A decomposer
of brutish sins oft
repeated, I worm
past the pretty germs
shut tight in candied
shells, bursting to birth
untapped corruptions.
It's on the sawdust
dollops buried deep
I feed, biting bits
from soiled skins riddled
by regrets of not
offending good more.
Turning their oaken
flavors o'er gently,
my mouth will work them
down to a relish
of soft, black leavings.

There is no boon in Spring,
In the way the birds sing,
Or in flowers that bloom.



The season of treason,
And Pregnant affliction
The season of rebirth.



Winter, there’s a beauty,
In weather’s agony,
And all is a ghost white.



Knowing the sun will rise,
Rise over cold demise,
That is total beauty.



Though Baldur sings in spring,
I will hear no such thing,
Instead I’ll watch her rise.



Rise over barren fields
That the cold, white snow yields
Watch and witness beauty.

It seems all the time like
Life ensnares you and
Makes you think twice when
You try to be present in
The moments of bliss but
So often we
Are only aware
Of the moments we all wish that
Life would spare
Us because
Time is never kind it
Makes sure my
Back is turned
When the stars are aligned.

Change in life is uncertain
The bard lifts the curtain
The play has many acts
Reveals unknown facts

A new dawn is breaking
The journey worth making.
Book a trip, use the edge of your seat
Mistakes of the past, not to repeat.

Joy is a secret, hidden the road
See if you can break the code
Put the struggle behind you
Those chains no longer bind you

On the road to happiness rolling
The scenes, verve of life extolling?
I’ve seen the hope and possibility
The show ends, curtain lowers with tranquility.