All roads will lead to home where
the heart rests away from cloudy
days of black & white. Had I ever known
so beautiful this fate, I'd have been a man
with a smile all along, but evidence
is to the contrary, where I am unsatisfied
until I see that beating heart with my own eyes.
I have a rendezvous with my fate,
ill or proper, here in reality where my
plans to the details are pointless in
the long running marathon, of which I
grow weary at so early a year in my time.
I content with the present even past the
two faced mask of joy and cynicism,
as the fear of my future binds that mask to me.
Like machines we go in motion, by second by second.
Unto the will of the constant conflicts of fate...
fate, I laugh, is that fickle thing
that scares the Hell out of me at the
edge of my seat, as only faith keeps me watching.
Pray tell, I've never known the future past
means of hypothesis and seasoned guessing games.
A home where my heart forever rests is
that one blessing for which I ever pray.
The Girl In My DreamsThe girl in my dreams comes and goes when she pleases.The Girl In My Dreams1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Leaves me wanting more of her.
A lovely stranger with golden hair.
A beautiful face, smile, and laugh.
We walk hand in hand.
We gaze adoringly at each other.
We enjoy each others company.
Then I wake up.
Missing my dreams.
Missing that feeling that made me smile.
A gentle smile, as if I was looking at my reason of being.
My whole world. And for that moment she was.
I wish to dream of her again,
even if all she is doing is falling asleep on my shoulder.
But in the end, she was a dream.
I hope to meet her in reality.
And do it all again.
What a wonder that will be.
MilestoneMilestone1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll toss a few hooks over and into my back,
before I yank this fish out of water
to lean over a table of acacia wood.
There lies a contract and script,
in where my lines are only blank for a time to come,
but drenching its pages in a
multicolored frenzy of times that came and went.
I yank the ropes that grasp those hooks
in the forward motion for a closer
look onto that table and parchment,
seeing the macroscopic fine print that
never had my eyes seen ever before.
It had been written in the dead language
of atoms out of time, telling the story still in the works.
I was a rough draft and a final copy.
The jack of my many trades seeking to
brighten the ink of my contract and script.
My pulse was the pen to paper,
my thoughts the letters of every word.
Beside myself stood myself out of mind and body.
The spirit as it were, laughing at me.
The shaded reflection of black and white,
lost in infinite moments of time with clocks
etched within the eyes,
ticking far out of control.
His hand to
The Challenge of Little DevilsThe Challenge of Little Devils9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the dead and dark of night, in the time
where I recall my love for dimmed light and shadow,
I have only to fear what lurks there with me.
Awareness is but the first layer past the eye,
those same eyes that once thought the bumps in
the night to be morbid tales of fiction.
All nights are nights to be made as easy times
for the luxurious hunts, as I am worn and tired
from my fighting the day behind me.
The time in which they stalked their
food had been behind the hands of clocks,
when the sun would have revealed them in an instant.
What lurks there are abominations of many breeds,
all in the same kin, and mixed in all
the tales of horror and suspense.
Never were their names lies or metaphors
for the sake of artists...those bumps and howls
of the night are older than art itself.
They roamed this world and the next, before
the time of the most average footprints on
the earth, making themselves known subtly.
I have only them to fear, but that fear is
smothered by the remaining light in t
Free Will and Testament To blame God for human faults is asinine, if not childish. It is human nature of course to find blame in something for an almost unexplainable evil or hardship. Yet it is also human nature to allow pride to overcome humility in where we are the ones to blame. If God did not wish to allow for any occurrence in time, then why, pray tell, would our omnipotent Creator allow for it to even take place?Free Will and Testament1 year ago in Personal More Like This
When at the age of a small child, would you not act in ways that you knew would toss you into trouble with your parents? And when caught, more often than not, one of two things would take place: if alone, you would claim to either not know what had happened, or to simply not understand what had been done wrong and why it was a crime. If with friends or around others, you might easily shift the blame to them before the adult past judgement. The basic "he/she did it" or "they made me do it".
The fact remains that you humans have a little bles
Unworthy This, Unworthy ThatUnworthy This, Unworthy That8 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Forgive me in the times of each day
when I come to see my truer colors.
The less suitable ones that bring down a godly smile.
My efforts to betterment have yet to cease,
and I've nob intent on making such an appointment.
