reason is beautiful

and beauty is reasonable

[romanishin]

morals are the willingness to die

i used to say to myself: a better moment will be come - in convoy of time, something better always comes.

wake up.

here i find myself - long knife in hand, blood feeds the land, shoulders losing touch with comrades, and only flowers oblivious to death sway with all the last fading breaths.

tomorrow, the sky will wipe the board, a writer filled with tears of gold, looking at the beauty brought by blood

petals colored by the red will scribble platitudes in news band, bad scornful words - ugly, flat, meaning's void - for thousand dead bodies fallen on a sword.

"savages full of pride" - they'll say - "bravery's the path of the wild" "their death's the road to higher life" - they say - trying to divide and stab.

but lie of greed dug deep from the earth dies under truth adsorbed to molecules of gas given one knows how to freely breathe - a fighter's something none the others has - a moment - where they are bigger than, to have made themselves one.

keep an open eye

and only one question lives in me, only one choice in life left to make. around me the fight is going on… do i find an excuse inside of me, do i hide in the flower field, where path is hidden to my cowardice?

i could survive to be a slave to fear and have pleasure in the bath; water's here… death is far, life is all, alive is goal. if i survive a universe chooses me, if i survive…

and i stay on the hill. how did i climb here? falling is easy - i tell myself now - run or die? find out? how can i? die. moment calls. you are not more than that. die. so i run? do i stay? would i say: this is the whole life?! now! decide! see the lightness of being, see lightness of dying, you will be bigger than life - the god we created and tore apart.

i look up. eternal beauty of the sky, thick and flat, near and far, transparent like a dream - i want the wings to fly, i close my eye, ready to part. but it condescends, to me, it never descends, it hates the ground. pain, it has never felt it rejects us, it will never accept. and it tells me so:

"do not bring the smell of death, the smoke, the blood, the stench. i will tear the horizon wide, the clouds will build a wall. you will never reach, even if you ride that far. you will not touch, even if you throw your hands up."

sleep

and i do not expect, another moment they can keep. the horror, of(f) the sky reflects, honor lost - between lies is kept bouncing off, mixing with the loot until nothing but water foul is left. but i will disappear having done one thing just.

[romanishin]

what i have left

what do i have left? a door to knocking cold, a road submerged in endless fog, feet with never healing asphalt burn, wind prevented by mountain's wall. my mind - a song with forgotten words.

walk, the knees accumulate the pain. walk, feet always looking forth - head's not able to look back. walk, i feel a breath - heat between the shoulder blades. the ghost of you? or failures of my past?

a final dream my eyes will start. stop - the corner traps. no one pushed, nor lead me there. rhyme is…failed. collapse? stay and fight? either choice is here. words they…attack me have. i will attempt the final rest, unless you wake me up.

[romanishin]

a rose

a rose is not to be won, it is not to carry on your clothes, to put in vase or to graze, not to put in already made bouquet. it is to understand, to enter and to love, dissipate and fill - be you ravenous, sated and replete - your parched lips on mountain spring.

the need's to know - how beauty can be made when universe has no need for art.

down the stream, i gathered words - petals on the river's pores. water gently 'round the skin, trapped i am to my knees. unwritten prose is this? scarlet rose i describe: beauty of the unseen, artist's dream, love and lust, she is, loot for man's eye.

rose sighs, the days go on. it feels ennui, it needs the sun and blossoms for the moon. but sun is evil incarnate hid behind the blinding mask; the moon is treacherous and weak, old servant of the sun. they sell the pleasure, take the life: "relax and bask under the rays no worry, nor the chores, rose, stay just far enough."

pleasure hits her every inch. she's marvel in the marble skin. rays trapped by the feel. the sun will ensure the kill. moon hides the scars. the rose will wilt under pleasure's keep.

certain death.

until the storm unto come: whirlwind and the fear, moisture and unknown, tribulation and the growth. all is born out of passion in chaos. rose, under the summoned clouds, under the rain and wind, replenish she her rose she will.

