The Trespassers

Life is beyond the outer rings
Sheltered in a glance
That dashes away,
From all manner of seekers

The trespassers launch
Into the haze of stars
On their fast, and eager ships

With bright, inquisitive eyes
They’ll cut through the veil
Of a world, of precious unknowns

The Gardens of Eden
That constantly fade
Beneath banners of war

Under the Reign of Sweet Validation

Sinful, yet sweet validation
It has bored a hole through my skull
And has drowned out, integrity’s screams

There’s the rush
The high arc of a dream
That nudges me along
As the cheers, of love and devotion
All dim into silence

There’s the kind rise of the wind
Then the fall
For the cold dark vise of despair

Yet I’m always left weary
And gasping
For more

Buried in the Heart of April

Surely only I
In this sultry time of year
Can weep and howl and mourn
For days on end

“The morning light falls
In its ghostly rays
Through the morbid haze
Of my daily wanderings
Wants and woes”

Is that time of the year
When I strive against age
All to lunge for the patience
Of a life long-lost

When every gust of pollen is a curse
And I wheeze, and I gag
To the aching brink of nausea

Then a flourish of anger
Then solitude
Then silence


I have too little to behold
To belove
In the rosy snares
Of this nursery of words

I’ve paced this life away
Through the same still-lifes
Through inferno, through beauty
Through the maze of nostalgia

Now I have only fear
For the waiting downfall
From the thundering alps of emotion
Into apathy’s, sweltering marsh

Writer Highlight Featuring Justin R. Hart

Creative Talents Unleashed


The Resurrected Night

Dream’s imagination, place of grace,
luminous prism of delight,
where invisible spirits shadow
over ecstasy when blazing bright.

Innocence corrupts experience,
searching two real eyes our fate’s flight
Changes with presents of destiny
remains still and beams Eternal Light.

With illusion in our possession,
in the mirror of human insight,
dancing Infinity’s rhapsody,
we traverse the resurrected night.

© Justin R. Hart

Response to our Inspiration Call on April 10, 2017

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The Mason Jar Trust

Here lie the signs of the times
In mason jars
Buried below,
The bay of bloodhounds

Here lie
The last shreds of faith in mankind
The banknotes of the earth
All snarled together

Here lie the remains, of a post-war soiree
When the good times raged
And rolled off the cliffs

Falling for the grave
Where the sullen remain
And shovel and toil
To the end of their days