Environmentalism

Gris

She inhaledas deeply as she couldtremulousso deeply she thought her very lungs might rupturefor she knew this was her last breath For a moment she thoughtperhaps she could hold ithold that breath tight inside herand perhaps in doing solivelive her life with that breath locked awaycaged along with her voicelive a silent lifefor as long

“Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”

Red on Red

Requiem

And what is lost? A few memories—that someone cared about you: the lines of their face that remain slowly falling away. that you had dreams: those that you made important because you found them,and those you spat upon because you lost your way. the face that watched you from through the looking glass, the one

Catena Mundi

Another sacrifice waiting for the flash, the red, and the warmth. How many times has this happened? How many have been crushed by attrition? Were these ever really offerings – meant to quell the vacuous howling that billows forth from the darkness? If so, when did they become pointless butchering, any tethering to rhyme or

After the Last

After the last dollar’s spent After the last bridge’s burnt After the last letter’s sent After the last lesson’s learnt After the last tear is cried After the last smile’s faded After the last dream has died After the last breath is bated After the last love is lost After the last word is rhymed

Millstone

You’ve always been a millstone around my neck pulling me down down down But here at the bottom I lie upon you the only thing separating me from the abyssal floor as I drown drown drown

Tempus Fugit

He didn’t realize it at the moment,but it was the last time he would ever feel happy. Truly happy Decades later, as he lay dying on the floor amid the shards of a broken glass and the scattered contents of a kitchen drawer, his mind alighted on the memory of that moment. But, it did

Everyone’s a Murderer

Everyone’s a murdererthe day they walk awayfrom one who truly loves them.

Fall

Silent beneath orange and brown,possibilities lie in wait.Whispering of ashen times,they quietly arrange our fates. “Life is death,” sweet Autumn sings,for the moment never comeswhen one rejoices in the dawnwithout the dream of Morrow’s sun. Spiraling like star-crossed loverswho upon the heavens gaze,a withered leaf of fragile portentpromises of greener days. As magpies steal and

Revenue Voriche

Sunlight breaks, so does my will.I stumble into life, a caged animal ready to kill.He is there, and he is too.The shot is fired, fired by you. Right next door, Mars orbits. I could bow down low, to avoid the blow.No, I will not. There is a force inside me (one of many) which can

Frosted Glass

If all there isis not for me,and life denieswith apathy;Why suffer my birthfor so very long,and bravely fight theright with wrong? Is my intellect asgrand as it seems,When my head echoeswith countless screams;Ricocheting fromside to side,Just sit tightyou can’t stop the ride. I often wonderif the only way,is the one for whichI dare not play;Or

The Cat Ran

The blind have seen the truth, hiding from the shapes.Though my eyes are plucked, no artificial mean shall suffice.Deceived by information, led astray by perception.The ruling class of fools, an unlikely intervention.Words betray the thought, snared by the mice.Peer fathoms below, an unfathomable escape. Feeling death at hand, parrying the scythe.The shrouded figure motionless, peering

The Bird, Winged Harbinger of Nefarious Intent

Passing the time until I die. A vacant stare for vacant time. Useless diversions, feeling worthwhile. Spending years to earn a smile. -captive in my body–servant to the physical–god’s craftmanship is shoddy–pathetic prison of the material- Longing to shed this mortal coil. To fly away from the anointed oil. For essence, spirit, soul, or chi.

The Nature of Man

There are only peoplebecause death can wait Nothing could cleansethis tarnished slate Truth eludes,then confronts the victor Some daemons can floaton an ocean of liquor Turn and facethe void around you A wink and a smile,now pay the due. Revelation…a prayer sent up in vain This will only endwith the death of all the sane

Paradise Lost

An invisible hand, of bitter cold,plucks him from his brown stronghold.Once so verdant, supple and proud,now he is plummeting toward the ground.The fall is eternity, grace depleted,the wrath of nature undefeated.Gently he lands, near crystal stream,which babbles past his broken dream.In the distance, now overhead,birds chirp merrily as blue turns red.Crippled and helpless, cold and

Retrospective

It wasn’t until after class that I thought about it.The blues and greens seemed brighter somehow.Clearer.You had been in my thoughts, been my thoughts.But now I saw your beauty in the depths of the sky,in the stoic rustling of the leaves.Fall is coming.But with death comes rebirth.Save the kind of death that sticks.It’s the difference