Trust

i have spun this web
with words unsaid
upon a bed of sorrow

love ne’er ebbs
though in her stead
i dread to face
the wakeless morrow

broken vows of death’s departing
spoken with a silver tongue

cloaked in shards
from shattered hearts
enshrouded by the blackened sun

seconds fall at fevered pace
as life does from this land of lust

where all intentions turn to waste
and hurt is what we earn for trusting

Not Even Death

and here we are
yet living
on this eve of lost idyll

i am no more able
to feel your touch
than sorrowed skies retreat

the passing hours
grow ever darker
my lair has turned to dust
unsettled

roaming on this plane
alone
in search of any senseless reason

the more i look
the more i find
my mind is but a distant ruin

littered with the consequence
of time’s relentless ire

as truths unravel
by its hands
extending far beyond
the grave

where now
not even death
can stand to save us

Stoic Submission

even now
when thoughts of her
affronting love’s convention
have shuffled off
the consequence
befalling our mistake

do trails tell truth
of hours attending
context tread anew

disavowing fated remnants
lingering devoid of interest
bleeding web of understanding
weeping reaped
sown of her seed

in retroactive disillusion
memories become unraveled
like the sutures
faintly tethering us
at the tearless seam

so it seems
as days unfolding
shattered moulds
tinged with decay
hinging on pending perspectives
shifting lights shine
fears display

in the barren sands of ruin
truant cheeks
turned weak of will
baring thoughts i pray not bear

surrendered to stoic submission

The Sleepless Hour

drowning
in the darkness

silence
rests upon her lips

i long
to lift my leaden head

paralyzed
by thoughts of living

seconds drifting
in and out
from borrowed backgrounds

sitting in the circle
of regret
and rotting earth

thoughts of her
tormenting
pages shorn
to show an ending
spurned

still
her laughter echoes
through the frigid nights
of empty air

poisoned
by the voiceless peril
slithering through
meadows maddened

striking with a force
unfounded
never was her kiss
denied

but shallow whispers
lay awake
to court the
shadow’s song of ruin

through the forest
whence we stumbled forth
to greet the sleepless hour

On a Saturday Morning

wake up
just to not
give a fuck

torn
from the only place
where i have
any worth

cursed to face
isolation
without hope
for solution

in this
hypnic delusion
of my cryptic submission

cigarette-lipped confusion
fuck
it’s hard
just to type shit

this
as good
as my life gets

i can’t quit
and yet, i did

with this pill
that i swallow

maybe death
will soon follow

on a saturday morning
and she’s not in my arms

there’s a draft
slowly drifting

into yesterday’s clothes
on an old
beat-up mattress

that some rat
made its home

i had bought
a humane trap

but i can’t bear
to tear him

from his only known dwelling
because i know the feeling

in the attic of heartache
it’s a static illusion

i can’t take
much more of this

not without
her love’s solace

on a saturday
so low

with my rodent companion
i refuse to abandon

unlike her
with her hand
down the pants
of a strange man

i guess we are all victims
of a silent affliction
where we scream
but no sound comes
only numbness
of conscience

bleeding truth
in her absence
in the attic of loss
left
on a saturday
mourning

with this rat
my only friend

Token of Her Heart’s Reflection

it’s hot outside
my heart is broken

yesterday
the news struck ground
after weeks
bound by tempest waters
ravaging resolve

her restraint
was faint at best
upon a whim’s behest
it crumbled

knowing well
the consequence
were she to sip
the spirits of chance

known to fail
my intuition
when it passed
i turned away

it was this moment
that would tear
our bond asunder

all the fire
that burned within me
now subdued
to hurt transmuted

as the bead of sweat
gathers to fall
in the periphery

from the black rimmed glasses
perched upon my face askew

also, does a tear lamenting
sent from realms
of shuttered pain

sweltering
as sorrow rings the sting
within this vacant stare

trained upon that shattered moment
shone to show her disregard

that she would allow
for all this

broken boundaries
words misspoken

token of her heart’s reflection

The Aster’s Disk

how do you trust
emphatic assertations
claiming of a love so vital
so unknown
safe and new
all is spoken
as though feelings
never had been felt before
for a moment
nearly falling
to the call
of evermore
pre-assembled sentiments
relentlessly unleashed
lose the power
that was never there
a flower now bereft
of petals
left to tend
the aster’s disk

NES kid

in my pixellated form
i would save the world
from boredom

swarming hordes
on stormy seas
as captive of
a dream alluded

thoughts of torment
sought reprieve
in redoubt granted
by its heeding

a young mind’s wrest
in secret worlds
of vested heart
and truth obscured

the only thing
that i could hold
amid darkness
beyond control

how many like me
found escape
in plastic boxes
muted gray

to stay the wrath of
conscious realms
a fated passage
most profound

the untold burden
of their “concern”
cast the mould
struck bridges burning

grim projections
glowing screens
protection
from the wounds unseen

a NES kid
who had fought his wars
through cartridges
on broken floors

O Songbird

o songbird
of restive mind
thy repertoire vast

as the moonlit masquerade
cast upon the empty bed
of night

piercing requiem
tunneling through
the void
of vanquished mirth

the shrill
of sordid regrets
and disquiets
arisen
from the garden
of agateophobia

like a raving mockingbird
ravaged by truth

feathers hewn
with latent farewell
faintly clinging
to a page
from the past

sing to me
all i have lost

let each note
ring out
as once it
ran me through

before
the great fault
slid the sea
‘neath the desert

and prosody
felled
by god’s languorous sigh

where senses
once flourished
with the triumph
of Typhon

pray let thy song
lay this hardship
to rest

Relevant Rant

Will we ever see beyond the trees into the forest of illusions set before us by ourselves, or are we simply at a loss to bear this burden? Certainly, such implication complicates the inferences alluding to this state of indignation, which perpetuates the presence of my acute consternation. Do the constellations hold the key unlocking unknown doors to worlds beyond the chaos of existence? Is this counsel self-contained, a crux which cancels itself out, a crutch our conscience uses to ensconce us? Every question seems to touch the realm of truth secluded which eludes even those perspicacious erring on most prudent. Dedicated students of the mind have yet to find an explanation which defines our cosmic purpose. Exponentially, our ponderance compounds without exception, thereby instilling an exigence unduly excess. We have set the boundaries far beyond our wildest expectations to the point of courting disappointment. With our inclination to usurp our self-appointed power, surreptitiously supposing precedents unseen which seem to propagate our dreams so many silently believe. Bereaving us of freedoms rife with possibility which would inspire community instead of spurning hope for peace. Sapience and salience presumed part of our “sentience” are scarcely exercised or altogether compromised, despite the catastrophic impact of our calculated actions we continue on this fervid course of forced dissociation. Refusing to disseminate the knowledge which facilitates a self-sufficiency that would, in turn, sustain society without burning the bridges to the people in positions of imposed disparity based on factors beyond their person. The irony is so profane exceeding that which is insane in fact, it’s that which only fools would dare to claim not criminal. The truth of this reality that humankind just cannot see is every human stands to gain when selfish hands release the reins that led them to where we are now. Instead, with what we’ve stood to learn, so easily could we discern that only through consideration of each other, and each station intrinsic within our being, can we truly attain freedom. Kindness is not just a word, nor is it a notion absurd. It IS what all of us deserve. Without it, there is only hurt.