Maybe I’m Already Dead

Negative 2

Maybe I’m already dead
And hell is real after all
For there is no calm nor sleep in the night
Nor angels that sing when I fall

If this is life ever after
I’d prefer that death be the end
Without the light that shines in the darkness
I can’t be the willow that bends

So maybe I’m already dead
And hell is real after all
And some other poet is writing this poem
While seeing my face in the wall

If life has to end with our suffering
And our poetry lingers unsaid
Perhaps on this earth there is hell after all
Or maybe…
I’m already dead


A River Flowing East

A river flowing east

To my readers:
I am not suicidal.
However… the following poem reveals a perfect reflection of my current state of mind.
For reference: Read my journal entry at this location: Vision of Hope33
That information… followed by a similar prognosis for the one I care so much about ……………………………has just been a little too much for the soul……………………………

A River Flowing East

Why wouldn’t one look
For a way to escape
Instead of just
Letting it happen
Slowly –
Painfully –
As if it were ordained
As if fate had long ago determined
That you have no choice but to abide
By its supernatural powers
Surrendering yourself to
The circumstance
That now surrounds you
Why would you not even
Turn your head
To look for a way out
An exit sign
An open window
A river flowing east
Into Eden

Why would you not
At least attempt
To spread your wings
And fly
To rise up from the darkness
To the light
Why would you not want
To soar
Within the gentle breeze
Like an eagle’s first flight
Above the earth
Like the last
Leaves of autumn
Swept up by the breath
To rise above the place
Of their birth

Why wouldn’t one look
For a way to escape
Instead of just
Letting it happen
Taking the next exit
To billow the sails
On a river flowing east
Into Eden


Beneath the Moon

Beneath the Moon 1

It goes without saying
That I was wrong
I’ve been wrong
So many times
I have to wonder
What is right

Perhaps I have expected
What one would say
Was far too much
From those
Whom I’ve encountered
From the human race

I remember one by one
When they turned
And walked away
Frightened of the words
On the diagnosis
Perhaps they must have thought
That cancer
Spreads with just a touch
Perhaps their fear
Was far too deep
To grace

But I am not alone
In abandoned disbelief
While tides still
Come and go
Beneath the moon
For I can feel the hope
That lingers
Far beyond the sun
And touch the healing light
That heals the soul


In a Sealed Envelope

Envelope 2

Due to circumstances far, far beyond my control, I have not been in the proper frame of mind to write anything poetic of value that I would want to even consider sharing with my faithful followers and readers.  So… I am posting a poem that I wrote some time back that perfectly fits my mental state of being.  If you are curious as to ‘why’ my current state of mind is in a bit of confusion… you may visit the latest couple of posts on

“The Vision of Hope33”

In a Sealed Envelope

The colors don’t blend
When the willow can’t bend
While bluebells are bowing their heads
The words cannot rhyme
With it all out of time
When blood has already been shed

The ‘vision of hope’
In a sealed envelope
Where fate hides its face neath the fold
In destiny’s light
Of what’s wrong and what’s right
Left standing outside in the cold


Never Just the Pain

Never Just the Pain

(A touch of reality)

It’s never just the pain
It’s always the insane
Hidden tween the lines inside the rhyme
Dancing in the darkness
Singing with the heartless
Melody and lyrics out of time

It’s never just the pain
It’s always bound in chains
Dragging round your neck where life has bled
Weighing down your every thought
Lessons learned and lessons taught
Tintinnabulation in your head

It’s never just the pain
It’s always in the veins
Crawling neath the skin until it bleeds
Pulsing through your eyes
Hiding in the lies
With all your friends still tangled in the weeds

It’s never just the pain
It always leaves a stain
Deep within the fabric of your mind
To scribe the truthful quest
The painful soul that’s left undressed
Is often better off if left unsigned

Crossing Lines

crossing lines

Crossing Lines 

It’s certainly not that the rhyme is gone
I still feel poetry in the hues of dawn
But pain has a way of crossing lines
Where mind and body intertwine

Singing the lyrics of forgotten songs
Searching for melodies… right or wrong
Never graced parchment with brilliance of light
No matter the poet… no matter the plight


I suppose this is another one of those poems that speaks truth about the poet.  I must admit… I have not been able to post much as of late due to circumstances far beyond my control.  I am very thankful for those of you who have continued to support my attempts at poetry… even when factors enter that change much of the subject matter.

I have preferred to keep my Hope33 site (a journal of my journey through hell)… and this site as separate entities of one another, but if for some strange reason you would like to know what is going on in my life at this particular moment… you are welcome to visit “The Report” and subsequent posts if you dare to do so.  If you’d rather not…  believe me… I completely understand.  Either way… I am honored and humbled by all of you who continue to support this site and the blathering I often leave here to linger.

