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Oct 26 · 922
Away From Dawn
Brett Oct 26
Set your sights out west, my friend
And know that on your back
Will always rest the dawn. Follow not
These golden roads paved by fools
Where every toll asks payment from
The only treasure one would hate to lose.
Pull the reigns on your hurried pace, and
Sing to silence when it calls your name.
Oct 18 · 386
Even Flow (Revised)
Brett Oct 18
Who will cherish me,
              When withering autumn leaves
              Are stripped of their golden gallantry
By the biting winter winds.

Writer and reader alike,
               Chasing streams of contradictions;
               Like our will to death, fighting for life.
Am I here at all if I am not here to stay?

Points of purpose in shallow moments;
               Ripped by tides and dragged away.
               We mind the depths,
So to never dig up our dead;

A fading
Remember when.

Time: our great captor
               Tattooed on Earth by currents
               Forever outpacing the fruitless lives of men.

Unearthed and submerged,
               In the instant between
               The angel opening their eyes,
And the tired who resign to dream.
Oct 11 · 579
Final Precession
Brett Oct 11
My heart orbiting
Around these years old coffee rings
That blemish these fading,
Family pictures.
                          A path of precession,
Towards the vernal equinox of my thoughts.
When the sun’s light Scatters evenly across
Lines in the sand We never dared cross
The last solemn ride For better words left unsaid
Death truly does Do us part
                            Death of a feeling
           ­                                             My
Oct 4 · 408
Bottled Rain
Brett Oct 4
How can you ask a man
Who loves you,
About the man you love?

If I was lesser than
I may play pretend and spin a thread
That pulls you closer to the center of my web.

My love is a field of a thousand faceless corpses.
Each one a time when I swallowed pride, and
Gave you my mouth
So you could smile wide.
          Little Lady,

Can you not see this calm bravado
Relies solely
On my never-blinking eyes.

For even a wink would have this city sink
This grief I trap in ink.
You woke up and only met the sun today

In the dead of night
I cupped your pain, and
Drank your inclement weather like bottled rain.
Why me? You ask the man you once loved, about the man you now love. Caught in a paradox.
Brett Sep 12
Hallways ever lonely in my mind
The duality
Of whispering voices
Screaming inside

Walls of empty picture frames,
Move like mirrors chasing a lost reflection.
Fading memories melt away like oil paintings in the desert.
Fickle, or free. I remember when,
Remembering was the furthest feeling found flowering inside of me.

Sword-crossed lovers,
And now a dagger in my heart.
Empty castle now stands full,
With all the rubble from its broken parts.
Aug 12 · 954
Little Flower
Brett Aug 12
Tonight, she taught me the nature of healing summer rains
Whimsical descriptions of dancing in puddles, but
Metaphors only serve to drown her pain
Dry on the surface, swearing inside the drought sustains
But dew droplets in her eyes betray her restraint
The morning after, the storm remains

Little flower, bent at the stem
Oversaturated by the self-absorbed
Her waterlogged roots weighing her down, but
In fields of bloom they still look to you
See, the weak reach for the easily used green and blue tulip hues
But her yellow petals require strength to be pulled from the meadow
For A Dear Friend: Stronger then she knows.
Aug 10 · 481
Remember When
Brett Aug 10
Who will cherish me
When withering autumn leaves
Are stripped of their golden gallantry
By the biting winter winds

Writer and reader alike
Chasing currents of contradictions
Like our will to death, fighting for life
Am I here at all if I am not here to stay

Points of purpose, in shallow moments
Ripped by tides and dragged away
We mind the depths, so to never dig up our dead
A fading remember when

Time and tide, forever outpacing the lives of men
Unearthed and submerged
In the instant between
The angel opening his eyes, and the tired who resign to dream
Aug 6 · 645
A Thought
Brett Aug 6
A Thought:
                 Maybe there is no grand crescendo to the human symphony
Maybe life ends, and begins, on a prolonged refrain
A steady, repeating, fading rhythm
The only flourish of a lonely universe
Trying desperately, in its way, to find a dance partner for the darkness
Eternity; our veiled mistress waiting past the mist
For the light to outrun an endlessly unfurling landscape of black
The space between
The mimicry of a photograph, and the true shape of the memory
That a frame can never quite squeeze
Those lost edges lie in wait
Just beyond a waking moment, and the closing scene of our final dream
A place not lost, but yet to be found
That is all,
For now.
Aug 4 · 630
Thickening Air
Brett Aug 4
I walk aimless, but alert, down moon washed streets
In the twilight, I strain to tell patron from vagrant
A coalescing of something at once ageless, but fading
Like the stone of this courthouse; pillars of justice
Cracked quietly by the steady chiseling of time
On forgotten foundations

