An epiphany
is something I now consider an antiquity;
and relentlessly I have sought,
a productive, unstoppable train of thought.
But to no avail.
Instead my words hit the page like Hell-hail;
and it must sound tell-tale,
But I still feel frail
because I spilled my entrails onto this page
and all i have are a few lines and a violent rage
that can't be quelled until I'm known for poetic grace.
Am I crazy? Did that sound sane?
I have no idea; I have a strange brain.

A writers mind
should be thoughtful and kind.
It may also be sore with sorrow;
or have a grimace of grief.
But; with a sigh of relief
I must say,
hell or high water they find a way
to get under your skin, and there they stay.
Whether It's Poe with woe;
or Frost with snow,
their thoughts crowd your mind while they grow and grow.
Leaving you desperate to find;
an idea of your own.

Synthesis;
When the rich enlist Or when you cease to desist,
A kiss or bliss.
Maybe both
A high note,
You scream from the crowd
You're not allowed
To see me like this.
Don't resist;
I told them what to do
I knew, I knew
You would try to get through
To me.
I know our one and two will soon be three;
But baby please,
Make this easy for me.
Your tears crashed to the ground
Like the mortars falling all around
Leaving my brothers never to be found.
Your cries met my ears
Like the waves met the sand
where I stood
Near the slaves to the system
With their rifles that glisten,
Peppering the ground around me.
Then that brave young man charged me with a knife,
I thought of my boy and my wife
Before reflecting upon my own life.
I hesitated.
Because I knew, I knew
He was a son too
There was nothing I could do;
But let this boy run me through,
the choice I made Kept this boy safe.
Like I want mine to be;
Unfortunately;
This is no letter dear,
Its an apology.