[romanishin]

come see my dream

mother god sewed one into two, to separate the magic of the pen from where the wrenches turns - must save us from what we seek - to make us dream but never wish - we visit only when we sleep.

but abiding lust is sharp. knife consolidates the worlds to see them intertwine - it is the time of rupture of the seam: come see the cobble stones, they have been cleaned with yellow light, white flows down from the walls. come to the call of holy Grail. appear as in my thoughts - opaque, if stared for long, but fingers may not touch. placed be on solid wooden chair - it faces incremental dark - black, made of charcoal dust. my mind has placed it so as if there is the show. come - an object masterpiece. let me tell you what i brought. one "coup d'oeil" reveals: all is made to summon Venus as a pearl. not certain from what direction i will come: in front from darkness, or here, the past, the shimmering lit path - duality of dreams is such or can you hear me with without?

the other night or many months ago i told myself before i went to sleep: "whoever next comes forward in my dream, she is the one" - folly of lonely idle mind, but as though behind a single wink: "you?" bewildered, incredulous, I struck - a joke? emaciated soul's last stand?

i saw you at the city line, background merging buildings small to tall. you smile as only dreams materialize i stepped to follow you back beyond where angles are unknown and fire is the form could not inch forth, but you leaned once more challenge masked with breathless call

awaken state - i wash my eyes - hiding sun played me a fool: of course you are not the one, we never weaved our desperate souls, could not dissolve in rhapsody of love.

in airless flame ablaze bellow where time descends as it passes on, in the ruins of desolate fate, what was stored, it turns into remorse. but maybe it were not the course.

what if the wind blew lightly right across, moving time, as snow, direction never told?

Detroit would see us chained hand in hand forbye, vibrant rattle of children's sound keeping touch when you and i are parted.

in this reality rejected from sky i walk and watch the eyes of passersby - love is not what they're looking for. but quiet noise, still, that i can make, can show them - quality is old.

cut the wall with verse. bite the ray of light with rhyme. kick the dust off well worn tracks. words to form the sight. drag the dream into life. my somnambulic state - it's rapture at the door - you'll feel my touch, leaning against old brick… never coming bus, still you wait… you'll feel the edge of soft embrace, basking in the street lamp's glow… rumble in the steel, the bus is near… your feet would never guess - steps, guided by the fate. take the breath right now and keep it until our death

[romanishin]

moving eyes

her eyes that see me. release of cool heat, gaze across the field . close enough to fall in, farther than the bridge.

yes, warmth of ocean's wind, freshness of mountain hills, water off the leaf. are you a goddess? tell me, i insist to beg.

god? eyes of god are man's own - mirror wherein own held mind. judging where he ever goes - creeping on all sides. questions stuck, blocking sun.

but therein danger lurks; if one looks at himself alone eyes will only look inward and man can walk on blind - reflection, closing shutters, dark.

and so, the man seeks self in other. chance encounter, intent it fathers, imitation destiny it lends, sense of urgency it weaves. here you are indeed! the eyes that saw me… forceful like a tide, gentle as a wave among, beautiful as the line it leaves, meaningful as its message in the sand, capricious like the next wave come, frivolity and strength of the overlooking moon.

the eyes i'll seek everywhere i go, crave the warmth behind the chill - impenetrable head on, disappearing when i run to seize, breaking me upon a siege.

but had i dug under the sea… when i penetrate you deep, enter you away from judging eyes the fort'd be taken from inside, the eyes will open gates, welcome me without shame, we will be one. in i'd fall, i will be home. that is how man conquers god. that is how man conquers self.

[romanishin]

maybe she just an echo of my own desire

your lies replaced hope a while ago, you tell yourself that you are one, but you are hidden in your wall - parts scattered far outside. i will slide this knife, i will spoil this story, your self-indulgence shall be nulled.

here is this: one cannot exist if there is no one else, dreaming back. you cannot hear, for nought, but your own mutated words; in the forest of your thoughts madness covers up the sky, you scream, but you hear the echo of yourself moments ago.

woman's wings can push down trees for a man to shine through leaves of deceit. that is how universe improves testing out the weak. without her gentle force and nature's fear of woman's scorn tree's echo hits you back, observing, rubbing leaves in glee, as you flog yourself until you're dead. they wait, absorbing time, trees live after you are gone.

this a story of one day, a sample for the time. a gust of fate, feather to float, feather to write - whim - my guide, it brought you in. this, shortest period of light, and you will understand my daily lot

i pray, watching withering hands. i pay whither will listen for, you - the tingles on my skin - to appear in my dream and in the morning, to awake, misapprehend if you're still there. my body feeling weight, my lips remembering topology - through kiss.

what is desire? - reality that must be killed. tomorrow will destroy the most real, and i continue to list my chores, and pray, and play and beg, for you to come again.

