Edmund Strolis Biography

They all wash over me with pitying eyes, they think that I don't see.
Yet they are only crude jagged faces on the canvas of my dreams.
Empty their wishes float, as they seem to pray my safe return.
How can they know the fever that within this prison burns.
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Bull elephant is what they call you
Big name, big beast
They do not do you justice
What do you call yourself?
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Sometimes I feel at home in darkness
Painted black to quote the Stones
Snarling cynic dismissive and strong
Scoffing at the foolish dreamers
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Flip the pillow to the cool side, kick the blanket from the bed.

Why sleep to chase a dream, he chose to hold his prize instead.
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White orchids, delicately laced by an invisible brush
A red and pink hue traced upon petals unblemished
Waxen white glowing in heavenly splendorous form
Frozen in beauty, timeless in their vivid perfection
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