They wait like thieves and murderers,
mere inches from my soul, in wake and slumber,
outnumbering me and breathing down my aching
neck whilst I struggle to breathe
the purer air I am deprived of.
Though cognizant of my sins,
they are doubtlessly committed by a guilty
consciousness which has been undermined with a
pride that bear in deep shame as opposed
to a better way to walk.
The list will be long, as you,
as with all things, are more the perfectly aware.
I am the guilty by my own confession,
and grace is a concept that is greatly welcome
and unconditionally existent in the presence of my unworthy soul.
I know not why i write what is already known to Omnipotence
perhaps a confessional to my one and only
King who spared me the eternity of fire and ice
in a realm witho
Such a Truth that was Never ToldSuch a Truth that was Never Told2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Such is true, yet nothing new,
That all debates should cease with compromise.
A halt has come, to the blind & dumb,
That even the sons believe their father's lies.
Truth never to be found, by the dead blood hound,
That the hunter without food, dies.
That founding father rolls in his grave, as patriots misbehave,
Dancing in the excrement that each of them buys.
Was never there a history to be told? A perfect perception to be told?
There was it warped, in none but a fools eyes....
Never again does memory remain, only to change unto disdain.
Fate walks among us, in tears and disguise.
Told were only lies by our Hermes, myths and false stories.
The cycle only carries on in repetitive disguise.
NosferatuNosferatu1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Loop through and through the cycle that binds the existence of jackals,
of those parasitic fiends. Use what eyes are possessed to witness
why here and now they live and breathe,
sharing the air of our labored lungs.
Strength is the cloak worn by them accompanied by masks
of any required attribute. My only gift in preaching
against them is the acknowledgment of
their endless ability of adaptation.
When boiled down to the reeking sulfuric husks,
those possessed eyes will see the talons clinging
for life to brimstone. Boil them with the fires
they were born in! Reduce them to scale and unholy bone!
Do you not see? Past the smoke of smoldering kingdoms
and legions of fallen souls, where power is obsolete,
dwell fields of growth and harvest,
where the old grows the new, the machine simply never dies.
Have you only two cheeks to turn against your fellow man
before by standing becomes the act of disgraceful cowards?!
Have you not the mind and temple to
combat the wake and pulse of Evil?!
Useless ShadowsUseless Shadows1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Beneath noses and behind backs
Sneaks a goat with a rusty blade.
An abomination, a diamond in time long gone,
gone like innocence he so stole in the first days.
He wears shadows like skin, taken from sin at the source,
like peelings from a rotten apple,
wearing the mind of a patient fiend in any era,
plotting without end.
Bitterness sits, red and untreated in the drivers seat,
stomping whatever pedal it can find as ideas jump out
in front of the oversized vehicle
of pride and compensation.
Though far from thrones of omnipotence,
the veins course like rivers full of sulfur and sandpaper,
grinding evermore against the insides
of an inevitable nature.
Look down! Oh Faithful, look down to
the brimstone and fire!
They reveal themselves in useless shadows
with their own haste and reason. They burn now and ever with envy.
A Light to Light the WayA Light to Light the Way2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
All my mind can believe is what its senses have felt,
that a surrounding presence filled its lungs,
and severed my rusted chains.
Though limited, the lines of my limits
are elsewhere and yet to be found
by prying eyes of this, pursuing wisdom.
My soul has become a lantern,
burning with an ancient fire of an immortal God.
burning unlike ever once upon a time.
I adore this fire, like a healthy obsession
that only continues to lead me further
towards the answers of ageless riddles.
Though a young one am I, I am a lamb led by night,
by the light of my one true Shepherd,
vigil as His light within me allows.
Humility upon my pride to come with what
fame should ever tempt me!
May history only recall the rights of a writing black sheep.
A Stubborn Faith and Warped InsomniaA Stubborn Faith and Warped Insomnia1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can watch the sun rise,and a weeping moon fall.
Not caring in the slightest with passing seconds
in and out of the narrow span of my damaged attention.
Mine are the eyes that will close but hardly sleep
with my dreams whilst they are so abusive in their relationship.
My dreams are awake and warped, and I shall die and die again.
Why is it that I care so little, that apathy replaces
the voids of open wounds? These are but leeches on my Light,
as I become lost with Virgil and Dante.