such is life: destruction of the mind, assassination of motivation and the need, all while days arrange in a row, sinking under the murky bog, pulling what was real, with.

and what do i have left? each day to write the script and live among the foul smell of men, under shapeshifting swarm of clouds of grey raining on the mirror of their narcissistic gaze.

then as light hides, history filed in the annals, i return to destiny bestowed. each night i create what i know: your eyes, your hands, your navel i lie on.

your words - smell of hope.

your breath - the well of life.

i make you real, every night - it's a god's deed. finally, without you i do not exist - madness is a lonely act. trees will store me from the light until i devour self with ferocity of a dire beast.

i have thousands of stories, i can write a million lines; resurrection gets postponed, as feet stepping in a puddle they are washed, gargled, sunk. but once time stops, and footprints stay, it will wait for you to come and read my printed soul.

as i die every dawn i am inseparable from you, come soon, maybe i am already mad, please, come fast.

[romanishin]

escape the prose

in a drive-through i saw a face, to have left amazed: it has been drawn before on my atavistic soul by accidental doles collected in my search to escape the prose.

since then, in a coffee shop i sit, illumination's cheap, men are beat, but light has touched her face and i am famished for a feast… saturday, rain fills the sidewalk, drops cover window in a film - outside is a surrealistic dream - inside, i devour light akin a beast.

snow came to redraw the errors of the fall, wind throws the flakes across the parking lot. soon, renaissance will warm the blood, but mine has clawed to stay in place even as my heart pumps at an insane rate. i must tell her, confess i must this story from another realm, ahead, highway puzzle grows between us:

"a woman in a mask, eyes from the stars, voice like a gentle touch - snowflake on the tongue, said: "beast, i have been waiting by this clairvoyant fire, there's a nymph of desire to be freed - poetry yet to be seen. the evil forest her shields beneath where solely wily light safely breached, with premonition of her rebirth. you must enter the moving woods - purpose is to find the truth, where motion hypnotizes the enslaved. it is here, at arm's length, enter armed, but as you were born."

the witch's magic, it entranced, culled me from the mass, and as a star fell through the sky i said: "yes, i read the words the light brought - language of the gods - my only purpose's to justify my own demise. you must have seen my fate scratched on the ruins of my veins." but, still doubt crept - beast i'm not.

deliberate first gait claustrophobic dark immense ancient fear no turning back i penetrated deeper fought for every step my nails became talons as i crawled ahead forest grabbed i held myself from being parts chest stretched in bow-like prime when branches tried to wrap i clenched and teeth grew sharp when thorns drew blood puncturing in near poetic rhyme back flexed and pushed fur atop forest pressed i lost my way for a time god knows how long i was inside when cracked lips let out thirst for the water not to impede the brow grew thick i immersed my face in the stream and drank it all something fierce on i went in a low stride forest readied for last attack as i climbed to see the way tree violently swayed existential howl forest pounced overwhelmed and trounced i am time accelerates gaze's entranced welcome imminent end only animal accepts his fate agonizing is resolve one more spear of force i bare my fangs i lay prostrate growl is my sense purpose is intense words waned from my slate but as i dissipate forest gave where light has been entombed now was tangible and atoned a clearing came at last i saw her in among the white grass sprinkled in morning dew she lay naked like born anew she smiled with that shimmering eye gently uttered in familiar kind "hello, my beast, thank you for uncovering true I""

back in this world, spring has come. my car escorts me away from the coffee shop, and the light that her caressed spreads to the ignorance of the mass.

i kept some, in the chest, for this stretched asphalt.

[romanishin]

hands on the flower field

"a human mind is an isolated yurt - second hand on the clock stays put. outside the shaman keeps flame alight, lest eternal moments break in through the hide"

i peer into your prison eyes as a key finding lock, at last. black, but darkness has no place where all color awaits to play.

in the shadow of your iris i see awakened from her sleep is Isis. by your gentle hand me you lead - in the cloud in your eye is bliss

white, as love embrace among the sky, violet as thunder’s peaceful feeling’s nigh, blue, as wistful touch goodbye, red as lust - hello sweet thing.

inside, in a field of gleaming light i see gentle eyes moving side to side ruby petals treading sea of azure and green. and it takes me back to future yet to be seen.

to walk the flower field of thousand shapes, tired hands breaking surface of the wave like oars of a resting chestnut boat in a dream of man where time has stopped.

i will always see you balance on the rock - frothy river forced to change the course. the shaman threw last potion on the log, yet, your form is accentuated by reflection of the drops.