In the air rests a stench of contempt, or neglect
Like an oil stain, thickening turquoise waves
To a sickening ooze, of endless, crashing degradation
A nation of people, betrothed to suitors unknown
The power of a dollar hedged against the weight of your soul
Where pockets are plump, and virtue is sold
Aug 3 · 453
Symphony Of Flowers
Brett Aug 3
Magenta and Reds, Cerulean and Blues
Piano paint splashes the mind of the fool
And makes him create, mostly mistakes
When trying to illustrate his own point of view

Hopeless and Danceless, Broken Old Romantic
Wooden chair rocks him like a cradle for his ashes
And time doesn’t wait, for him only it fades
Stuck on the wake of waves perpetually crashing

Black Holes and Stars, Landmarks for Gods
He just sits and he orbits like a moon for his heart
Passing the days, a face for a frame
Symphony of flowers contrasting his rain
Brett Jul 31
Harboring heretics horizontally, hidden behind hinged windows
Like a wry grin swearing a sinister scowl doesn’t wait within
Lovebirds and lust bugs, twisted and mixed like distorted pixels
Cruise missiles carefully catalogue the sights
Before anchoring you in the port of your designated afterlife
Fickle fragments of frayed remembrance
Languished and lost to the ages
Like pages of parchment that anoint your claims baseless
Cynicism seems to have become contagious
Live from the basement,
                                 Full of sunken ships and rusty cages.
Jul 31 · 440
Grains Of Change
Brett Jul 31
The red sun rises, over this hopeful land of second chances.
Deposited from the darkness, out onto the desert sands,
I soak in the silence like a thirsty dish rag.

My calculations had been compromised
By a malfunction deep inside my sickened mind.
The wicked ways of the self-depraved,
Mutated my world to Papier-mâché.
A mirage of vanity and technicolor blooms.

Folded and twisted, while my motionless eyes were mused by the mist.

How much I have missed, of life and of love.
Even these sands blossom with their own granular beauty.
And I am here to bear witness, to myself,
And to the many footsteps that wait before me.
Jul 29 · 510
Towards The Sun
Brett Jul 29
Alone on the threshold of liminal space;
I come across all my broken parts.
Floating and thought misplaced;
They gravitate as I pass, and circle back to me.
All these years lost in a sorrowed haze;
I had forgotten the creases that create my happy face.
The careful weathered etchings,
Of the years where pleasure always bested pain.
My eyes see clearer now, but how much of me remains?
If enough to scrawl, these reflective letters
Then enough to walk, out through the hallowed halls
That entomb all the past attempts to rid the dangling darkness
From above my waking world.
Enough to run; towards somewhere, and not away from
Jul 28 · 1.2k
My Thanks
Brett Jul 28
Oh Baby,
These still pictures seem to be running free
Tell me why your eyes have begun to move through mine
Just you, in a field of flowing flowers
The red and blue tulip hues
Wish and wave before your legs
And there you are, in full bloom

