Thursday, December 16, 2004

Stolen Dream

I stole a dream from you last night
hoping to give you a fright:
feeling darkness closing in,
surrounded by an awful din.
then I found, to my surprise,
you were watching with open eyes.
I struggled backward but was caught
by one remaining thought:
you stole that dream from me last night,
and held me in your soft light;
while I trembled head to toe,
you lit the darkness all aglow.
waking, I saw, with no surprise
you were watching with gentle eyes;
you held me close, held me tight,
held until gone was all my fright.

Thursday, December 2, 2004

the pillar

perhaps i am becoming invisible. the others, maybe they see me or maybe
they do not. i know they feel me if they do not know i am there.
walk into an invisible pillar in a crowded hall. is it there? can you
feel it? now run back, and run into it. hit it hard. does it hurt?
you do not see but feel. there is nothing you can do. the pillar does
not want to see you. i do not want to see you. am i the pillar?
you swear, anger thrown to the pillar. hit it hard. but it is set in stone.
it does not bugde for thee.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

The Cave's Inhabitants

the cave is hidden, damp, dark,
home to those who did their part,
engaging in literature and the arts,
the basis of humanity.

the cave holds wonders for them all,
inspiration on every wall,
engaging those who did fall,
from their spots in society.

they fell down from on high,
from whence they could touch the sky,
to where they stand now on nigh,
and relish true ability.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

Human Friend

the night is approaching,
and oh what a moon!

the darkness swells about me now,
the rhythm I know well;
and in the darkness a creature creeps,
a creature I know well.

"grandfather fright, it's been a long time,
I hope to see you well."
"aye, it's a mighty fair night,
as far as I can tell.
our friends, they are a'coming:
you they can well smell."

my friends, they gathered 'round me,
a circle of the Dark;
"my friends, it's been too long,
I hope I recall my part."
"do not fear, human friend,
steady is your heart.

"the Monster doth calleth
us all here tonight;
he knows it's been too long,
and hopes to set that right."
I've seen him so much now,
he no longer is a fright.

the Monster stepped forward then,
and with him a fellow sprite,
who held the soft-glow lantern,
bathing us in its light.
but the Monster was in Shadow,
his own eternal plight.

"I welcome you all to my gathering,
it has been a very long time.
I hope you journeyed, well,
you look well fed and fine.
I missed many of you the last time,
I was caught up in my rhymes."

"my dear brother," He said to me,
"you do not look so well,
please sit down here beside me,
please: do tell."

so I told him of my horror,
the world of which I live;
the terrible goodness of it,
and deeds they do forgive.

"do not fear such things, my son,
it's a hard such thing to hear.
but for this sufferance,
you we do endear.
you are truly one of us now,
you've reassessed your fears.

"it's not the terrors that frighten you now,
but the real world instead.
those among us are your family now,
we, the eternal dead.

"your world has forgotten us,
but for you, our friend."
"I thank you for this generosity,
though I don't know to what end
my presense will benefit,
what help I can rend."

"do not worry about that,
my unfortunately mortal son.
we will teach you what we can,
the war has barely begun.
--but don't worry about the fight,
you'll see: we'll have some fun.
this life will well fit you,
my youngest, favorite son."

"thank you for your blessing,
bujt now I must go,
time is ever running out for me,
it I must follow."

"goodbye my son, to fairer nights,
I hope we shall see you soon."
I turned from the Monster, as he faded,
along with the moon.

a tear did drop from my eye,
and the wisps began to sing,
a soft and sad melody
about what the Dark will bring.

I turned away, saddened,
already missing them.
the will-o-wisp called after me,
"we will soon meet again.
my light will never lead you astray,
my only human friend."

Friday, November 12, 2004

The Dictator and The Capitalist

the Dictator and the Capitalist
were brainstorming for a war;
they ignored the United Nations,
when totalling their score.

"we have no nukes or weapons,"
the Dictator did say,
"and i'll prove it to you in
this 800-page essay."