[romanishin]

duality and the twilight woman

(experimental. mainly reads each offset line as one, also each column can be read on its own, hopefully)

I

love or mice? this story is not about that

                                                                     for men, the real questions rise:

no one explains the fact

                                                     why ego’s weak transitioning firm lands?

why do we blink?

                                                               take a trip beyond believing books

it's because there is a way in

                                                             where beauty can erode ego's hook

for truth can sneak in through the undefined

                                                    and you can learn where it all began.

II

passion’s touch exists

                                                   hope lives as eyes close

in twilight of the mind

                                                   as lids are falling over eyes

it's a blink

                                                   and you begin to appear

in between two clear states

                                                   a crack of the mind:

of reality and lie

                                                   spotlight and demise

there you live

                                                   because divine only exists in between

a thousand times a day

                                                   a man blinks to see your smile 

a gateway to your gaze

                                                   a place where life excites

III

he returns from daily chore

                                                   enter his house hospice

somewhere in the corridor

                                                   the man plays with a light knob

hand flicking on and off

                                                   until he spots his dreams

in the threshold

                                                   between two rooms

faster than light speed

                                                   flesh is as real as movie reel

your silhouette appears

                                                   dressed in forgotten films

Fellini's evaporating white

                                                   Tarkovsky's poetry in skin

you lean against the frame

                                                   temptation, you are the cure

but hands are lame

                                                   to futile attempts for a pure feel

IV

as day comes to a close

                                                                      night will take away and erase

the man will lie down

                                                                      fall through and sleep

to a time long gone

                                                             to when men knew what they need:

where you walk from behind the trees

                                                           primal woods smeared with dusky air

result of capricious god's hand

                                                          he is never far from new artistic flare

alas beauty lives beyond god

                                                                      he cannot get rid nor redraw

your form's clear and mystical at once

                                                                      you are life’s brawn

beauty is the beginning

                                                                      otherwise it's the end

all the rest just rests

                                                              chained to death in our mundane.

and man will be walking in the forest

                                                                      waiting for the light to dim

twilight is what he knows

                                                         where life and death are intermixed

he will look for you to glide

                                                                      among dirty heavy semi-light

more elegant than poet's word slide

   reason artist decides his life.

V

a day will come

                                                                man's mind will hurry up

but ego is still locked up

                                                    pushing from where we put it in at night

and at that time

                                                                who will he feel next to him?

in the twilight between two worlds

                                                                is it you that insists?

is it you that he tingles for?

                                                                is it you he smells?

yes, true beauty born to feel,

                                                                once, before he forgets

VI

now, you see, i told this fable

                                                                   it is not about love on the table

not about mice in power

                                                                   and food to devour

it is about what is lost

                                                                   between open and close

what we crave

                                                                   as we forgot through passage of clocks

we see things to buy

                                                                   we feel things to fear

when we are depressed and stressed

                                                                   and when we are weak

but we need to witness beauty, see

                                                                   we all need you, a twilight being

[romanishin]

why poet's born

why poets spend their life searching for one word, to make them understand the way no one else could? "why?" became moot the moment i saw your face. i used to laugh at poets: "what a waste!" but they have the need to follow beauty where a brush can't. i walked indignant, i stood in heed at why women poet's love need. but a man that can dig beauty's source is the man who will never die nor leave. poetry exists because there is you.

[romanishin]

she is beauty, existing to inspire

a shining diamond on the sand, a glowing flower in the rocks, and a green leaf surviving snow; there is a glowering sculptor somewhere now, desperately searching for inspiration among the null. little that he knows all he had to do is to come see you.

and, somewhere now, an imaginary god, in my mind full of lies, cries out "i told you so!" as i have found: creation is a feeble tryout but once in a while a masterpiece sneaks out.

you are born, armor on the shoulders - epaulettes full of stars - a general to lead assault on the bland. and do keep head in its stead, if the devil tries to come up from underground he will turn back around, because he will be afraid that he went too far; that he reached heavens instead.

the war on the beautiful took afoot since the first time humans felt fear and took the easy route. war's been waging since, as people rather live in safe of the grey than fight for the standard of the grace. will you withstand?

fifty years will pass and i will sneak a peak from where my spirit seethes, you'll have to forgive my one indecent thought: are you still beautiful as my memory serves? i bet you'll be, just as now i see: your beauty will have long seeped in shining strongly through your wrinkled skin.

