Wild winds wind the fury
Of fallen cinder dreams
Left in ashes from fiery gaze
Introspectiom sets aflame
Burning desires, mental empires
King of the ******, fiendish smiles
Crooked eyes and a fever pitch

The bloom of creativity seems to be,
Wilting in the crimson soaked fields

Violent ammunition is seldom fruitful,
But I've been betting on the yield.

I flew, I flew
Back home.
To familiar roads
To familiar people

So ready to miss
All the things I left
Only to become bored
At what was once splendor

I saw the sights
I drank the liquors
Cheering my merry way
With friends and boulevards

I was happy, but the empty kind
Where you long for something
Not offered in the present moment
So quickly how things change.

I'm headed back now
To a new home
With new roads
With new friends

And that too, is okay.

Tonight I get on a plane
Back home, to the place
That I left behind. The place
Where I packed up my things
Where I say goodbye and left.

But tonight I'll return. I wonder
What that will that be like. To return
To go back. How will I feel. Shall
Nostalgia take over and nuzzle me
As I embrace sweeter memories.

Or as I predict, will I learn that,
I can never go back. That what I
Left behind will never be. And that
Now, where I am, before this plane
Before I return is what waits for me.

I fell hard for a stranger,
Her words, the pauses between them,
The boldness in which she spoke,
And of course the confidence in her approach.

But, woe is me, captivated fool.
Palavar was a sweet heat exchange.
Fast passion in shared interest.
The flurry of tongues refreshed,
Impressed by the company of another.

I left with only a name,
No good at this game,
Of courtship.

King Midas has his gold.
The writer has his folly.

He’s broken bread on a tale or two.
Hundreds of scores, blessed by few.

Memories dwindle between the pages,
Pieces of self transcribed over ages.

Words written today,
Swiftly begin to fade.

Every line which is writ,
Leaves scars, oozing grit.

Nobody is the same as Yesterday,
But what’s this chameleon to say?

An invader most foreign has arised.
Dooming with thoughts of demise.

The cycle of ancient history,
All creation forgotten in tomorrow’s mystery.

Stampeding through the wind,
Navigating low valleys. Boom.
Thunder swallows me.
Reborn into bedrock,
The mountain side crumbles.

I muddle in uncertainty,
as time dwindles dawn.

All the while wondering,
if I’ll make the final song.

Shall I make the end of the story,
in anyone’s spinning tale.

These thoughts are always fleeting,
and the pain never fails.

Scream now dear echo,
hold that note so strong.

Now comes the waiting,
always lasting so long.

I was once stone
The naivety of my hope
Induced a wonderful illusion
Of a changed world, just on the horizon

This rock, and its sediment
Held the key to my ignorance
Never noticing my erosion
Caused by the hatred of men

As a sensible,
As a logical,
And a well informed fellow
I asked that when you meet the Devil
Where do you draw the line?

Quick wit, to leave me assured
You affirmed, my friend, I'll never cross this line

Persistent and fiendish, as Devils are
He barreled through the line, with evil in his eye

Thankful to have a friend, I asked, is this enough?
Uneasiness overcame me when you said it was okay.

Quick wit, to leave me assured
You affirmed, my friend, I'll never cross this line

But he truly was hell, this ****** Devil
Carelessly he pushed right through, past the line again.

Worried, I asked, well surely we're in danger?
Of course not, he replied, siding with Devil and his plan

Quick wit, to leave me assured
You affirmed, my friend, I'll never cross this line

With no limit, his forked tongue just laughed
Storming through again, no one in his way

Terrified, I pleaded, this nonsense had to stop
My friend, now foe, said this is the only way

How foolish I must be to,
To ever believe a line that couldn't be crossed.
And to think you'd stand by me.

Golden eyes drink dry
Goblets of sunrays

Swallowing gallows of Greed
Guzzling and Gobbling

Like fat cats gazing
Down upon field mice

Gallantly waiting for
False Gods, redeeming
Envy's green deciet

I’ve stood coast to coast, listening to whistling, winding songs of the ocean waves.

I’ve lost myself in the sound and stories across the American highway.

Growth is not linear. A new place doesn’t make a new person. You take your baggage. You take all of the miserable excuses. You take time.