I am not so mad, that I believe I can touch the past
But I can feel, still today, the warming rose color upon my face
See, nothing ever truly gets washed away
We linger still
In a longing look just beyond our windowsills
My tortured rain has gone away
For these rolling fields and riverbanks, you have my thanks.
Jul 27 · 808
Our World Within
Brett Jul 27
Down I go
Dying slow; no carpet rides
Beneath the blue below
Precious diamonds; pressure only grinds my bones
         That which dwells in these depths,
         Must be overthrown
         Like the stone, dragging me deeper
         Into this black cold
All my sunken attempts
Dress the sand in swords
For all the fallen warriors slain
By the dueling voices inside my brain
        Chained to pillars in this endless ocean
        Composure erodes like weathered boulders
        Yet, I stand staunch against the breaking waves
        For what is outside myself, I have no mind to claim
Jul 26 · 751
Symphony of Sirens
Brett Jul 26
My only hope today, is that rain can wash
The rusted colored stains of blood away
Dirt; like Earth, caked upon my face
Hides the smile
          Buried down beneath
I sit stranded in the sand
My hell a carousel shore; forever trapped along a beach
The waves here, don’t swell and crash the same
They linger static like a message never read
                 Tell me then; wherein lies the difference
Between a broken heart and being dead
Every touch is cold, the only warmth I’ll ever know
Has been swept away, down the cloudy gray gutter drains
Like little villages lost to hurricanes
          No trace or tracks to lead me back
To the boy I was before
This lonely island lacks a dock
No passing ferries and only planks to walk
A salted sea of crooning souls beneath, call for me to join the deep
This symphony of sirens
Draws me ever close to silence
Jul 24 · 776
My Scar Upon The Sky
Brett Jul 24
I slip shrouded through a summer’s mist
Away from sterile streetlights
That cast a distorting haze, hiding
Endless solar waves, that rest above
This earthly place where I pass my days

With stars tied tight to an infant night
I run and cup one lightning bug for my lantern light
Like being guided by my adolescence, to an open shore
Where the sky meets the vastness of my sleepless mind
This place is free of weight that holds me down;
No thunderclouds hover above me now

Constellations; like scars upon the sky, share stories
Through the passing tides of time. Cassiopeia undone by her pride,
Reminds me when to swallow mine. So often, I feel chained like the maiden;
Andromeda, imprisoned by a pious Poseidon.
On this lonely beach,
I trace my own tale, like a signature on the night. Not a hero but,
I was here. The simple story of a wandering man,
Always willing to lend an ear.
Jul 22 · 536
Folly Of Our Fathers
Brett Jul 22
In my folly, of following fathers that have come before me;
I find myself lost, strewn about, and blown off course.
Teachers taught me time, in only the most linear of directions.
Yet the sins of those long past, seem to rest a weight,
Heavy upon my back.
Each of us an Atlas, on our knees before our masters.

It seems quite the contradiction, to have freedom inside a system.
Where rules are loose, in their applied use.
A game of pick and choose;
Played with loaded dice, that always seem to favor the few.
We the beast of burden, weakest first, penthouses the new-age church
Where the powers preach the verse.

Lost in our lack of direction, like southern-bound birds,
Plucked of their feathers.
Grounded in work boots, dumbfounded and resolute,
In poisoning our connective roots.
Fields of flowers and acres of pine, burning with the flame,
Stolen from us, somewhere along the line
A sinking ship, with only ***** rags to plug the holes.
Streets once paved with gold,
Forever cracked like our collective souls.
Poem should be three 6 line verses, but alas HePo loves to mangle my structure. ARGHH!
Brett Jul 21
Even when the days, are the darkest shade of ash and gray
I’ll find my way
                          Even when black holes, swallow up my summer sun
                          I’ll never run
Even when winding roads, leave me lost and all alone
I’ll always find my way back home
                          Even when my veins, are coursing with numbing pain
                          I’ll never forget my name
Even when love, is emptied dry from my cup
I’ll raise it to the rain, and watch the world fill it up again
Jul 21 · 538
Dressed In Blues
Brett Jul 21
Her face; like the moon, a golden summer hue
But I prefer her dressed in blues
Like ocean waves; or Stevie Ray
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝐼’𝓂 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎

Her body; like a plume, of feathered emeralds
Elegant, and gentle
Like cursive script; or a wind-swept kiss
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈

Her soul; like a treasure trove, of good intentions
And one too many exceptions
Like one more last dance; or shotgun romance
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒
Jul 20 · 365
Soggy Song
Brett Jul 20
I’m slipping slowly down the drain. The night is dark
And the face in my reflection, doesn’t look at me the same.
Cold disdain; no recollection of the last time I heard my name,
Spoken with grace. My faith is misplaced.
Not even a narrow escape through these castle gates would find me saved.
Only open plains await; with pain pouring down like acid rain.
These fields,
Will never flower. Just rest my head on a feathered bed,
As the world drowns around and drags me down beneath its depths.
Sand and shells in this silent hell. Darkness rings her dinner bell,
As sunken souls grab their hold, stripping my youth.
Used, abused, weathered, and confused; they never taught me the rules
Of how to save you
From you.
Brett Jul 19
I want to build a rocket ship, but this full moon blanket,
keeps me tangled up in bed.
Maybe a sun shower ,will birth a rainbow,
and I could build a bridge with that instead.
A walk with the weather, may be what I need,
to clear the clouds above my head.