[romanishin]

little prince's evil brother

i met a prince, a boy, on a planet in the void, somber that he was, life's story he recalled.

"a brother that i had - twin, too be exact - stole from me my joy, ignorance he, asshole, grabbed.

reality's what he left, and i knew, as i was born, that life is pointless. where do i go henceforth?

oh, i want to wring his neck, tie his stupid little legs to a horse's cock and run it over rocks.

a man from your planet, he met him once or twice, he taught him with delight to find the kid's kink to flight.

how to cover one self in a plastic see through bag, like food that you preserve - everything's shiny from inside.

this man, he wrote a book, became the hero of the court, praised he was by all for saying what everyone'd hoped.

a motto of hedonistic mob has taken over the idle world: life has no point, might as well enjoy the moment's joy

but tell me please where does it go if no one has a goal does one even exist?

dumb brother never learned of life deeper than pencil's lead. an elephant inside a snake? fuck, give me a break!

somewhere, as he smiles in the palace of his own esteem, shallow as a lie it is, he gleams over our naive demise.

and now your kind is tied - hands to bed of silky sheets = caressed by hungry flies until forever they fall asleep.

tell me who is evil then, me or that loser's taint? my twin without concent, or one who loves truth's scent?

find a goal, don't be listless, then you'll enjoy all life's distance. everything deep will not seem lost, as, you guessed it, it has a point!

i hope he shits his blue pants - full of it he is more than you'd want. i hope cosmic wind lifts him off his feet with the scarf catching on a tree."

and so was the tale told by this evil boy; prince's lost myth told without being coy.

i asked him what he'll do, what he'll live for, can he spread his word to the human sort?

he did let loose a laugh, said: "you already lost, men will never choose to pay the heavy cost.

i rather spend my remaining beat to chase the rotten rat, slap his fake imagination dead before he ruins another's lot."

me, i didn't write a book - he never told me to, and, really, after all, who wants to hear this crap?

and now, i am back on earth, sitting in my two by three cage, bottle never seems to fill, fuck, does this rhyme anyway?

[romanishin]

oasis lost

here is tale of men; where few are born of luck - shifting ground is their bed; all end up a solitary rock.

a man = last of moisture in his hands - Bedouin he asked, his lines merging with the wind and land: "grains like ants, are they taking me to what i need? - inspiration of a breath, exhalation of a dream.

i seek oasis in the grains of sand: where water's life among the past - it's time stopped, among the reminder of what will come and burning light melting land in crimson sight."

he responds: "flying sand is the past our own - is what is left from our dawn and before it wanes it must finish fate and shape you like a stone. go, or come, you don't deserve the secret of desert's shade."

"who are you, Bedouin of this sinewy land?" i rush, "who?" i beg - "black robe, waving in an ominous tongue, dark figure, scratched by tiny yellow brush. i must find her, before my song is sung.

i glimpsed a bird of beauty it moved in a different arc, but desert is moving steady like hedonism killing honest art.

vortex hides the flavor of water from the years i lost. her taste i have always carried, i knew it when eyes i closed."

"'morning dew of hope' i need before it's late, here, my ruptured tongue's remaining words: i implore you, i beg you, my knees are bent, Bedouin, let me taste it once more."

twisting air the figure spurned; if i follow him to the unknown turns, will i discover youthful plume? will i finish my death pursuit?

on, sand is cutting like a sculptor. on, i may never find oasis still. the black figure is enticing, the only choice we make.

[romanishin]

artist-god vs sun-god

upon a man passed the sun, and it did not see, him, it did not hear.

alone he died. no one took a look; there is no stamp anywhere in any books

tragedy is born in the heart; for him he hears the thump, but it's a statistic for the sun - it's seeing from so far.

love's a flag in fertile soil vagabonds steal it to stow, exchange it as the means: "here, what do you have for me?"

friends and lovers, mothers, brothers; chalked circle - stay, in or from!

but no one could discern the truth! look down at your foot; alone he stepped and slept - each footstep to the side of yours.

furtive was his mind afraid of folly of your fear where anger's life and honor prints on money's hide.

sun, never him he placed. undefined he were, like a photon of empty space: everywhere and touching all at once, undefined and free, until he is struck .....and subject to new laws of time.

more than life he needed to be, as: defined, you become a serf; try and leave and you will return to serve - it's what you meant to be.

invention is solitude. new thought has no guide, new roads have no guides. ideas come alone.

but if you leave a man alone he will hate all he is and that he's owned. in an empty space artist-god cuts his work, and a philosopher finds absurdity of thought.

sand, result of sun-god's eager intent, end of fate is neglect, and spread of human's hate mixing, permeated by the wind!

sand, his favorite ground - he left no tracks. look at the new found dunes - so much time has fallen through the glass.