Hunger sets in from a skipped feast, past an ignored sleep cycle.
A fable becomes my story to be a lesson learned to children
of a lesser future where apathy is the life blood of the world.
Here I will watch with reluctance, the falling moon and rising sun,
night after night, alone with my Light until
one day some day, I live again and again.
When We Were Younggrass was greener and skies were bluerWhen We Were Young1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
when we were young
days seemed longer and nights were sweeter
when we were young
everything new and everyday thrills
when we were young
enchanted views and babbling rills
when we were young
vigorous hikes and bicycle runs
when we were young
painting the town and fun in the sun
when we were young
babies were held and diapers were changed
when we were young
me clowning 'round and her acting strange
when we were young
loving till dawn and snuggling till noon
when we were young
wishing for happy and needing more room
when we were young
Oh, to turn back the clock and be young again
now that we're old...
Misunderstood creationThis world conforms to nonsenseMisunderstood creation1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
but my soul cries out for common sense
I don't know why I'm so different
maybe because I'm an alien to this world
No not from mars, not even beyond the stars
but from a kingdom far far apart
a kingdom that is rejected by the world
therefor people will have judgement,
filled with rude discussions
because I stand apart,
But God knew that from the very start
The isolation is so distant,
it tries to tear down my mission
to save souls as they break apart,
but do you hear that sound? its the beating of my heart
no I'm not so different, even though it is from the very start
but you sometimes have to listen
instead of tearing souls apart
This world has nothing but pain and struggle
so fight on and tighten that belt buckle
& Prepare for the war
Because in reality this life is a battle for your soul
So on which side are you gonna go?
Mine SweeperMine Sweeper1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tighten the blindfold as you plant mines in
the fields where flowers should go, and be picked.
Tread stumbling under a drunken veil as your rioting
nerves loot the last remnants of reason within you.
Allow your sanity to fall victim to the systematic madness,
that from day one grew within you.
Pity will be that rusted shovel to fills one of
the open graves that already inhabit that dreaded field.
The graves, merely open wholes from the former seats of mines,
from this song and dances history.
What more can be done, past the repetition of returning to square one,
fallen on a sword of false humility?
The con is no longer clothed in deception and stands
naked in one of those accursed graves.
Her voice is putrid, of a terrible act, diving off a devils
tongue shaped like a fork in the road.
Perhaps your final tears will sprout flowers over
the small patch of dirt, as I intend to leave none.
The Madman and His CellmateThe Madman and His Cellmate1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
With common tongue out of habitual
rocking back and forth,
In where dark corners become home,
dwell partners in unintentional crime.
Grasping at bottles with the trembling hands
wearing the cloak of cold sweat,
swallowing safety blankets and strain the cords
of rosaries with fists deep in prayer.
Is one longing of endings in sunsets to see self-smothering
as the only alternative route? Desires sprint along the
line between lunacy and resting forever,
Say what you will, I died here in this padded room.
Here I rot in dim light and cold darkness,
where you are my only company,
I know not whether to welcome or curse you.
My attention is more kept on keeping warmth
in my withering veins as the cold takes hostage,
my heart and mind. Speak with me friend,
my thoughts are lonely.
They eye one another like cannibals deserted
in the dead of winter. Only glimpses and moments is
their intellect aimed at
the light piercing the dark.
There is not but silence in your responses...
The Time that Can and Will Go ByThe Time that Can and Will Go By1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Youth gone to broken clocks,
At the dusk of the dead of winter.
Ages past, tick by tock,
Over winding gears unseen.
What science allows such movement?
As Whom the Fables NameAs Whom the Fables Name1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Typical is only the generic image so vivid,
Or be it mockery so simple that makes Little Horn so vivid?
As whom the fables name, be this the morning star,
The prodigal son, once loved now fallen so far.
My prayers of course go to all in this war,
Though a good poke at the fire and brimstone, I do so adore.
Many a rhyme and reason to a bit of humor here and there.
But of course there and where, at the tear and wear.
Drawing Blank Pages in the ScriptDrawing Blank Pages in the Script2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Patience drowns in the blank spots
Where the answers should lie.
The humid tide breaks over his brow,
His eyes shut and lock.
The crows feet perch just outside,
On the rim of the now overflowing wells.
The violent tremble echoes in his heart,
Seizing the moment of thoughtful entanglement.