The soggy sounds of rain, strum the chords,
that sing a song inside my brain.
A violin or guitar riff, to untwist the tornadoes,
my heart’s stuck with.
Who needs the stars, when I’ve got the sun,
to shine for me when bad times come.

My sandy feet always have the waves, to wash away,
the darker shades of cloudy gray.
These lonely lips even have a kiss, and the warm caress,
from her outstretched fingertips.
I want to build a rocket ship, but today,
I’ll just exist.
Jul 19 · 573
Ice Box
Brett Jul 19
Summer ice box, bolted to the block like a hustler’s ambition.
King of the corner. Hand to hand to every family man or,
A fiends fever dream. Metal mattress for the meek.
Chill spot on the streets,
For a late-night congregation of labeled freaks;
To people passing by at least.
Neighborhood staple. A practicing painters graffiti canvas.
Crowned with empty coffee cups turned bank accounts for the beggar.
Bent from stray bullets, but never broken.
Stalwart, abandoned bodegas
But the ice box remains.
The signature of a city that speeds away, but
Will never change.
Jul 19 · 509
Dressed In Moonlight
Brett Jul 19
Northern moon and quiet cold days
Are broken by the thunder's call
She walks barefoot on the banks
Dressed in her moonlight shawl

Whispered voices and starlit talks
Are safety from this weary world
Kiss your breath and adorn my heart
Amongst the clouds I don’t feel so small

My saving grace and calming rain
A hanging lantern inside my dark
Her cradled arms chase away this pain
And forces silence from the banging voice that haunts my thoughts
Jul 19 · 478
Shadows On My Wall
Brett Jul 19
Where hides my creator? All these open doors only lead me to nowhere.
Outlines of memories, like furniture that once sat at the center of this empty, dusty room.
Sun-soaked curtains project shadows, of all I once knew.
With each gust of wind, the projection rewinds back
to places I had forgotten I had ever been.
A twinkle through the glass presents her ring, but before an answer,
I become the shadow of a kid again.
Sitting alone with my only friend, a pen, playing pretend.
Lucid dreams of my past being viewed from the future.
I place a quiet hand on the shoulder of this passing shadow.
A silent gesture,
for all the wrong turns and cloudy climates awaiting ahead.
My frigid touch only feels a crumbling wall, and the one building up
inside the child of this past life. Never blind to hindsight,
I trace the wounds life has left me.
Self-inflicted regrets trapped inside this dingy room.
I burn it down and leave no semblance of remembrance.
Memory lane is just a pastel retell of an empty shell.
Be yourself.
Lucid dreaming to grant me the power to defeat these past demons.
Jul 18 · 247
The Buck Stop To Nowhere
Brett Jul 18
Everybody passes the buck. We pass it to politicians
They pass it to private owners
Who pass it right on down back to us.
We’re too lazy, nobody wants to work.
Flippin’ burgers at McDonald’s isn’t worth
More than a couple bucks. Give us your life
Give us your labor
We’ll give you death; once we finish
Using you up.
Condemned in the womb of your windowless room.
Attached at the brain, phone chargers like chains
Keeping you lame.
Double click for your fame, lay to sleep all the sane
As they point fingers of blame away from their face.
Jul 18 · 542
Used Up
Brett Jul 18
Feeling used up.
It all started as a way,
To suture oozing wounds and band-aid this pain.

Caught in the middle,
Of abuse and feeling myself again.
I create and I shake, like an earthquake of two dueling fates.

An artist and dearly departed.
Both tugging and pulling,
For a monopoly of my mind.

