We are the only species to make luxury of our ****,
While others survive we still crave one more thrill,
From that, I wonder what heights we’ve attained?
The bigger the better were the words that have reigned,
We’ve risen and triumphed by reaching evermore higher,
Yet as the towers raise so too the flames of the fire,
They’re acts of ******* I think, a necessity of our ego,
To rise above the others, on from the ashes, on we must go,
Into the woodlands where no animal makes pelts of its catch,
And in the jungle where no animal credits their kills with a patch,
They don’t pick from their bones,
Or other atrocities we so humbly condone.
They live with no thoughts, no questions, curiosity or phone,
For our curse is our blessing, a clear paradox is shown.
Yet if evolution were no bittersweet friend,
If we never learned to question the end,
If from our **** we only ate,
We’d still be on all fours, making light of our fate.

With the sunrise: emerges a world of cruelty,
Though natural like a running stream, and a flower’s beauty,
We see it when fires rage on and volcanoes erupt;
Even more when animals are maimed and poisons corrupt.
Yet none I would venture,
Can compare with human horror,
Who spilt rouge over lust, greed, prose and power,
They would gladly raze cities, massacre families and abhor,
In cold blood or warm, killing more makes man dour,
And Whether to catalyze or antagonize we’ve made time; seconds and hours,
But are we a product of the world’s cruelty or is the world a product of ours?
Perhaps it is our own; after all it is our curse,
To evolve is to make great, even evil,
So making greater our hearse.

A lamp sits lightly,
In a world veiled blue,
Pairs of eyes look longingly;
Iridescent their hue.

The flowers wilted, dried up, lonely on the sill,
They stay a lifetime in the blue room.
With dancing petals falling still.

Shoes untied in a corner,
Their laces unfurled on the wood,
As their soles grow older,
They stay firmly where they stood.

In a rocking chair, alone he sat,
Creaking softly to and fro,
The food tastes empty, as the doormat,
His cheeks gaunt, lackluster; no glow.

On the bed, tired and lost, she lay,
Her shoulders tremble and lips quiver,
Regretfully wishing the day away.

In his rolled up, off-white, worn down tee,
His dark wash, tea-stained, black paint jeans,
He lights a cigarette and pays the fee,
Takes a drag to catch a break; never mind the means.

In her faded, washed out, burgundy sun dress,
Her long cut, well knit, light beige lace,
She pulls out a cigarette too, lightless,
Heaving a sigh to cut the still;
never mind saving face.

He turns reluctantly, a pain in his eye,
The lightless, lifeless and heartless,
Melts his soul, threatening to die,

He pulls out a flame to spark a revolution,
Her eye’s light speaks just the same;
A mutual solution.

Twilight and amber arrogance,
Gives clear expression, sans irreverence.
If my gaze were caught, would you reciprocate?
An exhibition of cream behind the rouge,
Dawns that archaic esperance.

So timeless the elegance yet reservation becomes you,
A reluctance to inquiry; you’re still burdened with virtue.
Let time behold the charms we so coolly converse,
Where smoldering embers revive at a whisper,
As if crawling from a hearse.

A flicker of light lines the color in your eyes,
Arise strings of blue, where well worn secrets reside.
At the precipice of finale, when the pieces are all played,
The queen takes his king,
And the plans have been laid.

We arrive where the fires light;
Clean sheets, light and cool.
Once embers now they ignite,
And your fingers run the wool,
I relinquish black silk,
And you trade for lace.
I surrender white cotton,
Then you keep the pace.
  
Analog half past morning, in the dark of the night,
An exuberant caress,
Both fierce yet polite,
It breeds that gentle potency,
With a shiver of delight.

So solemn and light; I arose,
And soon smells of cinnamon not rose
Filled the room which lay still;
scattered with clothes.

Now the rays kiss our sheets and climb silent up your toes,
They crawl warmly to your eyes and conclude,
That look of yours: it glows.

Sometimes I wonder, or do I wander?
Not to any particular starry night, nor down any quiet road,
But it’s all the same, if I should sunder,
For I carry a heavy load.  

Consider the simple truth; ‘tis but an honest request,
That life give fruit of the yellow moon, and wholesome no less.
It creates no fruit too ripe nor produce too bitter,
Therefore nurture in spite lest fate incur.

Burden me with thought yet leave me thoughtless,
Bless me with love, yet leave me loveless.
No tender thine care, yet mine is a flower.
In bloom it is rich, yet when wilting, ‘tis dour.

So let me be, allow me to ponder,
As my feet sift the Earth and my ears the Thunder,
I’ll behold an adventure; but because I wonder or wander?