The static has fallen again,
a shroud of fog to smother the mind
and the writer's pen now lies vacant in the field
like the forgotten tombstone
of my voice.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 7:44 PM UTC
The veil falls,
the bell tolls,
and silence reverberates.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
For years, you never left home without a watch
clasped tight around your wrist and, I know,
no one noticed the day you left it behind.
Now your wrist rests barren on white linen
beside mine while the cracked face collects dust
on your nightstand, shed
because you already knew
how much time you had left.
Your burden now is mine and I stitch
my veins together with a watch of my own
as I wait for yours to split before my eyes, for
the day you use your blood as paint
to taint my skies with crimson.
The hands' hollow ticking fills the silence of
tomorrow, counting each pulse
until you say goodbye for good this time.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 7:20 PM UTC
why must the poet
always compare the rain to
tears in pain unshed?
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 8:28 PM UTC
Gently closer winter creeps down the
mountain peaks to chase the sun away and, each
evening, dusk is quicker in its fall than
the last and in this fading, precious light,
I sit between these old, hallowed halls to stare
unseeing into these soulless eyes of
Whitman as he writes of grass and leaves
so eloquently, here I watch and try to learn.
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 8:31 PM UTC
Here the weary rest upon the shore to
admire this mountain lake, a mirror struck
by dusk. Now watch how water turns from friend
to foe, at night it mimics chasms deep
and wide in absence of the heavens’ light.
Shadows come to haunt the mind and wake the million
voices buried far beneath our consciousness.
You stray from dreams to lie awake and wait
for the patient plea; the void is calling
you home. I know I cannot keep you
from heeding the insistent pull, my friend,
so powerful the draw of Death’s own flute.
Take solace in the knowledge that, I hear it too.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 2:06 AM UTC
a little darker and I grieve the sun’s radiance,
suffocated by the smoky skies
born of the inferno that now paints the horizon
of places we once called home and, in silence,
the heavens weep, the earth quakes
and my shoulders shake as the world collapses
under the weight of a single mistake.
Tears cascade down from above to sizzle and evaporate
before they can ever reach the pyre.
Helplessly, I bowed my head as you embraced the fire,
the blood escaped from your veins
now feed the flames
and I cannot help but to envy the charred, twisted skeleton
you left behind and remember the hesitant
echo your heartbeat left in my chest
of yesterday.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 2:03 AM UTC
The universe grows aware of itself
through human eyes,
torn between wonder and horror
at all it has become
and created.
Burdened by the weight
of consciousness, it learns
to yearn for death,
to cease and return to
the bliss of the void
where it sees nothing at all.
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 12:00 AM UTC
Suicide flows through our veins.
Written into our DNA, it is
our heritage, passed down
from our ancestors as a
taboo tradition only discussed
in secret.
I wonder, who was the first
to heed the premature call
of the void and
I wonder, who was the first
to witness this gruesome display
of humanity
and give it a name.
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
I am much too tired
to even dream
of putting paper to pen
again.
Jul 8, 2019
Jul 8, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC