A Beauty rare in Form.

A Beauty Rare in Form.
________________

I appreciate a Lady,
aged like Good Wine;
who's Heart is still Sweet,
and not yet bittered by
the grim experiences of Life.

Some beauty is but a
clever mask,
worn by Ugly Souls,
or a Handicap to Conceal
the Defects of those who
are pitifully mindless.

Hers is a Beauty Rare in
Form, because of it's
Innocence.

With a "to the point"
Wisdom,
(born of simplicity)
she has opened up
New Doors in a dusty
heart where iron bars
once firmly stood,
blocking out potential
joy for fear of eventual
despair.

And For this she deserves
my undying gratitude.

J.S.H.

(for: my new friend Olivia.)

Somewhere State Road.

Somewhere State Road.
__________________

I've walked for miles down
Somewhere State Road,
haunted by the horrors of
this mysterious world;
watching the cars come,
and go, while imagining
this sweet unsmiling girl!,
who's face alone could
ease all sorrows!
(and remind me there are
beautiful things worth waiting
for tomorrow.)

Lately I must confess,
My restless mind has died
1,000 deaths;
torn between A Promise in
Her Eyes,
and the security found
in Loneliness.,..
which keeps my
Soul from contemplating
the misery wrought by broken
Heartedness!
(alas, the Mother of Demise.)

This is Not a Road of Concrete Fate,
but rather Possibility;
potential outcomes which may change,
for Good or ill depending on
inner Truths conceived!
( my own Hearts ability to become the
Man she Needs.)

Thus I pray
(to an ever-changing Universe)
May Somewhere State Road eventually
lead me to that place I wish to Be;
Somewhere better than Now!,
or Yesterday!
(where she remains a Hopeful Dream.)

J.Stephen.H.

In the span of 31 winters passed.

In the span of 31 Winters Passed.
          ______________

In the span of 31 Winters passed,
I have come to know nothing but
a series of good and bad dreams,
of Love, Hate, Sorrow, and Joy.
(though the good things seldom last.)

I have looked deeply into the Eyes
of night, but kept the Sun buried in
my Mind. To somewhat keep my
thinking bright.
(and store treasures in my Heart
to find.)

I pray,..may the beauty of this world
be a thing I always appreciate for its grace.
Even when the majority of life seems dark,
and thick by ugliness stained.
Otherwise let me Die!
(or remain in this dream of You
with a smile upon your Face.)

J.Stephen.H.

As A Passenger on this Sinking Ship Called Hope.

As a Passenger on This Sinking Ship
Called Hope.
___________________

At Times it's hard to stay afloat,
as a passenger on this Sinking Ship
called Hope;
watching the crashing waves consume
everything I hold so dear,
while darkening the once sweet musical
wind.
(which is now a devil singing wicked
thoughts into my Ear.)

If not for the People I Love and know,
who have stood beside me through
thick and thin,
I would have surrendered long ago!
(and let the Darkness Win.)

I can never tell one second to the next
if this moment will be the last;
but lately death seems to terrify me
less. (than the memories from my
 past.)

For it's hard (at times)
to stay afloat, as a Passenger
on this Sinking Ship Called Hope.
Watching those I Love move on,
as I stay behind and "Cope."
Drowning in the Mysteries of
Myself.
(where I sink,
 or swim Alone.)

J.Stephen.H.

The Butterfly.

The Butterfly.
_______________

In My Dreams I see this small boy
walking through an endless field of
monarch butterflies;..laughing joyously
and flapping his arms to mimic the motions
of their flight.
His eyes are bluer than the sky.
(his Smile is pure delight.)

"I want to be a butterfly!" he screams.
Running faster into the distance of an
unforeseen plain, where (seemingly at
his waving arms persistence) the landscape
seems to shift and change.

"Come back!" I yell. filled with a sense of dread
so intense it makes me cry. And (blinking
through tears) I am suddenly overwhelmed by
a brilliant light coming somewhere from the sky.
Then I open my eyes (gasping) to discover that
I am awake in my own room again.
(and at the foot of my bed sits a monarch butterfly.)

J.Stephen.H.

(because good things do not die. They only fly
to Better  fields.)

A cleverly concealed Madness.

A Cleverly concealed Madness.
_____________________

I watch in awe as The People confuse their Sickness
with a Cure. Greedily licking the remnants of Poison
from their cheetoh stained fingertips, in fear of wasting
the slightest drop. Why is it that no one sees the Irony?
How this World is a Runaway Train that will not Stop.

At times I wonder whether my Art is a cleverly concealed
form of Madness, or if this Madness is simply a cleverly
concealed form of Art? as I sit twisting words like a
Noose which seems senseless on the surface, but reveals
The secrets of My Heart.

The People love what they are told to love, and I hate it.
They would hate it too if they understood the lack of control
involved. Yet who am I to destroy the comforting illusions of
the Mass? (  Life for each is a puzzle lived, or solved.)

And Hell, for all I know maybe the Sickness is the Cure?
If only we could learn to appreciate the Madness in anothers
art; perhaps we could all be Saved?

(from the boredom of ourselves.)

J.Stephen.H.

The stains of each Transgression.

The stains of each Transgression.

__________________

A Face void of expression,

will none the less carry (within)

the stains of each transgression.

For No action is without consequence,

or predictable, or "free."

(some just pay more dearly for their

lessons.)

I have seen many Low Men,

sitting on the Highest Horses,

in positions of Rule.

Some will eventually seek

Redemption.

( most of them are Fools.)

And I have asked myself,

"what is the World?",

but a collection of greater

and lesser parasites constantly

feeding off of eachother.

Weakening so they can strengthen,

strengthening so they can weaken!

I hide from them and make myself 

small ,..hide so that I am not eaten!

(but in the end I will be eaten by them All.)

I am The Face void of expression.

Choking on the stains of each transgression.

The lost.

The found.

The damned.

(for whom there is no Redemption.)

J.Stephen.H.