"inspectors may find nothing,
but i am not so blind."
the Capitatist was certain
that weapons he would find.

the Capitalist sent troops
to the dictator,
though they did find nothing,
he does rule no more.

the Capitalist did not forget
the traitorous Middle East;
he imposed Democracy,
so on their oil he may feast.

he re-ran for his office,
condemning us for four more;
his accent did aid him,
which Southern states adore.

the Middle East he levels,
reducing it to dust,
the government won't be stable
if democracy is a must.

the gays will suffer for
the "Christianity" of the straight,
"their right don't matter,
so them we may berate"

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Time Agitation Disorder

i must know the time
the time

time flows past me,

i must catch hold.
i must not let go.

no watch worn
is inconceivable
is ruinous of my day
is something that i cannot bear

"Does anybody really know what time it is?"

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Forever Apart From Me

away with The Sight!
away with it and gone!
gone from this world--
go, and flee:
leave me in peace
chained to the mountainside.
a gust!
wind so harsh, broken
against my torn and weary
face of stone.
where art Thou,
my sight? gone
to greener pastures
and calmer seas,
gone to leafy forests
and cool streams,
gone away from this place
and forever...
forever apart from me.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Not Without Dreaming

without dreams,
strange and confused,
i would be without Inspiration.
empty worlds,
dancing through oblivion,
dreaming their fullness with Inspiration.
my mind,
opening and ready,
to accept incoming Inspiration.
without dreams,
not without dreams...

Thursday, September 9, 2004

Friends For Years

friends we have been,
for many years,
and all this time,
i've found you near
to my heart
and my home,
whether together
or alone.
i'd like to thank
you for those years,
through all those smiles
and those tears.

Wednesday, September 8, 2004

The Prophecy

in the depths of the soul,
there lives such a beast.
a beast so powerful,
on all it does feast:

on the red of hatred
and fear of oppression,
the yellow of shyness,
and grey of depression.

it can ingest anything,
anything at all;
but with the death of the beast,
humanity will fall.

society will topple
with the end unfeigned,
chaos shall rule
where order once reigned.

without this beast
we cannot survive,
though it does not contribute
to what keeps us alive

instead the beast merely
helps humankind deal
with all of the struggles
that keep life real.

Friday, August 27, 2004

A Riddle for MB

do you know who I am?
do you recognize me?
the last time we met
was back at JB.

though I'm not a ghost,
I am from your past,
can you find anyone else
from the Perfect/Calc class?

what I'm known as now,
I have always been,
(though informally)
from way back when.

I sit by you now
--that's an obvious clue.
smart I'm oft labeled,
and genius too.

do you recognize me?
do you know who I am?
how long will it take
you to figure out this poem?

divby0 is
my user name;
no matter the nominator,
the result's the same.

click some links
on this page you see
and swifter you'll find
who is me.

click "divby0,"
find my user page,
my real name is near
the user name and page.

read my writings,
they're really great stuff
(I need to promote them
though they are up to snuff).

I don't care what you do
with this info you find
as long as you know
who I am in your mind.

I am a writer
poetry is what I do,
hopefully I'll have
a book out soon.

a loner I am
by nature only
though friends I've got,
not more than three.

I don't know yet
how this poem will end,
I don't know what
this poem will rend.

please read my stuff,
tell me what you think;
if you don't watch close,
there'll be more in a blink.

three days I've been writing this,
and oh what a blur
it has passed as I look
at your face as it were.

four days now,
and what a surprise:
as I remember second grade
and all those goodbyes.

I still have them all,
kept in my desk with care
but there they stay
for me do they snare.

to comment on poems
you must join this site,
but if you'd rather not,
it's really alright.

I'm not one much
for face-to-face speech
though being social
isn't out of my reach.

skinny I may be,
but a black belt too:
I practice at
Mike Neil's Martial Arts School.

Please don't bring up
this poem out loud
the Calc class isn't
exactly my crowd.

instead, I'd prefer that
you'd reply by e-mail
yahoo is my local.

I don't think
this poem will end
maybe it will when there's
no more ink in my pen.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

The Importance of Bards

        in times of drought
        the tide is out
the world is baked by sun.
        when floods roll by
        the tide is high
the world has lost the sun.
        when times are hard
        for life to bards
survival is quite tough.
        when bards are lost,
        when poems are lost,
the world becomes quite rough.
        life is not kind
        for writers who find
poetry is their way,
        but still they strive
        to remain, survive,
and enlighten the present day.

Wednesday, July 7, 2004

The Book Signing, Chapter 1

That day had begun like any other. But the way it ended, and what happened in between, I would remember for years as the turning point in my life.