I quit and I writhe. I take and I shine,
Like a princess diamond set high upon the sky.
Sunshine from the outside; always setting in his eyes
I am sorry for the recent darkness that has overtaken my work. I understand if it is too much for some. I share in hopes of shining however dim a light on the darker side of life. Thank you.
Jul 17 · 651
Into The Flood Again
Brett Jul 17
Swimming through my blood again
The same soulless feeling
A boy found at ten

Empty silhouettes haunt my bed
Strands of blonde
Like a noose tied around my neck

Choking me slow
But what is pain to a portrait
Caught in the fire of a burning home
Rest in peace to all the fallen musicians who left far too soon. I could never count the inspirations. Thank You.
Jul 15 · 1.1k
Factory Made Man
Brett Jul 15
Look at the city from above
See how the towers of power
Cast shadow to the rabble
Cowering below

All these fields, stained dry, rusted brown
Gathered crowds are a ghost town
Disillusioned mental state of mass confusion
Factory made man

This free prison is a stretch of highway
With roads determined and paved
Two directions
Places you will never go, and the place you were always headed
Jul 15 · 851
Brett Jul 15
Blue ocean, sleepless tides
Under the surface
An endless well
Ringing out wedding bells

Holy matrimony, red rose ribbon
Beware the trap
Low-class living
Madman skips the system

Broken road, remote
Is not alone
Endless river, always some place to go
When I is all I own
Floating on a stream of conscious only I can ever understand.
Jul 14 · 509
Off The Leash
Brett Jul 14
I am addicted to peace, but it always seems to fall away from me.

Down in the depths that ring hollow, the material never seems real.

Something about a feeling, resonates on the only currency I care to perceive.

Like falling upwards, and watching the ground recede beneath.

These gridded blocks like bars, that keep me from being free.

Discarding dog tags, and gnawing through the leash,

That keep me tethered, to the hands controlling my belief.

All these passing smiles wreak of resignation.

Fabricated happiness, sows the seeds, of roots that clasp your feet;

Ensuring, you never leave the places,

That you never chose to be.
Jul 13 · 1.1k
Antique Heart
Brett Jul 13
A rusty cage conceals me
Deep beneath the waves, of another passing day
The blood inside my veins
Is laced with warmth, that erodes away the pain
The needle scratches vinyl
As the pills provide the music, singing sorrow in my brain

Lost on the lamb
Searching for the touch, from my own callused hands
A wind-up ballerina in her box
Doesn’t spin and twirl like she wants
Damaged dancer
Standing still, inside my antique heart
They have come to ***** the Rooster.
Brett Jul 13
Youthful exuberance never grows old; I suppose, until the creeping ivy cradles your gravestone.

This life; to me, is a passing train that always makes its way back around. Just not for you.

Every stop lets off the lost and picks up a child; weary, on their first day of school.

The hero in my mind rides, toward the destiny where he dies.

The wink inside his smile; resigned, for one more longing look up at the deep blue ocean canvas, where he penned the story of his life.

In his fading grin, he whispers one last nothing to wind. A cool breeze carrying his freedom. The silence, his last season.
The silent season
Jul 11 · 499
The Afflicted
Brett Jul 11
Hope here is dead. Man in a box, Cobain in my head.
Court me some love and spin on my throne,
Of brittle remorse.

Sick in the womb, the silver spoon pollutes.
Tiny tadpole in the pool, grows to patrol the Black Lagoon.
Devouring the newt it once knew.

Fearful men, conceal their worries, in tall tales of courage.
Ironclad, Iconoclast. Kings and heroes alike,
Plant their flags in fields of ash.
Jul 10 · 581
Cold Lesson
Brett Jul 10
Baby, it's me who taught you how to love
Out by the docks. On the Puget, where we found Sound
For all our secret thoughts.
               Deep into the night, slurring silence, sipping wine
               We let our feelings talk. A disheveled bed
               Was heaven then
The door was hell, comin' round the bend. Baby,
It was me who taught you how to love,
And it was you who taught me how to stop.
Brett Jul 10
Supersonic thoughts seem to speed up the passing of my life.
Just yesterday; it seems,
love and luck laid bare next to me,
like loaded dice on a Vegas summer night.

Now I cradle the ghost of unforeseen catastrophe.
Blood from bullet wounds
prove false my bravado.

Beneath the blackened circles of my weary eyes,
sleep calls to me
like a string quartet of warped wooden violins.

