I breakaway, into a beautiful silence
When the era grows too warm
And it mindlessly scalds

Breaking through, to the coast
Where the free-flowing thoughts
All converge
To rage through eternity’s depths

I too must swim
From the singe of these years
Letting emptiness expand
And envelop my frights

What Lives in the Mist


We are fully aware, in our own psychosis
The hues of the earth
All stun and amaze
But never quite the same

What cannot be known, at this moment
Are the true shades of life
Outside, of our bustling minds

We all diverge in our stride to define
The relentless aim
Bringing certainty, sanity and calm

How can we fully know
Behind gray matter walls
What lurks, what lives in the mist?

An Old Thieving Wind


I was siphoned by a greedy past
From the great fields beyond
A high and merciful knoll

It howled and clawed
For the flight of my limbs
With its butchering, and backtracking wisp

From its thundering maw
It defamed
As I strained through the present
To be cherished by a new living dawn

But the ever-starving past
Thieved, more and more
Of the green fields of ease
With its lassoing refrain
Of “why?”

Fallen Legacies


A cavernous wound
Sends them, toppling over
As splintering, mayhem and dust

A thunderous fall
Is a crime unrecieved
Consumed, in the up-swell
The swirling of rage and panic

And they become
The prelude to silence
The thieving of years
Of triumphs long past

This Life


Borrowing peace of mind
I am royalty adrift
On a placid sea, of bottomless pleasures

This life
Is but a soft-loving breeze
A dream for the moment
When the cause
Is lost from my mind

So truly beloved
Forgotten by rage
For this savory, sliver of time

Papa (A Creed of Few Words)


I came to know him through legend
Through the chatter of my kin
In their holiday cheer
Told round after round

How he radiates so strong
From beyond, what these eyes may conceive

Through his wartime ballads
I know dedication
Through the years of his labor
I know diligence

So seldom I speak
And uphold the silence
His creed of few words
Till the opportune falls

And I know him in part
From the Polaroids of old
As kin reminisce, ever-fondly
Each year

Deeds of Desperation


How brave were the swaying few
Given over to the noose
For their passionate crime

For a cry of distress
That hails from the slums
In the forgone muck
Where the pitiful
Succumb to their rage

How desperate their eyes remained
In their farewell to light
For their purging of words
In the warm rays of dawn

The world has now frayed from silence
And it moves
To the rhythms of revolt

In the Prime of Ideals


Ideals have seized the day
How they churn our minds
To mulch
So the youth, will surpass us all

Through the ruins
Through our troubles long past
May they climb
From the tremor and grime
Of these fear-ridden times

May they nourish their words
To the full bloom of brilliance
So their own may prosper
Into cosmic glory

From the tragedy of our wants
From our lineage of quarrel
They’ll climb and extinguish
All the unworthy chatter