After I got upstairs and readied for bed, I turned to my desk, and the book that lay on it. According to anyone who saw me with it, it was my Bible; to my close friends, it was an obsession; but to my English teacher, it was my life. All my hopes and desires, thoughts and ideas, my personality had been poured into it. This book defined who I was.

Yet nobody knew it. Published under an alias, "Colored Moods" had become a bestseller. To the public, finding the true author had become the top controversial subject; finding out who I was became a worldwide manhunt. To avoid suspicion (although nobody would have believed me) I joined it, quickly becoming one of the most obsessed. Un/Surprisingly, it worked. Throwing the few "smart ones" off my back, I proposed the ultimate idea in finding the author: the "Fahrenheit Flood."

In the book, "Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury, the police use a simple strategy to find Montag.

[Insert quote here --- if everyone, all of the citizens would open their doors and look out their windows, then Montag would have nowhere to hide. ---]

The "Fahrenheit Flood" was a brilliant idea that I was applauded for; using my own name (not an alias), I wrote down the strategy to find this "mysterious" author. Unfortunately (fortunately!) it failed. Everyone who did not write it , was to post their names on an Internet Message Board. Also, they were to write down the names of people they knew. Those people would run a search on their name, reply to the messages denying their involvement, and do the same. After several weeks, billions of names from all over the world had been entered and replied to. All but one.

Without denying my being the author, I told the public that I was too busy handling the website to post a message. "Besides, if I had been the writer, wouldn't I have found a hidey-hole to bury myself in and not come out? And would I have contributed to the effort of finding the author with any ideas?"

Every response, but one, I received to that posting was "No, you are right and we (the public) understand the difficulty in running the Flood yourself." Of course, that last one made me laugh; it was from my English teacher, and was posted as a private message: "Ace, stop playing with their minds. Although you are undoubtedly smarter than most of them, don't get too cocky. Go find yourself a hidey-hole and a shovel just in case something comes up."

I printed, then deleted that message, then hid it in my room safe, where I also kept the book contracts; only I could access it, nobody else, especially my parents.

Monday, June 28, 2004

one, the other, and a third

one paces the deck
watching flies, birds, squirrels,
stalking her prey--ajoke,
she's fat, but not oveweight.
the other, still and silent
watching, waiting,
as a black sphinx
sees her worshipers.

one, striped, has stolen
the tail of raccoon.
the other, underweight,
an achilles black, held by
two front knees still white.

a third pants heavily,
confused at the small creatures,
curious but cautious.
one and the other
ignore the third:
"why are you here
you do not belong."

one: the once wild,
never to be feral, cat.
the other: always tame,
never anything but, cat.
a third: her breed claims brilliance,
but she is anything but--
border collie: dog.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

Goodbye, Big Brother

I clambered down from the upper deck and looked around. It was solitude, sweet and simple. Silent solitude. I smiled, then worked my way to the electronics board, an entire wall that was a mess of displays, hardware, and equipment. Kicking some haphazard power cables aside, I eased myself over to the keyboard and sunk restlessly into the chair. On a nudge of a key, one of the terminals lit up, a blank word processor with the cursor blinking. On. Off. On. Off. I stared at it for a few moments, then bent over the board and began to type.

Minutes, hours, or days later, I leaned back, flexing my fingers, arching my back, shrugging my shoulders. With a casual, remembered, habitual motion, a hand reached forward and entered a simple keystroke, setting complex commands in motion. The text erased itself, already saved and buried in a hidden memory cube, and the monitor darkened while another sprang to life. Only two hours. Only two hours ago did I begin to compose. Only two hours ago did I wake up; but now, my work here was nearly done.

Another practiced motion turned off the time clock, turned off the monitor, turned off the wall of electronics. Standing, I slid around the power cods, replacing them, and re-approached the ladder, but continued downward.

This new room was not a room at all, but rater a balcony. Approaching the railing, feeling a slightly increased gravity pull at my feet, I gazed through the airtight bubble, watching the stars drift beneath my feet. Deep within my ship, a vibration shook me, pushing me gently to the side. I smile once more, watching a blue and green orb slowly dwindle in size.

"I may miss your presence, big brother, but I won't miss your gravity well, or your pollution, or your oppression. Goodbye, Earth."

