2am and I’m still awake, writing
a song and if I get it all down
on paper it’s no longer inside me
threatening the life it belongs to
and I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd
cause these words are my diary screaming outloud…

Now that is melancholy. Sometimes Haiku are not enough. Thankgoodness for songs…

The Moon

The Moon
The Sun I did love.
So bright, shining Free on all,
and I wanted it.

So I called “Dear Sun, be mine;
let ALL your light on me shine”

The Sun laughed and sang
“Foolish man, wrong that would be!”
The Sun went away.

Cast down, a strong vow I made.
The Light of Day I’ll not see.

I barricaded
every window, every door.
No light did I see.

Living in darkness, content.
‘Til one night I heard the Moon.

“Oh man, please come out.
Talk with me. I’m not the Sun.
Do not punish me.”

I peeked out the door.
I saw the Moon, her glory,
Wrapped in dark, dark cloud.

Everyone inside, asleep.
Not one being, out, about.

I slipped out the door,
hiding in the Moon’s shadows.
“Speak!” I cried aloud.

And so she spoke, on and on.
The Moon said so very much.

I listened, entranced.
Like one bereft of reason.
til I pled “Enough!”

The Moon smiled down at me,
“I like your company, Sir.

May I ask your name?”
“Dero Xones” I did reply
“Great Philosopher”

And the Moon did go away,
but she would come back again.

Haiku, With Commentary!

This will probably be very deep and esoteric, so be warned.

I wrote the following Haiku at lunch after a hard morning’s work and other stuff. It was very real to me that although happiness might be considered a transitory, fleeting, emotion, it is a very real one and should be taken full advantage of when it pops its little head up from the depths. So, without further ado:

A Lost Battle

I tried to be sad,
gave it the ol’ “college try.”
Tried, and tried again!

That frown just wouldn’t stay put;
gave up, grinned like a cheshire.

This next piece, originally entitled
Es würde scheinen, daß ich bin die Stalker Art nach allen…
is a very melancholy form. It is so sad in fact that it was originally composed on the back of a mileage chart, can you imagine the pure sadness to be in such straits? But I realized that the title would never catch on with Mainstream America, so I retitled it and present for your sad viewing:

Name of the Butterfly

Violet embers
and yet no fire for me
nothing but the cold
every man deserves a flame
so I wonder where is mine
silence answers me
announcing nothing at all

This choice I’ll honor.

As you can tell, the author is describing the inner torment inflicted upon him by some other human being, and while crying out against such evils, promises to endure and be the better man. He starts off in the depths of the frozen fire and ends in the stratosphere with the Ideals of Honor and Compassion! Truly a masterpiece of literary taste.



Will you know of me?
If you won’t, what do I think?
All men are cowards.

Avoidance I’ve used; it works.
Flowers die without water.

I am a flower.
So delicate and gentle.
Watch me wither, die.

But flowers always return.
For me there is no “next year.”

and that folks, is about the saddest thing I can come up with off the top of my head.


Fire Dance; Balance.
shadows, light, intermingling.
Learn to move with them.

Brighter Flame, Darker Shadow.
Weave Seamlessly Between Them.

pushing, pulling. opposing;
sinuous, graceful.

I will know the Fire Dance.
I shall walk unharmed thru it.


It’s melancholy
but is yet so beautiful.
I cry to see it.

Honor. The other side is:
Violence, Bloodshed, Bloody Death.

Yet the dance goes on.
Glittering, twirling, shining.
The sword rises, falls.

It calls, the dance we name life.
Price, high; not all wish to pay.

Beautiful it is.
Will you pay the price and die?
To dance this Life Dance?

Honor. Beauty. This is Life.
Stand up. Grasp this Dance of Life.
Cowards sit in corners.

LIVE the life you’ve been given.
Cry at the beauty of it.