Hollow

this pithy endeavor

shadows of dust
masquerading through time

i looked away
laughing

returning
to barrenness

the warmth
of her touch

once
insisted eternity

how quickly
it vanished

seen
through open eyes

this sand
shifts beneath us

swallowing memories

until we are hollow

devoid
of our sentiments

i still walk beside her

footsteps
in spectral snow

when all
turned to nothing

and she was no longer

and i

left behind

[image credit: Odilon Redon]

Apropos Creation?

sometimes in life
it’s all you can do
not to hang from the end
of a dangling noose
when ideals falter
from altered epiphanies
self-imposed litanies
taunt us as truth

reasons unclear
hearken feelings concise
as we slowly succumb
to scopolamine nights
on a hollow dimensional plane
of feigned platitudes
sorrowful vice
desperate pleas seeking quietude

labeled as sacrilege
should we repair
to undo the heedless act
of summoning us here
where an iron fist reigns
with such ironic scrutiny
e’er you should mention
proactive acuity

still, none dare question
’til quietus calls
of that which our parents
paid no mind at all
the stigma, long-standing
insists these facades
are gifts that cannot be revoked
but by god

how oddly beholden
to cognitive bias
that we forgo logic
and deign ourselves pious
to then misappropriate
most hypocritically
fate in itself
with such flagrant defiance

if only our efforts
were aimed toward reality
instead, we sacrifice all
for mere fantasy
lacking the merit
to make the distinction
between fact and metaphorical depiction

we must make the choice
to adhere to a mindset
consisting of ethics
not pandered by pretense
for should we persist
to exist with such dissonance
life itself will soon submit
to obsolescence

[image credit: Louis Wain]

Eve of No Tomorrow

lay your thoughts
upon my pillow

willows whisper
winds serene

tales unfold
composed of kisses

lost in silent reverie

this night beckons
ever urgent

argent skies
immersed in light

as the stars
succumb to ruin

tranquil drops
well in your eyes

[image credit: Kay Nielsen]

Dissevering

 

never were worlds so condensed

 

crushing sounds of chaos crashing

 

the eve of shattered shells

shackled in rippling clamor

torn beyond arm’s length

 

bracing memories of bartered being

the aching void of absent panacea

 

toiling for passage

the sting of earned lament

 

forthwith abandoned

to stations conflicted by minds unsound

long trodden in tumult’s refrain

 

what burdens we carry in these chains we so cherish

fighting the sins born of heaven

hammering down upon hapless casts of dissevering clay

 

complexions so fragile

never straying from the vaulted eden of  sanity’s mind

 

ceaseless hordes

in planate procession

 

fools fraught with erstwhile fixation

betraying the worth of the words carved unyielding

 

through the infamy of torrid tempest

feigned in fluster

with haste, forgotten

 

but some flourish ephemeral

 

~querabus in acquiescence

nonpareil without parallel~

 

sweltering seamen scout the echoing seas

to plunder the gifts of god’s glory

 

treasures unknown

to inhabit our hearts

 

belying these stagnant disfigured illusions

 

should gentle grace ameliorate

and the rapids arrive at a quietus lull

 

-they say voices spout melodies stealing the wind-

 

and here,

this pen spreads jilted verse with piteous affectation

in shades of redundant avowal

 

this, the pilfer of poets and priests

only in the threads of ethereal thought, does truth reign

 

neither bound by scientific bane

nor beholden to  idle slight of ideal

 

the essence of knowledge sublime

 

that we find the one

and the other in spirit

when realms of spent flesh beckon nigh

 

we shall yet persist      –      in tether and thyme

 

the warmth of unspoken goodwill

stirs the ocean’s heart humble

like the fiery swells of our wounded earth’s rain

 

a feeling which none are to have known

ere we wander into the borealis of the soul’s aura

 

wading into the florid confluence

to taper off in eased undulation

neath the umbral sway of a burgeoning berth

[image credit: Tallmadge Doyle]

Profound Mechanism

what an oddly profound mechanism memory is
to be able to hear
the exact sound of someone’s voice
from years ago just by imagining it
to be able to vividly picture
a scene from a bygone era
whilst simultaneously looking
at the reality of the present moment
to summon the irreplicable symphony of flavors
rendezvousing upon the tongue
from a cherished dish
whose creator is no more
to behold the sweet scent
that once had found your senses
rapt in an erstwhile lover’s embrace
to revisit the feeling
of fleeting ideals
whence they fooled you into falling
for what you thought would be forever
foundations are ever shifting
in the light of newfound context
tragedy reshapes the stories
locked within our mind
knowing that the day will come
when all that we might stand to muster
swiftly turns to dust swept away
by a lonesome gust of wind
and this, the only truth
that we might ever trust in
it is for this very reason
we must live
within each moment
to foster our experience
as though it were untold
to leave a bold impression
that we one day might recall again
when all is lost as we retreat
into death shrouds of our own making

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

Worlds of Wonder

ceaselessly
caught between
two worlds of wonder

one of which
i revel
in a beauty
yet untold

watching it unfold
in muted ponder

another
so disheveled
that i shudder
to behold

ruthlessly
comprised
of pealing thunder

underneath
the undulation
lies a plundered soul

pandering
the plight
of its condition

haunted
by the light
ever lingering
on yonder

longing
for an answer
to it all

Furtive Moons

there are only so many metaphors
that serve to justify this pain
so many words
chewed up
and spit back out
onto surfaces
whose purpose
carries all burdens

these feelings are like water
journeying alone
in a fearless freefall
crashing into the earth below
to join the fates
that all have known

still, each fragment
leaves its mark
for others to embark upon
in the hour
of our exodus to exile

the skies belong to one
as one to all
as life itself
bleeds into the eyes
at the horizon

we take our tragic pittance
wrought from anguish
each within the alchemy intrinsic
to their own

to spin the loom
and weave majestic tapestries
of triumph
to share the secrets
intimately held
by furtive moons

Retro-Spectrum

time
was the circumstance

that drove paper nails
through weightless
coffins

to think
we once knew

as desperately
we dangled
from tresses
of concession

composed of gold

which stretched
for many miles
beyond

the trenches
of our youth

i look now
upon days gone

eschewing

but nowhere
are you to be found

lost
perhaps

in the vaulted yonder

where obsidian
gaurds
the earthen tomb

A Pseudo Farm

with lackadaisical regard
i watch as they dwindle
one by one
and sometimes two
or more

i never formed
a reason to rhyme
until time descended
upon me
like a pornographic impulse

brew me another cup
of disillusionment
while you’re at it

that last one
nearly fit the bill

sometimes
i wonder if i actually will
or would
or could

of course,
there is no question
as to whether or not
i should

though i am
but a coward
in uncomfortable skin

i’ve worn out
since the day
the world informed me

as i swallow
more
to boredom’s pallor

like a Fuller Brush Man
in a town inhabited
by ghosts

where nothing hearkens
but the silence
that consumes me

as a void that lay
between two mirrors
spared of my own completion