It decreased visibly as I pulled out of its plain of rotation. Somewhat faster, my observation room spun me out of sight. With a soft jerk, the light sail deployed itself and the jets cut off. At an angle slightly over seventeen degrees, the sun's rays pushed my ship slowly toward the Kuiper Belt. Turning from the view, I climbed carefully back to the upper deck.

Friday, June 18, 2004

Time Mountain

the rocky slope hampers my climbing,
scrambling between boulders,
jumping over empty gaps,
knocking pebbles, sending them cracking, picking up speed,
resting beneath boulders, slight overhangs, then quickly
continuing, eager to reach the top of

Time Mountain.

reaching the end of the rocky slope,
i gaze upward at an endess maze of
crevices: handholds and foot holds,
up the cliff face of

Time Mountain.

taking my time, i plan out a path
(i plan out my future) carefully,
crefully choosing my way,
up the last barrier of

Time Mountain.

testing each position, each hold,
making certain they hold my weight,
i ease up the cliff, cautiously,
trying not to overexert myself;
at a narrow inset, i rest,
for the first time noticing pats climbers,
lying broken at the base of the cliff of

Time Mountain.

turning away from their failures,
i climb on,
climb higher,
and higher,
and higher still,
my body aching, groaning for release,
but instead i continue to push
until at last i can see the sun
peeking over the top of

Time Mountain.

but the cliff face grows sheer,
flat and formidable;
anchoring my body, i toss my pack high...
it misses and starts to fall downward, picking up speed, until it dangles below me, my lifeline holding me to it, biting at my shoulders and waist;
carefully, anchoring myself tighter to the rock,
pendulumning the pack, side-to-side, higher still higher,
until it falls back into my hande, then toss it again up the cliff of

Time Mountain.

i watch it fly, slowing, until i can see it no more:
there is still slack in my lifeline, and the pack does not come crashing down;
slowly, i ease myself upward,
using and trusting friction and my pack, my last lifeline
from tumbling down the cliff of

Time Mountain.

finally, the cliff ends and i find
my pack in the hands
of a tree, a small tree;
looking around, i find i have not at all climbed a mountain, but rather out of a pit, dark and deep;
to meet me
is the tree
and a sign


Two From Which A Story May Spin

there's a tale in every shadow:
a tale to be told.
a tale i cannot tell here,
lest my audience grow old.

beneath a golden arch,
a virgin tree doth grow.
beneath an arch of greenery
does the wind gently blow.

Monday, June 7, 2004

Point System

At the public library, at a table that has been pushed into a corner:

"A point system, eh? What, you do something for me, and you rate it, and then I owe you for it?"

"Yeah, something like that. If the points you owe me get high enough to afford it, I can tell you what to do. Demands cost more than requests."

"That makes sense. So, how much will this tutoring cost me?"

"Three points per fifteen minutes, and if it doesn't come out even, minutes are a point each."

"That seems rather high, even though I don't know how much a point buys."

"One point doesn't buy much, but they add up quick."

"I'm sure they do. Well then, let's get started."


Two hours and fourteen minutes later:

"Oh, come on! One more minute, please?"

"Sorry, but no. Rules are rules; I may make them, but I won't break them. You don't need anymore help, so the timer stops. Your total is twenty-two points."

"How much does that buy?"

"What do you want? My prices fluctuate based on personal judgement."

"That's not fair."

"That's how I do business. It's a profit; be happy I don't charge interest. What is it that you want?"

"Something that costs twenty-two points."

"I'll have to add a surcharge for making me come up with something."

"How much?"

"Ten percent is the going rate. But I don't round."

"Aim for 24.2 then."

"Sure." Chris sits and thinks for a moment. "I'm not coming up with anything." He pulls out a pocket-sized notebook and turn to a fresh page, writing her name on top. "No charge because I didn't get anything. Twenty-two is your total for today unless there's something else you want or need?..."

"A question, before you go."

"One point to just ask, two more for me to decide whether to answer, but the answer itself may be rather expensive depending on the question."

"What if I demand for you to answer?"

"Three, plus the demand at fifty percent is... 4.5. Shot."

"Are you making this up, or are you really serious about this? And I'll accept any cost for the answer."

"You shouldn't say that: I could milk you for a million points. To teach you a lesson, I'll double today's final total. To answer your question: I'm totally serious. You might be surprised at who owes me points. Your total now rests at 57.4. Is there anything else?"

"No, nothing."

"Goodbye then, Becky."

