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| A poem, make of it what you will, poetry is for interpretation. |
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Ghost
A fragile echo,
A misty haze,
The bitter spirits,
Of wanton souls.
Floating between,
here and there,
They’re not living,
nor truly gone,
Haunting,
not remembering,
What they’re there to do.
Desperate to live
or die,
Without a single clue.
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| Hidden City - part one | Hidden City - part two continued | Amethyst (a poem) |
| Flames (A poem) | Hidden City - part two | A-foul Of A Fairy *revised* (A poem) |
| The Hunter | Born to Blood |
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