Never a single thought at one time
to hold the spotlight in mind.
War waged, the clarity comes and goes,
In a tortured mind of without peace.
The echoes grow louder with resistant acts,
And the violent tremble becomes the explosive outburst.
The shame is born into a temporary
Yet prolonged existence, until its end.
The cycle comes back full circle...
And the blanks are once again without answers.
Alone in your Little WorldAlone in your Little World1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Fool should be my bestowed name in my bitter wake,
where I curse fate in the rhetoric of my tangents from hope.
The mark of a prolonged lie can only heal so well in time,
by in its revelation, being submerged and drowned in truth.
The prayer to the choice of my therapy is to be content
with what is received and thankful for the same, regardless.
Yet whilst alone, waiting in a withering land of chaotic mentality,
from the dawn of my time to its lonesome dusk and eve.
The fool who is I, imprisoned within self...the last man upon my little and crumbling world...
hears but three knocks at the gates that keep me.
The prayer never said aloud, now is answered by three sounds of fate
to call to my normally hallucinating ears, at a midway of my life's journey.
An Open Curtain to ExistenceAn Open Curtain to Existence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As of now, in seconds of the moment,
do gears turn behind the scenes
of a system in action of constant breath.
At the darker sides of opened curtains,
where the strings are pulled, some up some down...
manipulated, the changing set and scenery...
to each their own, the improvised choice of every actor,
specific roles without scripts...
as an ageless audience watches on.
The Queen and The Fading StormThe Queen and The Fading Storm1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Loosen the sickly grip of the false reality,
where broken promises grow abundant in ash laced fields.
The ashes of chances gone by.
Disgusting is but a single title in the series I could bestow to you.
Our relatives of the jungle, living in filth and cannibalism,
Do fine compared to the beast with countless faces I know by your name.
A game long ended by the pawn now a queen,
the master of her own free will,
shattered many times by rules created as gone along.
You disgrace all, dragging your self-proclaimed
passions down to the hole you've been digging, where the sulfur levels have only
risen with all motions of the rusted shovel...
it is only by miracle that you breathe like the rest of us...
The obliteration of illusions and conquering of the ash
laced fields has remade that queen out of
the broken down state of mind and being.
How pathetic that you should be called out by one you've endlessly judged,
and another that you've only used and taken for granted.
Flesh & blood should only
Genre, Oh GenreGenre, Oh Genre2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Shame befalls me, for what the muses inspire.
Is such the magnet of my psyche? Such dreadful words from pen to paper?
I question not my sanity, only the purposes for which
such written things flow from me, as to what message is to be sent...
Though dedication fills me to the brink, so does a constant curiosity...
overflowing to the shores of embarrassment.
Shame befalls me, but I write as a messenger, and my muses come from Above,
where even dreaded words are sometimes called for.
An Old Drawing BoardAn Old Drawing Board1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The layer of ash stains the face of a chalk board, like running mascara.
The highlights of various words linger like dwelling spirits with unfinished business.
If such is a moment that clarity comes to a sixth sense,
where the echoed voices of buried bones resonate in my mind, far past my ears, then may mercy find me.
Descend now the ancient sounds from all skies above,
the sounds of silence that register with every standing hair on my skin, and a cold signature up my spine.
The chalk board begins to scream beneath the iron curtain of wretched nails,
molesting the surface and face in malicious motion and forethought.
Silence becomes the air I breathe, and a journey comes to an end as black
and white consume perspective. The words upon that board become names.
Upon the Barren WorldUpon the Barren World1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I stood beneath a moon with stars,
Where alone she gazed off into space, discontent it seemed.
Misery embodied came down before me,
his eyes were like that of the moon.
His apologies fell upon my deaf ears as all
I was to wonder was left in my damage.
He disappeared in the blur of recalcitrant summoned tears,
disembodied into oblivion.
The night was cold and howled my name like a mother calling to her child...
her embrace was pity.
Fallen to the tundra beneath the dead souls of my boots,
I wept my sorrows into the permafrost.
Soon, oh how my body collapsed from inner conflict,
where my kiss goodbye was to the world.
There I saw the final glimpse of misery as I froze.
It was a corpse of a man I once knew...
There beneath the moon and stars, I lied dead atop the frozen world,
gazed upon by my spirit now freed...