Sinner Man

Standing alone in the cacophony of life

Sitting alone in the stillness of breath

Moments pass as hearts and wings beat to war drums

Your words drip down my neck and sink into my shoulder

While soft tears are lost among the buses and blurring feet

Solomon stands above fingers pointed at me in disdain...in disgust

Second lives intersect in strewn glass

And absent daughters take a chamber to darkened floors

Because we shield

Because we hide

Because we deny

Because we idealize

Because we are broken as a whole

And like the clarity of reality awaking a dream's death

It burns

Force of Nature

The dripping of non-existent water

Forces my brain awake as the corn

Blows in the tired wind.

Morning has come, but day is not at the door.

Weak musings of protest escape sugar plum dreams

As 33 separate sides slink together in line and

Move along dusty carpet toward harsh reality.

Quick splash of life's nectar drips into a Colorado bowl and

Wrests focus into being.

The carnival has problems all over, but must be open.

Buttoning denim's second skin, I move through the black velvet

And begin making mountains out of molehills.

As the sun rises, my only thought is the approaching storm tearing down

The work I have done with nothing more than a careless whim.

A thought,

A whisper,

A yip, and I stand before a child of Zeus ready to do battle

Before her daughter takes leave of light and air.

Quick prayers do nothing, and the sun abandons his guard.

Rise and fall over slashed days will keep me here long after the land.

Vanish

Deep below raging waters

Far from static eyes and

Narrowing lines

Lies the small piece of bliss

Lodged in surging veins.

A small child of devotion

Feeds him in his cage and

Comforts him while the water roils

And the wind howls.

Bliss asks his new masters to let him

Be the father. To let him hold her again,

But reality steps to and proclaims,

"You are not blood."

So bliss rages in silence as his cage is lowered again

With their faces carved into his back,

And reality sets forth to pull the ship through a storm

Of his own creation.

Most Days (written in two minutes for an assignment)

Most days
I squeak by the mirror
Hoping the wisps fall in place
Like the gods of old.

The Fonz, Batman, and Roosevelts
Break in the wind
Yet our egos remain checked
On the empty, open range

I've taken the splendor of youth
And hung him next to the jerseys of old.
Someday my son will remove him, but
Not while the door is held in check.

I hold redemption in the palm.

I beg Sisyphus, Socrates, and
The Wall of May 3rd to Wait
For me,
But the ghosts of Mars pull me into
Isolation.

Atlas

Do not go the extra mile.

When clouds are seeded and wind blows the crowd down

Do not go the extra mile.

When the eyes of perilous youth stare into the abyss, tell them

Do not got the extra mile.

When the gods of olde thinking stare down your ideas

Do not go the extra mile.

Because the crowd will not thank you.

Because the youth will not understand.

Because the gods will crush you.

And your hard work

Your blood, sweat, and tears will be your coffin.

Whisper

The true purpose of silence

Is not to refute claims

But offer its own answer.

In silence we find meaning and message.

You want the song of my heart to beam out,

But it is no longer for anyone.

The very lyrics leaked out from cracks and breaks

When the hammer of Sekhmet ruled your minds

And now puddles in the mire of the ditch.

Clementia took her leave when your dipped thoughts

Asked for reasons in motives instead of believing in

Aletheia and moving with the stream.

A perfect storm of words, deeds, and loss

Pushing the voice and mind into blinding silence.

So your answer is clear.

Yours is to guide.

Mine is to fade.

Like the petal of a flower tripping on the last breath of the dying.

Pained

Where bloomed love

Hate has now burned the land.

Where felt sunshine

Reigns a cold night.

Where linked a chain

Lays broken pieces.

And in your heart of hearts,

You now want me to feel the pain and

Sadness of others.

Yet, you don't realize that pain, saddness...suffering

Make us numb.

So what does it mean that I can't feel anything anymore?

What does it mean that I can't care anymore?

Do your worst.

Bubble past mistakes to clear surfaces if you feel you must

Because the soul is removed.

It's gone walkabout without the shell,

And pretty words and hollow deeds won't bring the song back.

Just a mindless buzzing pushing harder toward an ending.

Control

I live in solitude without ever being alone.

The demon lovers Regret and Doubt have taken residence

Upon my back.

They snicker as their feet attach to my heart

And push visions into my brain with their hands.

My mouth no longer under my control as they

Remove my tongue and replace it with their own.

Soon their plan comes to fruition and their child Apathy is

Born from my brain like Athena from Zeus.

And the husk dies while the Red-Headed Bastard smiles

And nods approval.

Screaming in a room with no windows or doors, I stay.

Trapped here until the last flickering lightbulb bursts.

Too good an ending for someone so malicious, yet

Ironic.

Jakey

I met a woman under fading lights.

"Virtue falls upon the vicious nature of time's enemies," she cried out

To the moving masses who ignored her in their narrowed lanes.

"A green light at the edge of the dock," she screamed at cliched criminals,

Who snatched hopes and dreams from the zombies outside Caribou.

"Actions don't exist in the mind of a word," she told the quiet lovers

Hiding in the dim lights under the rustling trees.

"The fine line is crossed in a modicum of minutes," she howled at parishioners,

Who allowed the seed of doubt to germinate in their hearts and souls.

"We all have our place in the ether and dance on the fulcrum of daily do's," she whispers alone

While looking over her scarred flesh.

You don't see her moving among you.

You don't hear her making her plight.

Do you notice the smell as you pass by?

Will you notice her now before the light fades out completely?

The Dark

The easiest part

Of living in the dark

Is being able to design the world.

The darkness abhors the designs

Of heroes and hope.

Preferably patient pessimism

Is your entrance.

In the light everything is

Placed... is...

Locked, like a broken heart

Covered in the tattoos of history's

Weak moments.

Yet the dark savors dreams

and asks for impermanence.

Thus is survival.

Learning to guide in darkness

Avoiding the harsh light

And finding a balance between

The blind

And

The burdened.

Such is the ephemeral existence of

The dark.