"Goodbye, Chris."


Later that day:

"Tom, could I talk to you far a moment?"

"Sure, Bec. What's up?"

"Well, I just came from a tutoring session with Chris and he--"

"Charged you in points? I'm not surprised. If I were you, keep track of them yourself."

"Why? Would he cheat me?"

He laughs. "No, that kid is honest, but when he says the points add up quick, he's not kidding."

"Why? What happened?"

"I'm frightened. I'm actually frightened of him." Becky shudders. "I owe him a lot, and he won't drop any. I'm afraid of what he might ask me to do. Or what he might demand."

"What about that Demand surcharge?"

Tom laughs again, then frowns. "It doesn't matter. I owe him too much. There are rumors around, about this system of his; warnings about kids who owed too much, and he made do terrible things."

"Can't you just so no?"

"Say no? Listen to me: he doesn't let just anybody into this system, only those who have a conscience. Only those who can't bear to let favors go unpaid. You know it yourself: could you do that?"

Quietly: "No, I couldn't." She shudders again, and Tom puts his arm around her shoulders.

"Precisely. Where are you at?"

"Somewhere in the fifties."

"Well, find out exactly, and keep track. A word of warning: there's a charge to find out, a percentage charge. That's why I can't ask. Remember: Chris won't cheat you, but he won't tell you everything either. He has something in mind, introducing you to the system, but I don't know what; be wary."

"Where is your value?"

"Above ten thousand. And he can vouch for every last one."

She shivers. "Thanks for the warning."

"Certainly. If there's anything..."

"I'll let you know."

"Free of charge." They smile at a hidden joke.

"The same to you. Bye."


Later that evening:

The phone rings. "Hello?"

"I just want to warn you: stay away from Rebecca. I--"

"Oh, it's you." Bored, "what do you want?"

"Leave her alone. I told her about the bind you put me in, and she's agreed to watch herself. Don't plan on taking advantage of her."

"Stay out of my business. If she wants to share, good for her, but I won't let you destroy what I've worked so hard for. Don't call again, Tom, unless it's to pay back your debt." Chris hangs up before another word is said, then sighs as he releases the phone. To himself: "He's too much work, but he owes me so much. If I let one go, then I'll lose them all."

The phone rings again: "Hello? Oh sure, one moment." Chris pulls out his notebook and turns to Becky's page. "The fee is fifty percent. You will? Good. Your new total is... 86.1 Is that all I can do for you?"

"I want you to tell me: is this scheme of yours corrupt? And I'll accept the 4.5 question and demand fee."

"I will make the answer a mere 4.4 points to get it back on even footing--easier to keep track of that way. No, I'm just doing business as I always do. This is merely my way of making a profit and you're no exception."


"No problem. If that's all..."

"It is. Goodbye, Chris."

"Until next time, whenever that may be."


The following morning, at the same table:

"Chris, I don't think I need this extra tutoring session. I hope you don't mind."

"Is this about my fee?"

"No, I just think that I'm ready for the test tomorrow."

"No problem. Is there anything else I can do for you while we're here?"

"What's Tom's balance?"

"Sorry, no-can-do. I can't answer questions about somebody else's account. Security reasons. I hope you understand."

"Is there no way I could find out?"

"No. Now if there isn't anything more, I'd like to thank you and go: there are other things I need to do for lunch."

"Thank me for what?"

"For reminding me to calculate Tom's interest and his current balance."

"I thought you didn't charge interest?"

"His is a special case. I'm doing an unusual favor for him, and that calls for unusual circumstances. If you wish to know more, you must ask him yourself. Until then..."

Wednesday, June 2, 2004

Can You See

can you see
at the end of the rainbow
a little pot of gold?
chase the colors
round and 'round the world.

can you see
at the end of today
the light of tomorrow's sun?
follow the colors
until the day is done.

can you see
in the heart of hearts
honesty and truth?
embrace the colors
scarce but bright
celebrate you own proof.

The Water Has Risen

the will isn't there anymore
struggling, holding myself up.
the water has risen
and i drift. and i don't tread.

struggling to hold myself
above the water, i don't do anymore;
as i drift.
the end... will come.

above the water, i don't breathe anymore.
the water has risen,
and i drift, but
the will isn't there anymore.

