(2013)
I’m not angry with you. I am hurting, and as usual, I don’t know why. I don’t know why I cry
Look out there, see them, boy ? They want yer juice. They’re dry, them circlin’ desert… All they want's yer juice, boy.
It seems for ages, I have been trapped behind yet another version of what I want to think I know. I was so sure I loved you
“Don’t say anything!” spoke the shadow in the doorway. I was seven years of age. I lay limp upon the couch, still recovering from
Who of you will follow where I’m bound to go? None that I can see. None that I can name. No-one that I know.
How are you? The maiden turned and whispered soft, her turquoise eyes as deep as time.
This trembling grief is for a long lost soul, a young, guileless child I once knew as me. I truly believed
Time wears away at me, like water on a stone, oh, so slowly, but inevitably, drop by drop,
Ideas and notions, they’re all for the dreamers, worth as much or less than one's considered opinion. You can’t even wrap fish in them.
I stared at her like she was a painting, as if I had all day and night to drink in every curve and contour
I stole myself away from thee and me, for love of sweet Mary Jane.
God has spoken. I have been listening, the message is clear. The psalm itself is silent, if the psalmist’s voice falls stil…
Weep for the fallen warriors. Weep for those souls considered collateral damage. Weep for the profiteers. Weep for the deserters.
Oh, knower of my heart, this trembling voice cries out in words that cannot begin to tell how deep my longing is for thee.
Not a poem. I hurt; like a Frankenstein monster. Iron fist. Unrelenting.