[romanishin]

under the tree i will wait for you

i cannot feel love, i lost her, many years have gone, all day is a broken walk, wind plays tricks off alley walls. i stop and i go, never know how long it will take. can't find words; her visage blurred out by the wind. i can't catch her ghost before my closed eyes, but i carry a simple fact: with a delicate hand she could empty space of air where i could exhale and rest. unable to see her hands to guide me forth i am stuck, time runs somewhere outside; with a wave it says goodbye. i will die not in time, but when my consciousness takes over whole mind. my soul is confused, i will never feel, my spine bares sick weight, fingers lose the fight, everything's gotten thick, i will just lie.

everyone has a tree, somewhere they stand - anchor of memory - a helping wand to start brand new.

green of leaves like a slender hand playing a violin, sound reflecting off deep ocean's face.

strong brown bark like folds of skin on an old man, timeless brawn of kin you can climb to the top.

one mulberry tree by the gate - a treasure of grandfather's place - dark fruit sewn in between, each one where it suppose to be for a child stained blue.

another canopy of green, and a caterpillar on the thumb; curiosity hidden from the world, and a friend yelling you to come - must jump the fence across.

a call to dare among peers: can you climb this tree trunk to the lowest thick branch? and a kid falling off fast, laughter echoed by the bell.

if i wait under the tree of youth green will cure, bark will heal, time will stop.

i will wait for you while time creates a hurricane around. come see me where i'm new, i got time abound to give you still. light will not enter our space for days - centuries before we separate lips; it is where these words are born and live - i will kiss you as i should - your elegant form belongs with all i stole from universe so far. come, i am there as i always was.

[romanishin]

watch on the wrist

and god divided self into parts creating         man one can die,            rest can live yes, like ants - survival tactic worth coward's death - disposable           man.

wandering man, wondering man: - why will i never go home?

i invented god to be one.

"the watch on your                   wrist - sound of struck anvil from the past. ancestors,           they spy. finish what we planned! emotion attenuates your will and death will be a surprise. an unnecessary burden on the mind - emotion, halt its run!"

rebel road! i refuse to go,       along             where my feet fuse.

"speak the fact. lay down and             die. life's a unbreakable clock and it asks if you                   lie. must match the rhythm of its ticks." - told my father waiting for his time.

i am a memory of me looking back! I must have done it all bad. sadness is the sign, emotions are the facts sent back in time!

emotion - truth behind the fact.

and thus i know: future me has found it                       all! apathy sent            in backwards flow - proof there is nothing                       more.

the watch says it is time to go - tick tock - "you will never escape." i will die doing what i'm told, but i will sneak gold                      silver                             steel, as hammer blindly falls, to create a crown                  and a sword.

in between the watch's ticks, emotion has paved the road; inevitable path                i must take                            already have!

[romanishin]

butterfly in the net

oh luck,       i missed her            miss her like memory of touch                  but i won't be a vane rooster                               bending to the wind oh pain,        i ran naked                 toes breaking                       on the cobbled road the fall.        i jumped            i see water breaking on the rocks                            tried to swing my arms                                      but ground comes                                        falling on my face.        am i allowed to open my eyes? yes, solitude.         a spider died               corner of my room or was it I? who died? and the spider said:       look at him            he walks aimless                    wall to wall                       there i build my home       i am a spider           haven't moved a while               she is a butterfly                      source of life                           flying through my web man's retort:       i am the man            the walls keep my soul                  scratches on the brick                        soul will remain after i go       she is the butterfly              changing history                      source of life                              i am late                                  catching wind in my net no, hope,      costs everything you got spider perished man lost it all    holding on to hope       fair?            what could he have done?                  remembered every strand of her hair                         each one was a touch                               given with the light       nothing is ever bright                         anymore. yes, love,        before weather washes blood from rocks                 come, take this poem from under his nails