I’m not a sojourner. I’m not a traveler. I’m not some whimsical man.

Though, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it all. Enjoying it through the gritted teeth of resentment.

Reality is what you make of it. The when and where can matter, but it’s not all there is.

Sometimes we just need the roots to settle.
Sometimes we just need to let life bloom.

So I’ll take a drink, praise the sun, and live.

This person
Is the Gestalt consciousness
Of beings both infinitely wise and foolish
Entities of absolute good and evil
Who, when encouraged to do so
Summon phonetical hymns
To invoke emotion in pure song
These individual constructs
While impressive in their solitude
Fail in comparison to their unity
Each a wildcard
That, when played
Become a wildfire of truth.

Belief is dangerous
It envelops the I into WE
Complicated by the fact
That every believer believes
They believe in the truth
With no one willing to back down
Wars are waged on the idea of God
Insidious as they are, these battles
Take on many forms, with body counts
That remain the same. Annihilation
In exchange for Assimilation
And a peace that cannot be.
For if my God is right
Then yours is wrong.

Few whisper in the air
On the outskirts of borders and labels
But are forgotten in the scribes of time
This dangerous and vindictive game
For which all believers are to blame

The dead weep in irony
At the hypocrisy of belief
In which thoughts and scripture
Are far more the same
But are unyielding in bloodshed

Piercing Eyes of Goldenrod.
Both bold and brilliant.
The calming center in a hurrricane
Of blue and white feathers.
A gaze which levels any ego,
That should find itself too
Important, in either size or space.
(Do you believe in omens?)
Rebirth is on the horizon,
Or so the star seekers say.
Change, the end of old ways, days.
(But I'd not think it)
The Universe likes to share whispers,
Of things to come or happenings of maybe.
There is no intent ill or otherwise,
Just the honest grievances of time.
As this God of Death, sits high upon
Stilts which bathe in still waters,
I see horror. I see despair. I see death.
That vision, those eyes, golden and
Sinister, but humble all the same.
While the winds sing of new life,
I hear the sorrowful hymns of death.
(Balance.)
There are many ways of knowing.
Magic both black and white.
Magic old as time, as new as a moment.
And if I should see the dark days ahead,
Count that a blessing, to see anything at all.

Lost in the footsteps
That brought me back
To the quiet field which
Still bares my impression

From days when the grass
Powerful and green, wrapped
Me tightly in its embrace
As day and night passed
Through the clouds above

I remember the blank expression
As raindrops navigated down my face
Sometimes I'd even shed a tear
For only the Wind would know

Seeing it now, brown and lifeless
I wonder how I was maintained
After all, I was the one who,
Abdandoned such sweet sanctuary

I pay my respects,
Get down and *****
Laying in the past
Dry eyed, wishing
It would rain.

Far worse than just living on borrowed time,
he was living on borrowed space.

The bullet would be bit, a future price so high, neglect was the only agency to survive the now.

Pulling forward, thinking forward,
such tasks had always been simple.

The lateral moves, the pulling inward,
that was all that mattered now.

He had reflected on what might be, what would be paid in time.

Now came the time for the real gestalt wizardry.

An individual across time is a power spanning infinitely between two points.

An individual across space is a power infinite an a singular moment.

At the axis of all where’s and when’s stood the final gamble.

He knew that now, that every threshold of influence across all space and time, mattered.

Within this amalgam of chaos stood purpose, and purpose would do fine.

On a quest to lose myself
In a wilderness of disbelief
An unknown path to nowhere
Stumbling on the hidden roots
I was brought to my knees

Before a boiling frustration
and held back tears could overwhelm
the forest tendrils tended to me
A blanket of foliage became a womb
As a child, I returned to her

Standing what seemed forever
Above the canopies of trees
Lay a trunk of stone, worn
The marvel was magic
A fallen oak, which was life

The barren love, was feint
And she was still dying
Tending to her children
Even on the brink of extinction
We cried and I woke up.

I carry the guilt of remembering the dead
In fear that if I don't, who will.

This tug of war between time and memory
Brings fatigue to my soul.

Anger has long passed, leading the road
With forgiveness at its end.

Though, in celebrating life, I can't help feel
The weight of every conversation.