My wordbook’s scribblings are just a pale excuse for my silent sins. Like neglect and
blatant disrespect for the stacking of the deck against me.

There it is again. Quiet qualifiers to mask my true intent.
Heaven sent its hounds,
to drag me down; hell bound, for ignoring the silent sounds

Of tears that grace the ground before me.
An honest mistake for rain. Pain,
is like ****** for the insane, shooting through my veins.

Feeding the flowers you think you see, blooming
in the graveyards of my brain.
Jul 10 · 617
Litmus Test
Brett Jul 10
The litmus test for loneliness, is the approaching dark
and the clawing hand
that pulls you closer to your resignation to become engulfed in it.
An empty café
bustling only with,

The screaming thoughts that stack up in your mind like poker chips. The same expression frozen stiff makes you fake a smile
when least appropriate.
A jester at the funeral,

Human touch just strikes you as unusual because an open hand is like
subtle subterfuge, syphoning your soul for personal use.
Emotional exposure erodes a stone demeanor.
Loneliness is like an open road with no street signs pointing home.
Hold onto loneliness
Jul 8 · 548
Life In A Hyphen
Brett Jul 8
Only here till’ morning, so the night’s an open road and,
the beaten path only leads to mourning. An off-road traveler,
who escapes the chase of a pursuant sun.

Slow walking through river reeds.
A cupped handful of running water reinforces his state of being;
all but free.

Marathon of miles between, the first date on his gravestone and
the last number his mother reads at the bottom of his eulogy.
The hyphen shorthand for life and,

Missing the meaning through the seams, that connect his first day
to the day he leaves. An often-bereaved purveyor of shattered dreams,

Who stops to smile at every waving tree because,
even in despair he found belief beneath
the bared teeth of the machine trying to syphon from his peace.

A flower born from concrete.
Escaping through the cracked city streets;
out past the horizon line.
The dash between dates, holds all our memories. Tip-toeing on the edge of a tightrope.
Brett Jul 7
I got Jack Kevorkian in the trunk of,
My 911 Porsche Sport
With a leaky transmission and
Lighter fluid in the oil pan to,
Set myself ablaze
I'm the hottest killer in the game
Just a poet
Who pulls his threads of passion
From the sickness in his pain
The ink is blood that
          leaks out from my veins and,
Scribbles musings so desperate on the page
My mouth is like a leaky faucet
My hearts a busted watermain
           Flooding and empty room
Drowning out the poor excuse of
           The boy I was
In my wasted youth
A denizen of ***** diner booths
            With napkin rhymes that in my mind
Create the grand design of wasted time
That draws pencil lines
            Sketching out
This life of mine
Jul 6 · 399
Together Alone
Brett Jul 6
The sunset awakens the lonely dreamer,
Who gives no deference to the day.
Early mornings meet late nights on a one-way street and,
A late June crescent moon
Becomes a suitable seat,
To watch the world spin below my feet.  
I cast a kiss from way on high and,
Watch the wind carry my intentions
To the window of her bedroom.
It doesn’t stop and stare, it changes its shape.
The bluest of birds; perched, sings for her to wake
From the silence of her sleep, where somewhere down deep
I imagine that,
She was thinking of me. The lake through the trees
Where we waded waist deep, skipping our stones, together alone.
River of souls, to wither we go.
Lost love lingers like a loose thread on your favorite blanket.
Jul 3 · 997
Touch of a Woman
Brett Jul 3
I hope the supple touch
          Of all the women I have ever loved
Cascades like rain
          Over every inch of this Earth’s terrain
Let the sunrise kiss from her crescent lips
          Chase away the nights gangly grip
Turning barren fields
          To blooming bastions
Of roots and seeds, nurtured into
          The smile underneath a weeping willow tree
Raise the bones of change
          From their dusty graves of grief
Discard your flesh and,
          Bare to me only what lies beneath
A woman's touch can ignite life back into blackened ash and dust.
Jul 2 · 877
Brett Jul 2
The wick is fading, and I have no matches left
In this dark abyss where I sit depressed
My valiant heart has become a perch for crows
Smile shaped in stone
Each embrace stiff and cold from my marbled soul
My arms depict a grasping hand
Reaching for a world these etched eyes will never know
Trapped in the heart of a withered artist
His mad dealings mold and make me
A victim of his musings
Crafted in a candlelit madness
Delicate delusions and vague allusions
To courage in the many veiled faces of death
Carved and set at the base of the steps
Jul 2 · 355
Bury The Boy
Brett Jul 2
Dancing with my ghosts, on a midnight summer’s eve
A cacophony of determined footsteps
Mirrors the melody played
On the last night I spoke my piece

