I make and repair clocks
Yet often I find myself
Trying to forget the time

Deadly to his enemies,
confusing to his friends

While faithful to his writing,
—all justified intent

Furious in times of war,
in peace his vision burns

But past the fray inside his verse,
a gentler spirit yearns

Salvation long then sacrificed,
a fate he can’t deny

A cross that’s left for him to bear,
but still his spirit cries

Through battles mostly devil sent,
and victories sealed with death

This guilt the price he’s had to pay,
now felt with every breath

One wish at last he prays out loud,
one cry is sent above

“My spear, my pen, my will to live
I trade all back for love”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

To tell if you’re a Poet,
from the first line to your last

Do your words connect with feeling
—the future to the past

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

There’s a poetry to life,
that gets lost between the lines

A secret in each memory,
that the future often finds

A stillness born of movement,
that will last beyond today

Salvation in this moment
—as eternity has its say

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)