Smoke Signals

Idle time brings me to a simmer
When my desperate stride
Has withered to a crawl

Hours expand and I sink
Into the bleach stained carpet,
Beneath ivory trees and giants
Who groan and lament

My column of smoke will disperse by first light
Before these gods can rain down
Their once secreted affection



She sped my life up
I couldn’t stop her,
The language of denial
Had flown from my mind

She sped my life up
And I didn’t stop her,
The very thought of stalling
Was too frightening to bear

To Our Divide in the Sand

Before I’ve even struggled to my feet
She is prodding me to life
And onto finer things

While her world is alight
I thrash in the dark, with an arm outstretched
As I lunge to the east,
Within the heart of a dream

She too extends through the haze of dawn
Toward our fading divide
Among grains of dust

Serpentine Weeds

Serpentine weeds
Have coiled around my throat
Tightening, to the pulsing rhythms of dread

They are born in the shadows of a nightmare
When the rivers in my mind overflow
With months of rain

They hunt by day
Behind the precious masks
I lift to the watchful skies

They scheme in the dead of night
To have their nightmarish vines
Forever snake through my boiling blood


Sometimes, all that can be spared
Is a lifeless stare
And the shrug of defeat

Some days we march home
In spite of our deep lacerations
When the heavens grow heavy and dark

Some years take decades to shake
And they thrive in your stomach,
Denying you a full night’s rest

Some eras bleed out,
Flooding into the next
While stifling the cries
Of all that could have been

The Shellshocked Refugee

She arrives in paradise
Where a lone road branches into many;
To be hunted
By the devils she once fled from

Their melodies pour
Until she wearily slurs in tune
And she’s forgotten the toll
Of her ancestral voice

She’s falling,
From the fading barrages of a war,
Into the opening salvos of another

Shroud of Self-Neglect – Author William Wright, Jr.

Creative Talents Unleashed

I’ve no truths to spare

From these caverns

Of self-neglect


By hatred’s

Devilish fumes

Where my words

Tread light

In a callous whisper

I’ve no truths to spare

From this low

This miserable hush

For all I bear

Are the loathsome gripes

Of a fool awash

In the surf

Of his truth-bearing doubts

© William Wright, Jr.

William Wright

Excerpt from the book The Slums of Nightfall

$13.95 Plus Shipping ~ Available at CTU Publishing Group and

William Wright About the Author

My name is William Lorenzo Wright, Jr. I am the youngest of three children, as well as the only son to two loving and hard-working parents. I am a college student from San Diego California and I hold a deep passion for reading and writing poetry. I was sixteen years old when I first fell in love with poetry and I have been faithful to the craft ever since.


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Silk-Sheeted Matchbox

Each night I fall into the same state of ease
Within the binds
Of a silk-sheeted matchbox

Fated to be struck by midnight,
Then wholly engulfed
By a pillaging inferno of ghosts

But I’ll applaud the dying throes
Of their sinister dance soon enough

While I wince
At the gold-plated armor
Of the rescuing dawn