The Son

He was never to stray too far
They’ll faithfully say
At the hour of his dusk

A mother’s will
Had grown too immense
His shelter eternal
In the stifling arms of affection

Cruelly reigns
At the edge of each road
Behind the great mist
Of a destiny deferred


A Crisis of Words

No quarrels
To drown the mundane
The way of this world
Is empty, deliberate and slow

And the mind is forced to forage
For an evil to vanquish
To slave until silence
Is the victor once more

But there are no shadows
Beneath honest summer rays
No sparks, to encourage the mind
To wander, plunder and reap

There is no pulse
Only rails of black
Where you once unfurled
With poise and grace

Every word flatlines
Until spoiled
With immeasurable dark

Indebted to the Living Past

Fixed in place ever since
In the living past
The refrain of the dead

Ever since I embarked
For a distant lie
My cowardly shield
From the loom of disgrace

Ever since a great fall
Into my stride of defeat
Leaving  trails to bend
Diminished and untread

To the living past
Where I dodged and deceived
They color each dawn
In the bright hues of shame

Here’s to their return
To imprison my wants
And stifle my dreams
Dispensed in full

A Disgraced Memory

Home is but a faded name
Where the wounds of the earth
Profess of spilt blood

Where the chasms recall
The slow crawl of iron
And the crumbling of valor
Left to jell in the mud

Is a moniker lost
Amid the terror of salvos
Every suit-clad lie
Sent soaring, through the breeze

Is carried by the silent
In their march to eternity
A memory
Far-gone in disgrace

The Generous Cull

Don’t cry for the unloved shell
His time among dirt
Is a bounty, returned in full

Praise his fate
For its generous deed
A death to uphold
And boldly revere

Dam the bloodlines
That courted his weight
That gush with new sorrow
That dare reminisce

An Apology

I am but a tiresome stream of words
Unfit for the earth
In limbo and looping
Through the mayhem of it all

Too delicate
I despair without heart
Wheels spinning in the mud
And slathering the world
In my soft-hearted troubles

Determined yet hollow
The filth travels high
In its meaningless and well-known arc

To all poor sons and daughters
Who are doomed
To wallow among verses
Inflamed forevermore


A thick foam escapes
From a tired bag of bones
As a crime that arises
To encircling the day

A life overcome
By a fool’s dark whim
In bright colored capsules
Swallowed whole
In a flair of distress

A life overcome
Does it float gracefully on high?
Or is it hell-bound and depraved?
Or buried in silence?

The Steep Fall of the Willing

Over the rails
Into the black
So go
All the dreams deferred

Over the rails
Into a fortune of silence
The earth drags the willing
With the deadliest of might

Null and void
Is the war cry of the damned
Who wheel into chaos
With a sickening drive

Null and void
Is the empty state
That obliterates the world
In a rush of desire