I will continue to post as often as I am able… and of course… I am very ‘hope’- full that all will work out as I imagine and I will be back on a more regular basis to torment you with my… perhaps… somewhat peculiar poetry.  In fact… there may be moments when I become even more inspired because of those very ‘circumstances beyond my control’.

Wishing you a most beautiful day


Who’s to Say

Who's to Say

Who’s to Say

I should not be amongst them…
The living –
For I have seen the other side
On more than one occasion
All the odds against me –
Even time…
But who’s to say
Who lives and dies
Though I –
Most undeserved –
In the light
Of each new dawn

I should not be amongst them…
The living –
For I am but a vagabond
Searching for the light
All the odds against me –
Even fate…
But who’s to say
Who lives and dies
Though I –
Most unpretentious –
In the night
Who plays the pawn

I should not be amongst them…
The living…
For I have died a million deaths
And life
It seems
Is only an illusion…
But who’s to say
Who lives or dies
Though I –
Most dialectic –
Know –
The answer lies
Tween lines we’ve drawn


Being Human

Being Human 1

This post is not what you may expect from the Vision of Poets.  It is the first time I have posted the same writing on both of my sites.  Perhaps it is however… an example of the “Rhymes of Life”.  Some of you may be shocked by this post if you have never visited my Vision of Hope33 site.  I think you should read this.  It affects all of us in one form or another.  It may just touch your heart in a special way.  Please feel free to visit the ‘reality’ of “being human”… at

The Vision of Hope33

Thank you…



Being Human

I just came from a WordPress site of someone who is facing the diagnosis of terminal/incurable cancer.  It was quite an emotional, heart felt expression of how it feels to live with such thoughts inside you.  In the comments below of what appeared to be this person’s first post, was a comment from someone who referred to themselves as “Pops”.  He indicated that he didn’t know what to do… that he had read the blog and understands… but was lost.  Isn’t that true of all of us who care deeply about someone having to face such finality?  We’re just lost.  What ‘can’ we do?  Everything we may think of to do for them seems so insignificant.  I think what most of us actually feel………… is helpless!  In this case, I not only feel helpless toward the person with cancer… I feel helpless toward Pops.  What can one say to him to help him feel better about his own emotions, his own response to the one he loves?

Inside that same post, the writer mentioned the fact that some of those around you cannot handle the situation and their way of dealing with it is to just disappear.  Wow… is that ever a true statement… and it might not be just friends that walk away… it might be family.

So… I’ve been on both sides of this conversation.  What’s the solution?  I’m not sure.  Here’s what I do know.  If we could engage in pure honest conversation about our emotions on both sides of the situation… the distance between us just might be a bit less if we were to truly understand one another’s feelings.  There are so many that are afraid to express those emotions to another… especially to one who is facing terminal illness.  Sometimes it is just so much easier to distance yourself from them.  I think that what the real problem may be is that those who distance themselves are afraid of causing the one suffering… any additional stress or negative emotions.  Perhaps they become distant to protect themselves from stress and negative emotions.  What at least some of them are failing to see is that those of us facing terminal illness just want to live as much of a normal life as we can… including the interactions of friends and family that we care about.  So just being who you are… who you’ve always been before the illness came to be… is what is most important.

Perhaps I could best express how I feel by saying this:  “Being human”… is not always easy.  Defining humanity includes compassion, kindness, understanding, tolerance, goodness and brotherly love.  Are these too difficult for some humans to deal with?  Loving someone should always be easy, but standing with them through the brume may prove to be far too difficult for some to bear.  Borrowing a couple of lines from “The Invitation” by Oriah Mountain Dreamer,  might best describe how I feel about the interactions between friends, family… and the one whom they care about facing the finality of death from illness.

“It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
and not shrink back.”
Well… when you find out you have terminal cancer… the fire is lit.  If standing in that fire with me is something that you cannot do for whatever reason… then please… distance yourself from me.  You must do what is best for your own spirit.  I will understand.  I will still love you… but the truth is… there will be an emptiness within my life without you in it.

There are no real answers as to what one should do… how one should act toward someone that is special to them, who is face to face with terminal illness.  We’re all different.  The only thing I can do is to be myself and do whatever my heart and soul tell me to do.  That’s the only thing I would ever expect from anyone else toward me.  Just be you!  Love cannot be diminished by cancer.  True love, in whatever form it takes… is forever.  I guess, what I am trying to say… to “Pops”… and to anyone finding themselves in this ‘being human is not always easy’ position… the love you feel is most obvious… so what you can do that would help your loved one the very most… is to just be you… and never stop loving.

