Old Friend

Old friend

do you remember me

I wonder, I truly do

If you remember the moments

that pieced together this conscience

and called out to a shattered night

Old friend

I am sorry for my betrayal

and any pain that may have erupted

from the earth and the arrows

as they buried themselves into your cheek

Old friend

anger is the most cunning of devils

twisted, black, and desperate

to cloak us all in shadows

playing a game that was lost

the moment venom took root

Phantom

The moon is a siren
and the siren is a serpent
in wolves clothing
looking to eat sheep and shark alike

We look to it for answers
but the answers don't exist
just a phantom fairy tale
told to the weary and the meek

Until the fairy tale is exposed
as a lie of such tranquil tragedies
that anger boils to fever
and revolution bursts into the street

Lashes

Rivers welted into the Earth
pouring sorrows over rounded stones
recalling that money doesn't wash in
with the tide, emboldened by the moon

Wax on and then wash it off
feeling the sting of honeybees
and the lashes of angry slavers
trying to break our backs

But whips don't shake the faith
of the mute, the deaf, and the dumb
cuts left in the flesh worn as wounds
that scab and heal into deeper crevices

Canyons flogged into the Earth
ancient lands once inhabited
by natives and nativity packaged
into stories found on splintered land

Mysteries

Mysteries stretched across a burning canvas
a fire that has ravaged a once tranquil forest
filled with slumbering birds and bees
awake and curious to solve such a riddle

Mysteries playing a trombone
with deep bass lines and lenient guidelines
coloring outside the box in an act
of premeditated defiance

Mysteries unsolved and unsalvageable
resting on the bottom of deep ocean trenches
covered in fine dust created as silver hearts
crumble in the face of such a riddle

Creatures

Quite moments
and the shattering of a fragile mind
aged with wonders and intoxicated
with the finest of wines

a symbol carved into creatures
dictating extinctions
and exclamations from the youth
that perhaps freedom isn't free

Quite moments
in remembrance of the dead
and a recognition of children
starving while they bury their beds

a tear drop ever reaching
across the horizon in horror
of the senseless bloodshed
and the unworthy who are blessed

Choir Songs

Moving towards something rugged
a tear in the skyline
trickling a dim light into the periphery
of the visions induced
by dreams whispered in choir songs
but refused in the depths of church


I am having severe writers block...

Flesh and Blood

She sits there and she trembles
sadness sweeps her as she pushes
emotions under the rug and past shadows
of a face oh so familiar, but no longer
animated flesh and blood

He watches eyes filled with pain
glass holding the memories
beneath confusion and sober chaos
whispering for one more chance at
a coherent conversation between men

A familiar pain across a threshold
perhaps not one in the same
but a pain nonetheless
that trickles from teary eyes
swells and then bursts from the chest