My Box

Just like Pandora,

Opening my box won’t kill you.

Years should’ve proved that.

Sacred Vows

How to convince you

My love for you is so true?

Please hear my prayer.

Through the Looking Glass


I stand spectating.
Wonderland can be trying,
But you’ll get through it.

Haiku of Late

The lid has come off
And the monster is about.
What will I find next?

Child of The Land of Nod

Child of The Land of Nod

Mother Tribe, take me in.
For I am a child of the Land of Nod.
Abandoned like an orphan,
I have been banished to wander at the price of another’s sin.
Praying for someone, something to wash this blood from my hands.

Mother Tribe, take me in.
For this wandering has been long,
And I yearn for a place to rest my weary head.
A place to let go of old myths and begin anew.

But Mother Tribe does not understand.
All she see are her children.
Her once lost, but newly found children,
Covered in the sin of another

“Come my Littles,”
She does say,
“Come and I will do, as a good mother does,
And wash and scrub this burden from your soul.
For children were not made to wear the sins of their maker.”

Mother Tribe, take me in.
Where I once was a child of the Land of Nod.
You graced me pure of the burdens of my creator.
Just as a good mother does.




Come out, Bezalel!
The night is too young.
The shadows are no place to play.
You listen intently to all of my tales, but fear has perched far away.

Come closer, Bezalel!
The night can be ours,
To lasso the moon and swallow up stars!
And now it’s as if I’ve fallen in love with whisper something you are.

Come follow, Bezalel!
The night it does fade.
The morning it comes, the light we shall face
And you may question the path I have chosen to take,
But have faith in me, Love, for I do know my way.




A heart is like a Phoenix
Bursting into flames to be reborn
Lifting from the ash slightly closer to its purpose
A little further down the path of its quest.

A tear is like a storm
Waiting to wash away the ashes
Yearning to water the trees of our soul
So we may grow upward and proud

A soul is like a deep warm wind
Circling through the chasms of our thoughts
Whipping through our bones
Challenging us to live!

A death is like a life
Eternally in a state of ending
Eternally moving toward the beginning
Reminding us our present is precious