I was a peg-legged villain

I was a peg-legged villain,

Lips the colour of Purple Rain,

Rocks wedged into my summer heels,

Heavy as Tin Man without a heart.


I would never steal another – no.

I could never get in the way.

You never had to worry girl,

I could never be that way.


It was impossible to place one foot after the other,

To make my descent onto the concrete tether –

The eminent ending of a decade of our youth.


I may be caught in traffic, yes, 

But I was more trapped in my darkness,

My perfectly nostalgic and passionate madness.

My hands were sweating profusely. 

Under the grip of my wheel, I ached anxiously.


I knew I was late,

But I wanted the past to linger, just a little longer.

I wanted the moment to progress, just a little slower.


I would never steal another – no.

I could never get in the way.

You never had to worry girl,

I could never be that way.


Never will I be bitter.

It’s a personal battle more than a heartache.

The heart alway knew,

But the mind rejected the truth;

For so long, I rejected my reality

Towards you.


I could never steal another – no. 

I would never get in the way.

You never had to worry girl,

I could never be that way.


Forgive me for my tardiness, my friend,

On your special day. 

I forgot how to drive,

The year was grim, my hair was grey.


Know that it’s a love that will never be

Because it cannot be so. 

The heart knew, but the mind said no.

The heart grew heavy – yes.

But the mind was stubborn so. 


I cry here tonight

Because I never lost you.

No. I never had you.



I could never steal another – no.

I would never get in the way.

You never had to worry girl,

I could never betray. 


I sit in wonder tonight

Because I never lost you.

The heart knew,

But it refused to acknowledge you.



I could never steal another,

I would never get in the way.

You never had to worry boy,

No – I refuse to love you that way.  


Words of long ago

Burn to the God of War,

And return as the King of Hell,

To imprint scars,

Shaped like birthmarks.


The newborn cries,

Not from fresh air bursting its lungs,

But from the birthmarks,

Soaked in black.


“The scars of the past,

Become the scars of the future,”

Says the Devil.


“Unless we break the cycle,”

Whispers the Angel.



windy nights in kini

The wind crashes

Like the waves of the ocean

Onto my bedroom window

The mosquito buzzes

Into my ear

I’m wide awake, suddenly

I screw on my headlight tight

So I can write

Can I sleep?

Will I sleep?

Should I sleep?

Or should I keep on scribbling non-sense

Until I turn myself off

Like the bulb of my lamp

The heat of my stove

And the rumbling of my fridge

Fahrenheit 451 parallels our current state of affairs

“If you don’t want a man unhappy politically, don’t give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war. If the government is inefficient, top-heavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it. Peace, Montag. Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of noncombustible data, chock them so damned full of ‘facts’ they feel stuffed, but absolutely ‘brilliant’ with information. Then they’ll feel they’re thinking, they’ll get a sense of motion without moving. And they’ll be happy, because facts of that sort don’t change.” – Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

“You’re a hopeless romantic,” said Faber. “It would be funny if it were not serious. It’s not books you need, it’s some of the things that once were in books. The same things could be in the ‘parlor families’ today. The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios, and televisors, but are not. No,no it’s not books at all you’re looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books were only one type or receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us. Of course you couldn’t know this, of course you still can’t understand what I mean when i say all this. You are intuitively right, that’s what counts.” – Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451


I’ve been reading Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, here, in Greece. It is a time travel parallel to our current political climate and modern society.  It’s a wake up call and a breath of fresh air, despite its depressingly uncanny resemblance to our present times.

I urge you to read or re-discover Bradbury’s masterpiece. 

Fahrenheit 451 was written in 1953! The novel is 65 years old, and is still extremely relatable on a personal context and relevant on a global scale.

Thank you Ray for having left this symbolic piece of poetry behind. The world needs to hear it now, more than ever.