That dangerous, infinite, path of what if.
Decisions and indecisions that brought death.

Answers may never be found, though I hope,
To relinquish this guilt of remembering.

There are no what ifs,
In the sea of the could haves.

For what should,
Certainly would.

Leaving only,
What is, to be.

I'm living on borrowed time
Sleeping on tomorrow's time
Most days I'm very particular about sleep.
About six and a half hours does the trick.

This evening we decided to share wine, two bottles.
Spur of the moment decision, it was only Monday.

(Is this what it feels like, a real relationship)

We laugh, we talk, she holds me, I return the favor.
Later, we make love for the first time.

She's been waiting, but so have I, for the first time.
I'm mesmerized, I take it slow, I want it to last.

We are open, we are honest.
I feel safe, so very unlike me.

There is no anxiety about this,
There is no self destruction.

She stays awhile, we exist in each others comfort.
She leaves, I walk her out, we say our goodbyes.

And I'm left thinking, I'm happy.
I'm thinking, its been such a long time.

So I've forfeited some sleep, in the hour of the lover.
To bring forth and borrow more tomorrows.

There existed a haunted cathedral
The eerie tune of the Grand piano
Resonated with deaths call for harvest
Bells echoed into the endless night

Running to escape into the darkness
The courtyard labyrinth is cruel
For no one can leave, when the bells toll
Creatures writher at the night mares moan

The keepers creep through desolate halls
Lanterns lit with soulless smiles
Eager to feast on the lost and hopeless
Ah, this monolith is hell, the end is here

Suppression weights heavy in my hand.
Holding the bleeding,
beaten remnants of my essence.

Outstretched, stripped from my chest,
clinging to the soft ideals
of a peace to never come.

Words of hatred, poisons I have made
created in failed attempt to love.
Piercing me, debilitating daggers
wounded, body broken.

All energy exhausted pulling
farther from me the strings attached
to what was once life.

Heart in hand, destroyed mantle
of my physical being, beating slowly
Crimson paints the floor.

Instinct shields this torn entity
to protect the last connection
the undying belief in love.

It had to super secede conscious thought.
To be biologically absolute.

Overthinking is a non conundrum.
Fight or flight, that’s all that’s left.

Removing choice, perhaps the key,
Though it’s no clear cut sanity.

Precision is swift, through non mortal blows,
Just within the fringes of lethality.

On the edge of life or the brink of death.
Let the flesh decide for itself.

Books are fuel to the imagination.

Works of fiction pour into my mind,
hours at a time.

I feel the power rise,
as I climb through expositions.

Looking down,
I see the world in the palm of my hand.

Looking up,
I see my face amongst the clouds.

On this high I craft my own words,
some spoken and others in ink.

And as I fall,
I ponder the time until my return.

Do I exist as the Day before
The serrated edges of brokeness
Distort any resemblance once known
Light dips endlessly into the gaps
Hoping to find a reflection to the surface

Darkness is the suture to the shattered
Weaving together ruined flesh
Inhaling deceit, runs waves of despair
How much can be replaced
Before I am lost in the night.

I was held hostage
By a white man in uniform
Wasn't a policeman, private security
He wore his gun on his belt, seemed nice
Approaches me in the night
Approaches me who is minding my own
He's talking to me, but I have no where to go
I can't run, I can't leave, I'm stuck
He's talking to me, about life
Talking about how he hates paying taxes
Talking about how he works for his own
His words are acid, an ignorant eruption
I have to bare this, I can't risk it
I do not dare. I do not dare risk it.
To tell this man to leave, this white man
With a gun, in uniform, patroling
Maintaining the peace.
My heart is racing, I want to escape
But I'm his hostage, socially bound
To the mercy of this white man and his gun.

The Madness of blended reality, is confidently marching through my mind.
I could not resist the sweet sound of this haunting Muse.
She sang her dismal songs, which shook me something fierce.
Astounding words which resonate feelings I've never mustered.

Now comes the crazy, the loud bellowing of endless chords.
I'm running, clasping my ears ever so tightly, to no avail
The chantey is banging in the walls of sanity, louder and louder.
Tossing and turning, wide eyed and insane, her song goes on.