Who Are You

who are you
to accost me with all your might?
who are you
with all i will fight
who are you
to tear me from this room
who are you you
i will leave this soon

i cannot sleep, when darkness does fall.
the hatred in my mind burns behind walls.

i do not see you, for life is in the way.
i will not see you: nothing is going my way.

my ticker tape is far from blank,
though its contents i cannot show.
death is not too far from this
pitiless existance i have now.

Summer Is Coming

summer is coming
break is nearly here.
i'm leaving all this madness
after one more year.

a mind like mine
to waste a terrible thing
i'll rejoice when, next year,
the end will finally bring.

finals are here,
finals will go.
study i won't:
don't need to though.

goodbye today,
goodbye to all;
i won't miss your face
until next fall.

Tuesday, June 1, 2004

The Color of the Masses

i see faces
faces of blue and black
and red
and yellow
and gold
and brown
and white
and pink and
green. green
is a majestic color. green
is growth and
determination. green
is without judgment. green

is the color of the masses
when they hear my
insults; the color of the masses
when they hear my
condemnations; the color of the masses
when they hear my
complaints; my
demands; my
screaming, shouting, yelling,


frightening them all into
oblivion. why mu they be so


Purity in its Darkest Form

In the darkest of nights, there is always a speck of light; in the darkest of times, there is always a speck of hope.


Vampires stroll the street, trolls wander the sewers; the night is not the time to be uncautious, and even werewolves watch out for who they might cross.

The only king of the darkness is the cat, blacker than the shadows of the moon. He slinks across the world, doing as he wishes where he wishes, and all but one bend to his command.


"My master is looking for one of your kind."

"Does he now?" The vampire is clearly shaken. "Any in particular?"

"Yes. From the Art line."


"Yes. He who goes by the name The Son. My master wants to meet with him.

"Ah, The Son. Does your master realize that I, nor any in my line are associated with Him in anyway?"

Puure arches his back, snarling. "There is no other 'Him' than my master and His closest disciples. Do you understand?"

"I--I do. Please accept my forgiveness in this matter. If there's anything--"

"Yes. Bring The Son to us." Then he disappears with a flick of his tail. Strovesque lets out the breath he was holding, and slowly calms himself; with a much less graceful exit (to protect himself from Puure's wrath) he vanishes as well.

Note on Pronunciation:
"Strovesque" strov (short o, strongest accent) es (short e, soft s, secondary accent) cue (pronounced identically to the letter Q)
"Puure" (pronunced same as pure)

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Pisco Rose, Part 1B

"There's something not right about that kid," the Ravenclaw seeker whispers to his teammates, "he caught the Snitch with barely a thought! And it came right to him too. ... I wish I had those reflexes."

"Who is he anyways? He looks familiar,..."

"He's that kid that acts so strange. Rose, I think his name was. I haven't heard him say a word yet; but the teachers, they don't seem to mind. He gets top grades, so they leave him alone."

The team captain, [female name], looks surprised. "Rose, you say? Would that be Pisco?"

"That would be him."

"A strange character he is. Nobody seems to know much about him, and there aren't any rumors going around either, which is very unusual. I do know a few things about him though."

"Like what? And how do you know these things?"

"As Captain and prefect, it's my job to know these things," she replies matter-of-factly. "He seems to have strong magical instincts in his blood, but claims to be a first-gen--"

"First-gen?" interrupts one of the Beaters, "I haven't heard that term before."

"First-generation: Muggle born--But his abilities are off the charts; knowledge retention, reflexes, intuitive logic and reasoning. The professors don't exactly like him, but they respect his silence and leave him alone. One thing he does seem to be lacking in, however, are social skills. The only student who seems to have conversed with was Longbottom from Gryffindor, on the train. The two shared a compartment and exchanged a few sentences.--That's were I picked up some of this information. What puzzles me most is that hair, and Longbottom agreed: that hair is characteristic of Harry Potter. I wonder exactly where his genes are really from."

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

The Fiercesome Stair

with the house
a queer house there.
within the house
upon a stair,
a mouse there sits
upon a stair
a mouse with wits
a fiercesome stare.
a mouse to wit
lives still there.

upon that stair,
that queer house there,
the most fiercesome stare.

a gaze to fix
upon your wits
a stare aware
to leave from there.

a glare:
from where
to where?
nobody ever
visits there.

the stair is bare,
the gaze is bare.
but does nobody
to visit dare?