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What right do I have to bask? On this fateful day Where tragedy unfolds For most As I wade In their timeless squalor My world runs warm Prosperous, jubilant and full What right do I have to despair? On this rose-colored plain So young and forgiving None For liveliness chimes on end From each towering…
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An internal sun Lends me to a slaver’s lash Their whims buried low In the depths of night I’ll emerge firmly wrung And fully spent Left teetering on a wall Between toil and rest Rage onward Is the call I’ll reap Through and through In each gust Of impassioned desire
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I’m ashamed Reeling in the marshes Of unclaimed remains The treachery left strewn Tottering sickly Boiling to the brim In the fumes of remorse Defused, defamed Trudge for your life Your crimes lie in wait All souring displaced And frozen in rage Trudge and be skewered And pour the same way In a torrent of…
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Short on affectionate lies I grow fond of peace Of being lowered In silence The truth erodes My wholesome And finer half The truth erodes As I strive To be tame So much For the kindhearted words I rushed to dispense As a fretful And fear-ridden child My tact grows thin Discolored And rancid Faint…
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Pondering leads the way To fallen dams Disorder And stray panicked lines Yet sure is the desperate call Of our rational half The scouring And sly quiet reaper Gradual Then sudden Is the full view of the world The conqueror Of devious dreams And so we must relent Or die awash Left cold On the…
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The drunken nights wind Through the wild Of funerary dreams Derailed, disheveled and lost
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Beneath steep Victorian walls I am jailed by favor Yet quietly despised For I’ll do them no harm From these sun-kissed snares With crazed locks shaven Gelled and kempt For I’m far better off Than the devious lot Devoid of their rage So pleasantly shackled As the daily chorus Ascends from the fields Steadily, driven…
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Without effort I wield A smoke-ridden stare In a downward spiral of words Sullen and swallowed Lost in the battling fury Of verse My travels must wane untold I am a dulled grey haze In a colorful vise So lively, driven and well Too soon are the plains The murderous and empty sprawl Where I…
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The fools sit high and proud Upon their mounds Of their daily prey Atop The gracious doves Their droves all heaving And tussling In the lassos of death How they live and die The need To sustain To feed The impoverished minds Of chiefs
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