A candlelight vigil for time wasted
Buried is the boy, who once lived inside my waking dreams
Now bereaved, the man forgets all the boy has seen
Trapped inside of photo albums, in an attempt to resuscitate fading memories
Jul 1 · 618
Forever Falling
Brett Jul 1
Forever falling
Through the open hearts of outstretched arms
Tunnel vision of the past
Paves the roads ahead
The off-ramps of destiny are untamed, forgotten, and overgrown
No safety awaits me, and
There is no shelter under the roof of a broken home
Storms chase me, but
In thunderclouds I drown out the world
Weary of only the weather
Inside his own reflection
Jul 1 · 440
Kings With No Hearts
Brett Jul 1
In this wasteland of avarice, I struggle to pull silver threads
From this gray cover of smog. The sound of brittle bones aching,
Drowned out by the quaking footsteps of titans.
Men, who would be gods, push for you to play your hand.
Knowing from their fingers, have you been dealt the cards.
A deck of diamonds, devoid of Kings with hearts.
Honor has been dead, since Pride married Malice and,
Greed shacked up with strife. 21st century freedom.
A modest monetary price,
For ownership stake of your life.
There is no honor in a wasted life.
Jun 29 · 444
One More Last Dance
Brett Jun 29
Walking on a windy, late night crooked street. I call to my city,
To play that soft bassline beat. The one that captures,
The red shade from cheeks. Tonight, I step with ease.
Fresh oiled springs,
Bring a bounce, back into my knees.
Full moons are a flourish for the freaks.
Yet in this dark veil, only loneliness presents a hand,
To dance with me.

I bow at the honor. Emptiness is just the face I need, to imagine,
A smile that never takes its leave. In this heartbeat of a dream,
Moments mirage, and recreate my most cherished scene, from
Our midnight movie marriage, when the space between,
Was only the frills of your dress and,
The stitching on my jeans.
Dance with your memories , like the past
Jun 28 · 337
Brett Jun 28
No man is free that speaks from a cage.
Choke chains spiked to the dirt,
Sweat feeds the fields like rain.
With calloused hands,
The nameless toil away. Fed a morsel,
From a fistful of grain.
Praying for clouds to shelter the sun;
If only for a day.
A famine of hope. Straw cities of the voiceless,
Screaming silence.
How much is an hour of your life worth?
Brett Jun 26
I sit on the seat of a silent hill, watching hope stripped bare
Like tender flesh ripped from the bone. Where do I go from here?
The words in this world, are poisoned with pain.
Even the ink on this wrinkled page decays, like
Receding waterways that turn rivers
Into mass graves. Every frontier turns to a last bastion.
No decadence can dress the dead. Sunken souls
Weighed down by boots of lead. Work and worship.
Open plains become a purgatory for the horseless.
I search.
Brett Jun 25
What is it that makes me miss
The lighter fluid on your lips. Toothaches from a temptress,
And her candy kiss. Arm’s elastics wrap me up. So foreign,
Is this human touch. Like a siren she swims and sings,
To lure me close enough to clutch. An ephemeral embrace,
That chews me out and spits me up.
Love eats hearts for lunch.
Love is a luxury I can seldom afford.
Jun 24 · 767
Awoken Unbroken
Brett Jun 24
Laying in bed today, listening to tunes
          As I so often do
A feeling encroached, one I could not shake
          Or attempt to lose
The sound of sadness, through the microphone
          Blew the dust from my aging bones
Sunlight diffused, into the tomb
          Of my desolate room
Shadows scattered, from their thrones
          To reveal four walls of stone
Flowers dressed, this cold gray place
          Where I woke from rest
Bare and unburdened, my blemished fleshed took its first steps
          Bent but not broken, rebirthed, awoken
The ticking hands of time draw a line, between a lived life, and the moments you feel alive.
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