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the colors persist bled over from dreams red pools on the wrist white tares at the seams the fabric of life is ripped into hues greens cut like a knife leaving only blues drained of all pigment short shrift in the night gray's but a figment in this black and white in jest, offered less while still taking more a test, unimpressed with blue corridors the colors persist bled over again regret on the wrist cast in shades of sin the fabric of life dyed to fit this look the value of strife as the king knights the rook drained of its essence short shrift in the night such iridescence turned to black and white come day, there's no gray that touches this shore what strays leads the way down blue corridors the colors persist bled over from dreams red pools on the wrist white tares at the seams the fabric of life is ripped into hues greens cut like a knife leaving only blues drained of all pigment short shrift in the night gray's but a figment in this black and white (3/9/22)

we “care” enough to cry for all of the lives now lost but not enough to try to prevent this kind of cost we “care” enough to pray there will come a time of peace but not enough to say we will see this violence cease the course is set for par and hate is on a roll again, it's who we are our pastime takes its toll we “care” enough to cry for those caught in these attacks but not enough to try we don't care enough to act (11/20/22) for the victims of U.S. gun violence

as I lay me down to wrestle with the thoughts that plague my mind I just become more unsettled more uncertain of these times haunting questions fill the night hours dark, bereft of sleep bringing tears for each lost fight for all drowning in this deep shall I find my final rest in the mass graves that they've dug with this virus in my chest taken from the ones I love forever in this potter's field for the failure's of the few will this wound ever be healed lessons learned ever reviewed as I lay me down to wrestle with the thoughts that plague my mind I just become more unsettled more uncertain of these times we will need new ways to grieve all we have lost to these days taking tolls, yet not believed for the games that people play so once the dust has fallen and the virus has its score know, if we had been all in that we could have saved more but leaders who couldn't lead or give us facts unpolluted they ensured the long, slow bleed with the public stores they've looted for their

I canceled my subscription to the resurrection 'fore I found the bardo and this path of inspection I woke into a nightmare, but fell into a dream I kept them waiting right there, not knowing what it'd mean I asked the words to lead me, but the ink all ran dry yet no one would believe me no matter how I cried so I stabbed the pen through the vein, and made the words bleed so even if they went unheard something would be freed then as I touched the pen to paper I was reborn torn and brittle, turned to vapor, and left without form the molecules of self floated down between the lines where once were stores of wealth, that were emptied over time and I too was made empty by the weight of this pen with each mark it left on me there denoting my sin now floating away on the winds of recycled words so something would be freed even if they went unheard (2/28/23)