the lone knight battles himself,
engulfed in hatred for the throne,
his damsel is distant,
the odyssey to she is treacherous,
he must beat the man within,
or else she’ll be the one,
without,
him.

I wish I could take
The colors from a rainbow
And place them
Into your heart
So you would remember
What beautiful feels like
And know there is
Hope in the dark.

We came to the valley to absorb the glory
of the Alps. Wordsworth succumbed
to the sublime here. Now we all romanticize
nature. But the sublime overwhelms;
it is too grand, too large, too dark, too menacing.
The mountains soar,
overflowing the bounds of what
the scrawny human spirit
can take in.

the medals on my chest weigh heavy
they drag me down
gold is hard to carry
when the glimmer gets old