Altough I'm far the repeated images of the World Trade Center still affect me.
The room, where angled shadows cut through a mirrored image of mutilated sheets, a silent witness to a dawning light. There we stood clearly naked troubled by our excess, running past the silence to forget ...
The fascinating effect of a gypsy dancer.
An evening meal sharing thoughts about life and love.
When we spend our time chasing dreams.
Is that really our reflection?
Those fleeting moments of time that leave us standing with lost innocence.
The shattered dreams that somehow, after time give way to other thoughts.
Running after love and sometimes finding it in strangers eyes.
A poet can never die even if you try to kill him. A prose poem.
The writer and his characters, the borderline effects that may affect your health.
The frightening effects that writing can bring about when the muses deserts us.