O joyous world
for which I weep,
what splendid treats
you share with me.

For I've seen your
beauty in green mountain side,
or in soft blue skies as far as
my eyes reach.

I've been entranced by mirrored lakes
and natural silence.

I weep for the people
who will not see,
the elegance carved before me.

I weep for the world
encased in sin,
a concrete evil that shackles our will.

Where were you in Montréal,
when the heavens sang a disjointed chord,
a harmony both rich and poor,
where were you in Montréal?

Where were you in Montréal,
when we took a drag outside the bar,
and learned there's more to who we are,
where were you in Montréal?

Where were you in Montréal,
when the cobblestone path led us home,
despite our hearts begging to roam,
where were you in Montréal?

Where were you in Montréal,
when the sun rose like gentle tide,
like a warm blanket on a cold night,
where were you in Montréal?

Where were you in Montréal,
when we branded warm memories,
inside the souls of you and me,
where were you in Montréal?

I thought I'd take a walk today,
down the road,
around the block.
Detach myself,
go where I feel,
not where I think.

I found myself under dimly lit street lamps,
questioning the lamps ferocity.
Man strives for evolution,
and around me it stands,
a testament to our ferocity,
our everlasting battle to be better.
Yet it feels so limp,
a dim light like a wisp of wind.
Not a raging fire,
a lions roar.

How great are we really?
Are the edifice of our time a testament to our eminence?

I stare into the window of a home.
On the television,
damnation.
A preacher and a parishioner,
absorbing the rhetoric.

One might think nothing of it,
but everything has a motive.

As I round the bend,
I think to myself an old idiom,
"the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak".
Our evolution is stalled under the impression that these edifice represent progress.
Alas, our minds remain stale.
Thousands of years of blood,
greed and deceit,
rest under dimly lit street lamps,
unseen and ignored.

Sun perched in the trees,
why do you stare at me?
I’ve not sinned!
Sun perched in the trees,
why can’t you leave me be?
Rest already so I can breathe,
I’m barely standing,
on my knees.
Your piercing gaze,
jets through me.
You ******* sun,
let the night take thee.
A stain in the sky,
blistering high,
perched in the trees,
let me be!
I’ll trade you for anything,
even disease,
just bury yourself deep,
into stone and granite.
Settle behind cloudy seas,
burrow into hillsides if need be,
just avert your gaze,
sun perched in the trees.

Seasons come and gone,
grey ice fights the waves.
Sun stretches its arms,
its reach not far away.

Warm air pockets come,
cold air fights to maintain.
A steel grip on my soul,
but it slips away.

Sitting on stony earth,
the most comfortable I’ve been it weeks.

Hard ice gives away,
to soft embracing mud.
Wind whispers warm secrets,
of sweet summer love.

Holding out for hope,
the brighter future fades,
taken by the sound,
of an invasive plane.

Rainy nights thinking about Rwanda,
fog seeps out of the woods.
Like smoke, it crawls across the fields.
My head lights attempt to cut through it,
as it intensifies, inhibiting my drive,
but it’s nothing compared to Rwanda.

I arrive at the Mobil,
wait five minutes for the cashier to notice I’m here.
When she does, she hobbles over.
I attempt to buy a pack of backwoods,
my card gets declined,
but it’s nothing compared to Rwanda.

I get in my car,
and have a fit when I can’t find my keys,
but it’s nothing compared to Rwanda.

I begin to drive,
get cut off and curse fellow man,
but it’s nothing compared to Rwanda.

I ***** and I moan,
an entitled little ****,
but I’m alive,


which many can’t say after Rwanda.