Paces from the Unknown


Freedom is a few paces away
An abstract dream
That reverberates throughout me
year after year

A few more paces
Then I’ll know exhilaration
The ocean’s salt breeze
The eight phases of the moon

There is only the door
Then a wet knoll of grass
Then the cities, the hills
And then pastures unknown

From just a few paces away
I can hear it all
As I recoil with fear

Predators Unknown


Still the world will beautifully turn
When the lights have gone
And mankind, convenes with the dust

All will carry on
Plentiful and just
Beyond, the rolling thunder of ourselves

When the grids burn out
And the humming along of our machines
Die down

Still the earth will turn
For its tyrants, plotting in wait



I’ve been silent for far too long
In these forested hills of ease
Now I must come alive

Down through the parched white valleys
To thrive as a man

Through the stillness of the plains
To earn, to grow, then slip idly by

At a low in myself
I shall earn my keep

Where the tree line ends,
Where I’ll shed the armor of my youth

Sever the Rope


The truth swings by its broken neck
A scream unheeded in the trees
The tragedy we seldom speak

It is gone in torches ablaze
Swaying, with our fellow man’s ills
In their misery, their madness

These days the truth is scorned
As it kills our darlings
Troubling the worlds,
We peacefully adore in our minds

These days move along
And not a voice
Dare sever the rope

Machine Gunner’s Requiem


There are hills of the harvested
Where the hero or the villain crawls
In the scowling, shadows of the fallen

He crawls to his livelihood of death
Of ammo belts, fields of fire
And white-hot tracers
That drum, wheeze and tear through the nights

A devil, or an angel lies prone
Hammered in place
For the screams of the void

First light races from the skies
Then crashes all around
In murdering, slugs and shards

And there before him are ghosts
Wading in hellfire
Tottering, from the red slit of dawn

And there they fall
Wide-eyed and afraid
Tumbling, into the mouth of the abyss
With fistfuls of life

“Finish them all”
Wave after wave
As the hot barrel quakes

“Finish them all”
Drowns out his old and sentimental ways
In a sea of shell casings

“Finish them all”
A crack from the trees
Then a flash of white
And the night rushes in

Only Enough


I’ve never been too cool,
Just enough
Only known in small doses
And savored by a few

I’ve never been, too good or too bad,
Just enough
For a few lonely hours of chatter
Until dawn

Around and around, I’m given
With warm salutations
As love, freely corrodes

Marching Regalia


Too rattled to bear any burden
To harbor a voice
So gone with fatigue

Still I plod along, through family affairs
In the marching regalia
Of a youth on the rise

When the truth is downtrodden
For a sweet drag of mercy
To fill its weary lungs

The Perils of Ink


With so little earned
I retreat
From the loveless labor of ink
From the faces I’ve mindlessly scrawled

Pulled back from disorder
From the hellfire that torments
And flares behind the eyes

Pulled away from doubt
From a migraine’s pulsating blast
The fading trails of ink
And the rusted out, trains of thought

With so little earned
I retreat
From these ink-blotted fields
Of idleness and death