Pain is not currency.
Do not forget.
Experience does not make you better,
Only accountable for what you beget.
Write of your struggles,
Triumphs and creeds.
But it makes you not better
Than those that can't read.
Perception is everything,
Whether man or a beast.
A sprout within famine
Can become a fine feast.
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 3:22 AM UTC
Searching, scattered.
Broken, shattered.
Floating debris in an angry ocean.
Medicate, obliterate,
Facilitate prideful hate.
Counterfeit reality, fleeting in motion.
Intolerance, slavery,
Damnation of bravery.
Ego-driven exchange, seems to be the notion.
Betray and conspire,
Jump in the fire.
The mask of foster, neglects true emotion.
Complacent, denial,
Appeasing the vile.
Pat on the head: "Good Dog..." Devotion!
Gluttons acquire,
The bigot empire.
An Icarus fate, will be dealt by the sun.
Add and subtract, obscure the equation.
Media diversion = systematic persuasion.
Branded by fear we await "The Explosion".
But looking out and not in, ensures death by implosion.
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 1:18 PM UTC
I’d rather sleep when it’s sunny
And wake when it rains
I’d rather trade all my new clothes
For the ones already stained
I’d rather watch people from a distance
Than get in their way
And I’d rather be the one leaving
So all others could stay
Take air from my lungs
And give flight to the birds
Take sight from my eyes
And leave me with words
Take dreams from my heart
Contentment to bleed
But leave all of your nightmares
They are safer with me
Jul 30, 2021
Jul 30, 2021 at 12:45 AM UTC
Pain is not currency.
Do not forget.
Experience does not make you better,
Only accountable for what you beget.
Write of your struggles,
Triumphs and creeds.
But it makes you not better
Than those that can't read.
Perception is everything,
Whether man or a beast.
A sprout within famine
Can become a fine feast.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
Grasping and pulling
panic... free-falling
rope's end
coming,
going.
. . . _ _ _ . . .
Enter acceleration's equilibrium.
sailing away from our sun
voided to one
no one,
knowing.
. . . _ _ _ . . .
Into the bleakness
feeling the weakness
where am I?
becoming,
faithless.
. . . _ _ _ . . .
Collisions averted
life has diverted
within a vacuum
heavy,
weightless.
. . . _ _ _ . . .
Limited improvement
I must wait for a movement
ultimate struggle
fading,
falling.
. . . _ _ _ . . .
Up, down, forward and back
every way, into the black
frequency static
never,
stalling.
. . . _ _ _ . . .
Lifeless bodies must come to rest
with hope for another crest
no more questions
lonely
journey.
. . . _ _ _ . . .
Eternal night... into depravity
familiar pull of Earth's gravity
signing off
final,
memory.
. . . _ _ _
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
I want to express my deepest sympathy
For the little girl you lost inside
She used to be so forthcoming
With such self worth and pride.
Slowly tortured for years on end
By strangers, herself and even friends
She eventually decided to just walk away
She wasn't meant for this earthly decay
But in her withered oppressed soil
She grew another that was rich as oil
Rich in joy and sent from above
So small and fragile -Full of undeniable love.
She grew from her mothers sorrow and pain
Ready to grow strong and able to sustain
She breathes life into her moms tragedy
But only ones close to her can see
How truly precious this baby came to be
She looks at her mom with unspoken words and says "with my deepest sympathy".
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
Death comes for a poet
With a plume of smoke rising
From a quill, pen, computer key.
When we write in love or hate
We have no choice in the path we follow
For all roads lead to home.
Whether you leave this plane
With the wealth of a nation
Or in poverty
In fame or deep obscurity
The real tragedy
Is that no-one gets to enjoy immortality.
Our saving grace is that we are the few
Who truly get to write
Our own elegy.
We are the few capable
Of surviving death and time.
Alas we may never see
Our elegy bloom,
Rise to become our eulogy.
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
(Polaris)
~
a dark night sky,
horizon to horizon,
see countless stars,
some call it billions,
i count by myriads...
cast an upward gaze,
in any direction,
so stunningly beautiful;
and though so many nameless,
and so many faceless,
are they not noteworthy all,
still each and every one?
yet, but a few,
like Sirius, like Schedar,
like Regulus and Rigel,
in number a few dozen more;
in all are counted fifty-seven,
star sisters, sun brothers
thought bright enough,
placed precisely, just,
to be among those sought
between clouds by ocean sailors;
with squinted gaze perused
by desert navigators;
in constellations scanned,
relentlessly pursued,
by travelers the globe across.
you, my love are such a star
your rising luminescence
far too brilliant to ignore;
in present station,
your presenting position,
not merely making bright;
for tis you, my love,
who makes the night
alive, arise with life;
for without your zenith,
my bearing is lost...
take away my north,
no others align!
in this darkening sky.
i could n’er visualize
your brilliance gone dim,
nor being without
your guiding light,
beckoning my hand;
for it is by you
that i set my compass,
and in you that
i lay my course.
Polaris...
high and afar,
my true north;
and for’er you are,
my sight-guiding,
night-lighting,
heart-binding,
northern star!
~
*post script.
terrestrially speaking... yes, i do know that those beneath the equatorial center will use a navigational star guide list different entire, but they and theirs are not within sight of these eyes. no offense intended; i can but write of mine.
celestially speaking... navigators of old knew the fifty-seven stars, plus one (Polaris) by which to plot their course. one wonders if the art has been entirely lost with today’s extensive dependence on satellite navigation and global positioning systems. the time may come when we will wish for a return to the sky for direction.
ethereally speaking... tis but a metaphor to paint a horizon-stretching tapestry of the binding and guiding power of one light to another, one heart to another’s. yet the truth is, no metaphor will suffice, and no language has words enough to describe the mysteries, the intricacies, and the ecstasies of true love!
maritally speaking... it is thirty-seven years ago this week that we made vows; swore our faithfulness one to another. she has been the core that held me, even when for a season our gravitational pull grew weak, yet she held firm. neither has ever betrayed the other, yet i owe her my life, because i am the impetuous and she the more gracious.*
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 4:38 PM UTC
Sudden anamnesis.
A sound, a time.
A season, a rhyme.
Immersed in ghostly remembrance.
For a time I am neither here nor there.
In an instant my body aches,
Longing for a taste of a place my essence has been summoned to revisit.
At this exact moment I doubt my past-self.
Did I really live in that moment?
Did I inhale the air of life and exhale the desire of concurrent vanity?
No matter the answer, doubt forever remains.
Note to self:
Stop wishing time away.
Stay longer.
Breathe deeper.
Listen.
Devour the colors.
Echo Devine vibrations.
Bathe in the waters.
Existence without resistance.
Saturate.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 3:53 AM UTC
Searching, scattered.
Broken, shattered.
Floating debris in an angry ocean.
Medicate, obliterate,
Facilitate prideful hate.
Counterfeit reality, fleeting in motion.
Intolerance, slavery,
Damnation of bravery.
Ego-driven exchange, seems to be the notion.
Betray and conspire,
Jump in the fire.
The mask of foster, neglects true emotion.
Complacent, denial,
Appeasing the vile.
Pat on the head: "Good Dog..." Devotion!
Gluttons acquire,
The bigot empire.
An Icarus fate, will be dealt by the sun.
Add and subtract, obscure the equation.
Media diversion = systematic persuasion.
Branded by fear we await "The Explosion".
But looking out and not in, ensures death by implosion.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC