Category: All

The Loneliness of One
“The” is a poem about the loneliness of one word.
One word walking in the snow alone, such is absurd?
Wake up, and look around to see for free.
The forests are full of such trees as we!

It leaves upon scorned bark
The Elder’s aging mark
He horrors with an aulten face, and she
Augurs subitaneously to her flagitious place.
The coruscation of her I mean to gain.
Oh, suspicion, thou fleeting swan of ancient lakes.
Lead me to blue waters for sweetie’s sake.

Sweet shining light
Blinds the sight,
And my heart sinks
With a new forged link.

Falling deep into her grip
The brokenness no longer rips.
She mends and heals
The wand of hope she wealds.

In her, completion I find,
Now our destiny to bind.
Forever her promise of the heart
Guarantees we never shall part.

Doubt leaves its scorned mark
Upon Box Elder’s aging bark
See how quickly grows the face
Strange and difficult to place
The meaning of her I mean to gain
Only suspicion sweetens this face of pain.

Why does some stranger
Keep stealing my religion?
When day after day
I pray here with my poems.
But every time I pray,
Someone takes them away.

Our Love Is
Threaded Into Silken Ropes
Knotted Eternally
Into Binding Ties
Ties hewn in blood and souls
Spent in crackened bowls of dust
There can be no love that last so long
Only death can supercede such a love sweet song!

for Truth shall never die, it does dwell
in the inward crevices of our
wheres and theres,
and our places and spaces.
spaces and places, and
wheres and theres
that are only known to me…and yours to you.
truth will never die
as long as people like the us
tend gingerly to the crevices, where hope survives.
that courage holds onto just enough
of the virtuous gift of Truth to stand the trial
of tyranny’s vile
desire to steal away Truth
beyond infinity’s gates.
to hold on and secure the secret
tiny crevices, which forever
maintain that Truth hid well
within all our watchful hearts
assures tyranny’s eventual depart.

Looking, but not seeing,
Watching movement without emotion.
Like a human clock, time flickers
Swiftly across the peering face that
Stares soulless from windows
Of doubt and shame,
Perceiving spaces to be empty
That abound with Life.

Your Love Is
Knotted all silky,
Torn and tattered, teared with fear.
Sorrow the Craftsman’s Cry!
Eternally, you think it matters.
Its binds are not soulful sinew of heart
And blood; only smeared with grief apart,
Which moves you further away from absurd
Supercilious ties of bloody dogs, mattered
In wadded fantasy, created in hell,
A wickedness of those your love dispelled Eternally.
There rots bowls of blood, dust
Aggregate in lies of distrust.
There is no love between you and them
Nor them and you.
Your love is a farce, more, it is demonically
Staged, insuring that life for you will
Forever remain frozen, love-locked in hell!

The leaves of grass lie by the
Stubborn sea and point their sails
Into the winds of the soothing waters gone
Searching in the cold of polar ice for
Melting hearts of white stone. There in the
Liquid dark is the predawn sight
That mocks my desire to pour the day bright . . .
Thick is the soggy air
That sucks away that melody fair
Tucked away deep within my heart
Wanting and waiting a new love to start . . .
All of heaven is the space
Where I will trumpet of the grace,
The tender nature of someone true . . .
Softest, melting heart of purest blue!