The Traveler

Crouched in the ruses near the roadside
Watching backs of other travelers fade into the horizon
I wondered why I didn’t walk after them.
When I did, I found myself
Standing among taller reeds – skyscrapers –
Near larger roadsides – highways –
And wondering why I haven’t yet walked away.
When I do I will find myself
Standing in the rushes near the roadside,
Wondering why I ever left and finally answering:
“This is what roads are for”.


Appeal to Suscribers

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Winter II

Winter leers, an icy taint
Falling flakes and dying leaves
Earth and man marred alike
By what could have been but was not.
In such thoughts a tempest strikes
Wind blowing, raw and blindly elegant
Its eye inside my own.
But whose great storm aligns with mine?
What words lie in the breezes blowing
In preformance of agony untold
Blustering, single intent shown
Presenting tragedy as their only mold.
Hold all marks made in violence
They, the beauty storm exposed
Lie in the single moments of silence
Counting the musical repose
The precipice before the freezing
Grasp of winter, no longer faint
Stifles my very breathing, fate.

Argent Prison

Silver bars
Wrought in an abstract forge
Of memories and predictions
Past and future, both yours
Woven together without expected restrictions

Fused by their mutual lack of distinction
Between graves and stars
All you hear over the din
Of let out and take in is
Silver bars

Of a song you think you listened to once
Even though it hasnt been heard yet
You forget the words that will
Be christened and slurred into a duet
Silver bars

Now you, trapped in this melodic ritual
Note by note and stroke by stroke
Realize its cyclical and think god spoke
And become religous just to save face
Silver bars

Do they have any value at all?
A final trepidation as fate befalls
You consuming and creating lyrical oration
A wall within, a prison of words and
Silver Bars

Jasmine Tears

In a stupor laced with jasmine tears,
A lifting grace which soon removes
Manifested stress, inhibition, and fears
As misty mornings meet summer noons
They dissipate like steam from hot tea
Mixing with the wintery wind
Which whispers in through the window
Leaving a cold scent of pine and
Whisks away my jasmine tears.

Autumn Leaves

I was sure then.
Pieces of me like drying leaves,
Dying on the ground between sobs and heaves,
Falling gently on the autumn breeze.
It was this very breath which poisoned
The self serving project which life is
To fulfill dreams forged in sleep
By those few who collect and keep
Beautiful fantasies in which sadness reaps
The self serving project which love is
A catalyst to beat the heart
These pieces, these leaves, the missing part.

Stormy Weather

My mind is a swirling tempest,

Arms Extending like blades.

Unscathed, you are at its eye,

Clear as day, each feature on display

In this night of wailing winds.

Struggling to find clarity, peace of mind,

The choice must yet be made.

Life stops for no man,

And yet you, woman,

In the center of the storm,

How is it you are so very tranquil?