Archives for November 2013

Faith For Sale

I’ve seen HER coming, strung from this beam,
Humming in HER winter stumbling and hung out of reach,
The perfect life is a dream?
I guess it means the world’s at peace when we sleep.
Do you believe? Why? HER eyes were built to deceive,
instead of building hope SHE blew through like the breeze.
Twice now I passed HER courting the streets on HER knees,
thought I was humbled to find home, alone on my feet.
Nice to meet the daylight bright in defeat,
like the silence engulfed me breathing life in HIS screams,
breeding pride, where HE once tried to teach me to see.
My ink ran dry and HE taught my pen how to sail,
and then HE sold it to me, like there was weight in HIS tale,
Waiting for the receipt as HE painted HER face pale
HE places a tag on HER grave like the truth’s in retail
but it’s human nature that dictates,
my faith is for sale.

© Myles Dacus 2013

Gambling Man

I’l believe it when I see it,

When I’m left still breathing in death,

like light whispers that whisk the life from my breath,

slightly frail, ailed demons seem at peace in this bed,

but belief in my dreams, sprouting deceit in my depths,

it’s doubled the numbers but divided the rise of the blessed,

and I’l be damned if I chance dancing with this noose round my neck,

but it’s pure as the truth, that proves I’m used to this pen,

and says I’m who? Questions the I in life and how I survive through this text,

gambled this debt rolling dice to the sound of my life entwined in the bet,

how my heart cried when this art came to collect,

and how am I supposed to smile with this fucking price on my head?

It tripled the sixes, to double or nothing and I’m left with nothing to give,

troubled by days, these demons keeping blades to my wrists,

he promised me help but I,

keep fighting the urges to quit.

© Myles Dacus 2013

I Miss That Old School Kind Of Love

Tell me can we be more than friends again?;

I was wondering If I could get a chance to love you again;

Do you think about how good we were back then?;

When love was forever young and it seemed like it would never end;


Days in the park, just us;

Drinking and making love;

Not a care in the world;

It was just you and I girl;


Over the years love has changed;

From a fairytale story to an unfair game;

I had to adjust and study the rules in order to play;

But I miss that oldschool kind of love of yesterday;


So can’t we go back to those days?;

I’m sick of this game;

You lose everytime no matter how you play;

Heart break has become like a virus outbreak;


Tears have become a part of the human face;

Tears that never dry no matter how much you wipe them away;

I admit I was young and made silly mistakes;

But life has matured me, so could you come back this way;


“Let go of past love, it’s just a mistake”, I’ve heard people say;

But if that’s the case then your love was the best mistake I’ve ever made;

Girl I miss us;

But most of all I miss that oldschool kind of love…

Smile When I’m Deceased

Let me touch your crystal flesh,

smashing upon the rocks of my deceit,

let the fire rage upon your breath,

and let your polished hair,

lay soft against my cheeks,

embed your constricted love, within my chest,

fill my lungs with your hatred,

of spoken words,

and let, me be the harbinger of,

my hearts, death,

let me touch your pain, and

give you the world to lay

your troubled mind to rest,

ask me questions of this life,

when I’m deceased and only then,

declare your heartache,

flourish in the joys of my mistakes

and grow roses upon my grave,

that die in dismal recollection,

of the lives your love could have saved…

© Myles Dacus 2013

Alone In The Rain

I thought it would be a day like any other
The beginning of the routine where you weren’t home
I’ve learned it all by heart
Two days you were at home I could see you through the windows
Five days you would leave only to return hours later

Nature was pouring down from the heavens
The soft rain washing through my coat
I knew that I would be nice and clean for you after it all
You surprised me when you loaded me into the car,
I looked at you with excitement as I wagged my tail

You haven’t looked my way once
A strange expression you had, I was yet to learn
You stopped the car suddenly and I fell off the back seat
The door suddenly opened and you pulled me out
In the rain once more I watched you drove off

I looked around and had no idea where I was
I stayed where I was, hoping you would return
It was raining harder and I could hear cars coming closer
I wagged my tail once more, thought you came back
Bright lights blinded me for a brief moment

I heard a squeaking sound and felt something hard as everything went black
I woke up and my whole body burned with pain
I couldn’t move and wished I was back home
Gentle hands moved over my body and the pain faded briefly
Deep within I felt relaxed and cared, all in the face of a stranger


Bloated tummies filled with air
Rumbled like distant thunder.
Pangs as sharp as knives,
Turned deeper and deeper
Like screws being drilled into wood.

Winter Is Coming

Life is like a story book, and you are the writer.
We all dream – if not secretly.
How we want our lives to play out.
Journey taken, hearts broken and that ever after we all seek.
Meaning of our souls… the reason for living!

On the darkest night, the mists covered the lonely fields.
The footsteps on the ground were slow and silent.
In the distance a flickering light broke the unbarring darkness.
Wild and free but something was haunting from the distant plane.

A soul Crying for comfort.
A howl to the full moon.
Lost, extinct and forgotten like a camp fire story.
Whispers of long ago, sealed in the fate of time.
Footsteps long ago disappeared.
The imprints of the journey left unsealed.
Where are we headed?

“Home” International Call For Writers by ArtAscent – Deadline December 31, 2013

The competition theme is “Home”. Home can be a building, a room, a space. Home should feel comfortable, a place where you belong. It might be a sanctuary of safety, a group of objects with memories that create a personal timeline, a country or community of people that share a familiarity, or anywhere your loved ones are. Perhaps simply having a warm bed with a cup of tea, or being able to be emotional honest without pretense is your ‘home sweet home’. Show us what home means to you.

Entries may include fiction, non-fiction, poetry, short stories and other written explorations (up to 1000 words). Previously published or unpublished are eligible. Writers retain copyrights.

Artist profile feature in ArtAscent Art & Literature Journal and $50 for the gold winner. At least 3 additional writers will win publication in ArtAscent Art and Literature Journal including links to your website, promotion on ArtAscent website writer directory, and exposure in social media.

Submission deadline: December 31, 2013
See for submission details and to enter. Void where prohibited.

When the Mockingbird stopped singing

Among a parcel of it’s beautiful fellows,
A Forest filled with all things unique and special,
The Mockingbird was always mimicking their sounds.
A tweet, a croak,
A chirp, a laugh,
A faultless tune that belonged to another,
From Sunrise to Sunset,
A constant Sprite, that fought it’s nemisis Sadness alone
No tune of it’s own,
No voice of it’s own
At times annoying those that it copies.
One always sure to hear one’s own voice when old Mockingbird was there.
Then one day,
The sun rose to silence,
The wind blew without tune,
The Forest had lost it’s joy,
As they looked and saw Mockingbird’s nemesis Sadness, standing over it’s body.

Accident prone

Awkward faces, reckless pacing, steadily jaded, heavily laden with , complex burdens.Quake quick youre shaken, no horns are raging, disturbed concentration.Dazed and dazzled by a melodic tangle cars crashing , death is dashing , dirt and ashes pain is numbing peace is granted.Hearts are singing praise while mourning, eyes weeping , smiles and laughter , life is funny and hugs are handy. I need brandy to feel dandy a child wants candy , its all candid the soul is branded.
Foresight blurry , visions vivid tarnish then vanish , days continue consumed with inniu in a sterile milieu, minds quell , hearts dwell , eyes tell stories gory . Blame the sorry tame the fury, life is scary do not scurry .