Grey clouds crack open, weeping angels,
rain cascades, a liquid broom
washing earth's filth and sin.
The smell? Enigmatic—spring's embodiment,
summer evening's bold scent.
Drops like strings, smacking,
a hundred clapping hands under a faucet.
The wind keeps pace, whooshing,
shaking excess from leaves.
Tires glide on wet slick,
cars pass like crashing waves.

Peaceful, serene, innocent, refreshing.
Cold strings, exploding like macro water grenades,
rejuvenate skin.
A wonder to stare at, always.
Whether three, experiencing first cognizance,
or thirty-one, marveling.
Rain, a majestic measure of universal peace
in a world of chaos and noise.
Chaotic itself, like a jazz band drumming,
wind wailing past windows—
yet so serene.

Still, rain brings annoyance.
Bones ache, joints lock and creak,
and a youthful strut turns rusty tin-man waltz.
But its mysticism deafens pain
and frees the mind to fly.
Clarity, a rare enigma,
tickles skin raises arm hairs,
kisses lips with reality,
appearing ****, flirting with prismatic curves—
often ignored, and unnoticed.
Euphoria is splendidly remiss.

So easy to catalog memories,
reflect in life's mirror,
and determine what needs changing.
Everything changes with time.

Life, a garden.
We inherit seeds of knowledge,
plant interesting parts.
Love and sadness water, shine on plants
bearing flowers we call friends:
tulips, lilacs, dangerous roses.
Unique: blue, orange, red, white, pink.
Some sweet, some foul.
Each one is unique.
Flowers grow wild and wilt on vines.
Some aren't flowers, but weeds,
diseasing what they touch, like death.
Covered in insects, eroding beauty.
As a gardener, you decide:
anarchic disarray?
Or grab shears, and prune ugliness.
Friends who matter won't let your soul wilt.
Yes, rainfall brings such clarity.

But clarity's bubbles are superficial.
Easily burst, window closing, smog reconfiguring.
A bowling ball rolls across the sky and strikes pins—
a lucky strike.
Tree branches of light shoots extend,
lasts a second, and seems slower.
Adrenaline rushes, heart pounds like a drum.
Seconds pass, another strike, another flash.
A storm had come...
and it would pass.

Bereft breaths
Under the canopy
Of this old one
Bark covered shade watches over me
Like a blanket of shadow
A sea of hands holding onto
But all I hear is echoes,
Ringing through this hallowed
Hollow hole you left to hide me.

If only I could get up,
Stand on weighted feet
To press forward shield steadying me
Hoping this could be my retreat
Vacancy for one and I rest my head sojourn .

I’m searching, some where past the distance
Foreclosing on my ramparts
Fault line fissures crackle,
Open ripples in the deep cuts
Repair or compensate for failures
Regrets creep and blur vision.

Howdy! I want to try and connect with my followers better…and even some of you who aren’t following me yet! One of the things that I am most passionate about in life is music. It’s one of my go to salves when I’m in distress and my tastes are eclectic! But I’m curious,

What bands/artists are in your current rotation?

For me it’s: Coheed and Cambria, Sleep Token, President, mastodon, and Lorna Shore.

It’s getting louder in the silence
And even harder to breathe,
My heart wretches with a hunger
And I’m desperate to feed.

It should have been so easy,
Growing life from a seed,
Watching you grow where I could never follow
Has taken its toll.

Scars are etched upon my soul,
Lesions pressed against the brain,
I don’t even dream any more,
The day they took you from me
Was the day everything changed.

It feels like I’m lost at sea,
Floating on wishful hope
And tree bark memory,
As the pine sticks through my flesh
Back riddled with all their blades
I’m bled out to feel these sharks
Of my doubts encircle me.

What could have been,
Had I known then,
How to be a better man,
Instead I—
Feel the weight of burden
Anchor me to this boulder
Where carrion comes to pick me clean.

It’s getting louder in the silence
Desperation in the form of a plead
Seethed through every exhale
When it’s the loss of you I breathe.

Lost like a poltergeist in purgatory
Shuffling in this flesh husk like a zombie,
Loveless, I can’t , feel you
Loveless, I can’t , feel anything at all.

It should have been me,
And I want you to know,
If I could trade places,
I’d rot in the earth,
Faded like paper pulp after the rain,
Scatter my ashes into the sea,
And watch as the sharks of my doubts
Encircle me.

Maybe I am ugly,
It’s a fair point.

I’m not nearly as handsome,
After giving up the ghost on my hair,
After years of abuse to my joints,
The combat sports and bruises,
Broken bones, contusions.
Scars and reconstructions.

Maybe I’m not a particularly pretty packaged cup of tea,
But I’m plenty strong,
Built ford tough and could run through you Like a Ram.
I’m olive toned marble
With a slick tongue.

I am endowed in ways Aphrodite blushes
And taught just as well how to wield its power
I need not look like vin diesel
To know that I am furious and rarely fast.

I’m not an ogre
Or an incel
Ungrateful for life
Or stuck inside my own shell,
I’m half Sicilian and proud,
Part Mexican with a dah of Irish,
Green eyed, and hot tempered
Black belt, and fists of fury
Gun lover , and whiskey shooter.

I’m an artist,
Photographer for funsies
Love to camp, hike weekly
And I earn plenty of monies,
Clicking on a keyboard,
Penetrating weaknesses ,
Like chess boards
While coaching my underlings
New pawns I push forward.

So yeah,
Maybe I’m ugly,
But what I have in spades
Is the fact that when you call my name
It’s a statement of fact
I’m more man than most claim to be,
And I don’t try to dominate
It’s what’s bred within me