,
As I know, you will always, think of me...(Poetry &
Aphorisms from inside the center of the human cyclone.)

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Below this picture is a poem that I had published six years ago. I dedicate this picture and poem to my father. How I wish, how I wish you were here.

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Excursion's into Hell. ( Act 2) As I looked into his eyes, I was met with the stark realization that his were not windows of the soul, but rather refracters that projected outwards a fractured life. AS his eyes rolled upwards, the film of life was over. The projector had stopped. The windows were now clear and crystal as glass. They were now free from desire, hatred and false belief. The projector would no longer show scenes from inside the center of the human cyclone. (Poetry & Aphorisms from inside the center of the human cyclone.) My works....

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