My words are a direct reflection of what is being played out in my mind. For artistic purpose and dramatic effect I have duct-tapped the "edit" button…
walk up-stairs; number seven - lingerswhite noise turns into a last nerve burn heart beat races. hesitation is a pull; but, will, is taking each step; it's more of a draw than a scribble when that little voice pops; whispering in moments of a loneliness buzzrecall is a gentle memory of wantingreality; harsh images of …
Wind blows over the bay raindrops tap dance on the rooftop a lullaby drift off to the sweetest reverie colorful images seagrass gray blue waters a backdrop to footprints in the sand a glance over my shoulder a smile my heart is full joy and laughterbut I feel empty loss, longingI touch my mouth instinctively …
Standing on a jetty, tide is beginning to kick up And just when a ray, a sliver of light begins to seep Between night fall and and the sun rising Dark clouds begin to part...hope does floatI'm engulfed in what could be...loveWhat I dream about; conjured memory recall But yet here I stand not truly …
Sometimes, I sleep walk bumping into my own walls The box seems much smaller in the dark When lights are low and the music is barely an annoying hum That penetrates my one remaining salvation…the silence within And there are always those questions that never see the break of dawn Or the answers that would …
Black and white Polaroid Cracked and yellowed hazy soft Almost saintly images float A past that reflects tunnel vision Hells gate only hope for salvation Only hope for a warm way out A stepping off cutting it short train track Silver bullet high dive from New York’s most revered Deep and dark the pain of …
Yea, I can't quite shake the dreams that haunt me those images that play out slowly drag on black and white as if from another time another sliver between now and then a wedge between the past and the present moving forward is a monumental task and I'm spent man worn to the bone sitting …
I walk the winters shoreline slow and easy Bits of sand cling to the bottom of my boots An occasional seashell eclipses my solitude - it becomes mine A treasured token memory like a stranger that I take home just For the night safe from a tidal uprising I'll enter the waters calm and plunge …
Trilby Yates 