A most beautiful day to you all…



My most humble appreciation to the one who inspired this post… and to “Pops”.  Their most beautiful example of “Being Human” may be experienced at:





Please view this post on the actual site:

The Vision of Poets

Spring Beauties 5


Where did he go…
He seemingly vanished
Perhaps to the sea…
He’s attempted to vanish
For most of his time
As most folks may know
From reading his rhymes…

There’s been no post
Now week after week
No one has seen him
Out on the street
He doesn’t appear
To wander online
Perhaps he’ll appear
When the planets align

Where did he go
Where no one can find
In search of wonder
With love intertwined?
Curiosity may draw him
To mystic unknowns
But often has led him
Where life has no bones…

He smiles when he wanders
Far out on the ledge
Where life and reality
Teeter on edge…
Perhaps he may wander
With creatures untamed
Who don’t give a shit
About fortune or fame…

He’s talked with no one
On twitter or phone
His car’s in the driveway
But sits all alone
The kitties just stare
Through dirt covered glass
While out in the yard
There’s very tall grass

He used to sit
At that old kitchen table
Scrawling his prose
His rhymes and his fables
Sometimes conversing
With otherworld friends
All of them there
With parchment and pens…

Perhaps he’s just writing
Of love and of wonder
Of sadness or hope
Or just distant thunder…
His porch light has burned now
Beyond the blue moon
His thirty three lingering
Lost in the runes…

Maybe you’ve seen him
Tween books on the shelf
Perhaps he has wandered
In dreams of yourself…
Someone once found him
Tween poets long passed
With Emily, Robert
Ms. Browning amassed…

If you have seen him
In first blush of dawn
In hours of darkness
Tween lines that are drawn
He sometimes may linger
Near ceilings of rooms
Catching your dreams
In lavender blooms

Please…. Please….
Share with us all
The knowledge you have
Of where he may scrawl…
Incense and sage
May bring him in view
Perhaps in the mist
Of the potions you brew

We’re anxiously waiting
Some justified right
That Michael33
Has not taken flight
Please leave a comment
In daylight or night
That you’ve seen him dwelling
In plain human sight

By GhostWriter33

Copyright © 2017 Ghostwriter33

While we await the return of Michael33
Or some word of his very existence…
Please be sure to pick up a copy of Michael33’s newly published book:

“As Shadows Cross the sky”
Poetic Stories of Michael33

As Shadows Cross the Sky

Available today… exclusively at

Poetry books are wonderful additions to any coffee table… awaiting the hands of friends or strangers to peer between the covers… to flip through the pages in wonder of what they may find.  They make wonderful gifts… stocking stuffers… expressions of compassion to one who is troubled… an escape for one to enjoy a journey far, far away from what roams inside their own mind… day after day. They can be given to one whom we care about deeply… to touch their heart… to stir their soul… to allow them to dream… the dreams of wonder.

Proceeds from this book will be used to help defray the ridiculously high cost of cancer treatments and of procedures for serious side effects, that have become necessary as a result of those treatments.  For more information… please visit:

A squirt of lemon
A squeeze of lime
A pinch of parsley
A sprig of thyme

But in the end
Behind the mime
What we have left
Lies in the rhyme

Thank you for your endless support of the poetry and writing of Michael33… encouragement to never lose hope… and the inspiration to linger between the lines.



Whispers Midst the Rain

Whispers Midst the Rain

Whispers Midst the Rain

She wandered in the darkness
Though her light shined through the brume
Reaching for the answers lost in time
She never spoke the secrets
Ever woven through her soul
But couldn’t find her song lost in the rhyme

Forsaken from inception
Though her words seeped neath the door
No one heard her whispers midst the rain
Abandoned by the angels
Bathed in silence of the moon
Where no one heard the echoes of her pain

Hiding in her shadowed dreams
Though her eyes wept in the hush
No one touched her tears with gentle hands
Damned by plundered innocence
And clothed in tousled blame
Her bare feet never stirred the grains of sand

Where then must the heartache hide
Though her secrets fill the room
Reaching for the mourn in crimson cream
Penetrating neath the pain
Though scars are never mended
The naked soul must bear the silent screams

What dwells in her tomorrow
Though her lips still taste the vile
No one turned the page to free the blame
Hands that hold the sharpest edge
May weep the vein of marrow
Yet never drowns the taste of haunting shame

So what of those who love her
Though her heart has veiled the morn
No one knows just how to break the dawn
Perhaps these runes portending
To bathe in exculpation
Will breathe the breath where hallowed lines are drawn


Copyright © 2016