Even at night, there's still some light. It isn't truly bright, and when your eyes adjust, there's still so many things you can see.

A poem about the way people are constantly blinded by their feelings, desires and prejudices. Hopefully worth reading.

A poem I wrote mocking conservative religious fanatics. Amusing, if critical.

My mind's reflection, cast in glass -/An empty room, inhabited by/A covenant of shadow and silence,/An all-but-sentient stillness." Basically a depressing poem of what I might see in a mirror that reflected my mind, instead of my face.

Death is coming, dressed in white, with darkness in her eyes . . . basically, a poem about some of the creepier aspects of death. Rated T for safety.

A collection of shorter poems, kind of like sketches compared to my longer, more complex works. Hence the name.

A lifetime's labour, creating/ A house of cards, a home for myself . . . God help me, I can't seem to care/ As it all falls down around me.' Rated T because it's a depressing poem contemplating suicide, which little kids probably shouldn't be reading.

Exactly what it says on the tin. Basically a fluffy poem about my Dad's hands, especially as I viewed them when I was little.

In the light of the electric fire . . . A dance of overripe bodies -/ Flourishing like mutant roses,/ Fuelled by chocolate and honey." Please excuse me while I angst about injustice and greed. Thankyou.

In the dark of my endless night/When I dreamt that I had a name . . . a vision of truth came to me." A poem I wrote exploring themes of perception and reality from an existential point of view.

I live, alone, and frozen,/ A marble statue, still unformed,/ Locked away in ice." Yeah, it's 'angst' for a reason, but otherwise, I think it's quite good not that I'm qualified to judge, seeing how I wrote it .

Within my mind I have created/ A fortress tall and strong/ . . . You break upon it like waves,/ Both raging and impotent." Really not sure how else to describe it . . .

A fun poem about the ultimate homework excuse. I hope the five or so people who read this enjoy it.

A light I carry with me . . . through the darkness of the night." My life is a candle isolated, alone. Beyond the reach of my life are other lights, their auras occassionally brushing against mine. Or so the poem goes . . .