Writing By: Michael Dixon

Iconic Chapel of Thoughts

In this chapel made of glass I stand as a chaotic
mess spins its web of endless emotion. In that web 
a bird awaits for my call. It knows I listen to the 
chaotic dance. Yes, it will question why with no 
Compassion or sorrow cry. 

With its stentorian voice it threw out snarling 
replies. "Oh is it the idea of danger that compels
you to feel? Oh is it the poisonous sting that follows 
you well? Oh can you really feel the coldness swell?" 

As the sand dances to the beating drum within my chest,
the bird would finally say, "The Sickle cries out for your 
quivering answer!" 

The wind would then howl a cool equinox breath, 
promising new life to all that shall soon come to rest. 
Then with my last gasp of air, I realized that 
something is unfinished in this iconic chapel of thoughts. 
The glass clashed with the Earth as the dirt tucked me in 
for my final quest.




Empty Cup (Published 2004)

Torn complexities milk my honey melody...
I sip my sip and spit my spit within this cup...
Nothing is forever in the passage of safe haven... 

There are few who look too deep and there 
are those who never look...

For this complexity is an impatient 
mutation that will never last and will 
soon empty my cup.