Even in my dreams, which have become their own nightmares, sing.
I cannot escape this tune, marching to the gates of some type of truth.
What am I missing, and shall silence elude me in my descent of ill will.
I roll back my eyes, to see the darkness play with such fever.

Hopeless, I give in, I let it play, over and over and over again.
I allow this cursed song to grace this shameful and unforgivable self.
For a moment, I try to believe it will end, knowing full well, its a lie.
Now, repeating with ominous terror, she sings louder, I began to crack.

I've been meaning to write
The time comes when whirlwinds
Words churning in the mind
Begin to babble their own tales

In absence of a pen
Collecting words and rhythms
Like the swear jar in my youth
So I'm in need of inspiration

Of course, today was not my day
I lost my favorite hat
The hat in my mind  which would
Imbue my words with fever

A cold glass to calm me down
Drink in the summers eve
Nature always puts me in the mood
To freely write my thoughts away

And then it began to rain
She is my lover, but not today
Things have not gone my way
Its pouring and I hate it

Pitter, patter, hum.
Steady beat of a downpour.
Crashing against the Earth.
A sound that can be inhaled.
Then exhaled with a crisp undertone.

I live for these days.
The rhythm growing all around
Climaxing into profound music.
Nature speaks in melodies,
Using harmony to explore the depths.

It comes and goes,
The tingle of raindrops on my skin.
Submerged in the aquatic symphony,
I feel alive, all parts of me vibrate.
As if subconsciously I relay my tune.
A note or two off, a bit rusty.

But I find myself.
Matching the ferocity of the storm,
With subtle beauty.
I mentally capture this moment.
Then screaming at the top of my lungs,
I let it all out, setting it free.

Tears welled in the mourning of everything unwritten.

The mind's starvation is the stagnation of the imagination.

Survival has been no serenade.

Severed strings. I dangle free.
Master only to psychopathy.

Take it all. Every crutch.
Can’t manipulate,
What you cannot touch.

I'm sorry you think me offended
I'm sorry you refuse to see
I'm sorry when I show you the mirror
that its white fragility you see
I'm sorry that I don't fit your narrative
that America is the greatest to be
I'm sorry that it hasn't been, not for people
like me
I'm sorry that you can't accept it's different

But I am not sorry for who I am
Nor am I sorry for what I believe
Not sorry for the truth
Not sorry for my protest
Not sorry for the bruising words
Not sorry for the wounded ego
Not sorry for the things to come
Not sorry that I'll never quit

Just sorry for you.

Temptation need not be confused with conviction.
Of course I feel the pull of wicked ways,
But the lure is not my Oddessey.
I could write a thousand sins,
Repent, inevitably repeat, and lie
I am ruled by a crooked rage
A poisoned oak in a forgotten wood
Rotting, to the grave I wear this facade.

My heart of darkness grows
Screaming silently into
A searing white noise
Deafening any comprehension.

It envelops my chest
Pouring itself, washing over
Climbing and crawling
Weaving its way, ticking violently.
Scrapping at my bones
Begging for the light of those
Good natured innocent folk.

Waiting to reel them in
Infecting them with hope
Leaving only emptiness and blind hatred.

Spreading sinister vibes to new host
The thirsty for fresh blood
Never quite quenched.
I hunger for sugar smiled
Still beating hearts of those
Yet to suffer my hate.

Brown beetles, shiny shells
Embedded into my skin.
Burrowing, these crawlers
Find their home in my flesh.

I tear away, in a frenzy
For fear they'd make a stay
But this twisted dream
Ended, with the sunrise

Yet, much to my demise,
The itch, scratching, scuttling
Many legs, swimming among
All of me, an awful psychosis

I feel the digging, controlling.
Betrayed, I cannot trust where
My own extension , begins
And where insects end.

Time is the 4th dimension
Across space, Existing infinitely
Within life's frame of reference
Daily routine,  past, present, future

Experienced simultaneously
Anger of yesteryear
Present presenting content
Confusion of the future

All at once
breathe in unison
What you were
What you are
What you will become

I've not lived a day, the same man
As the day before.

Nor do I live now, intending to be
Anything less than more.

I found a voice, for silent screams

They sang of yesterdays, prayed for todays
And died for tomorrows.

I found a voice, for silent screams

They sang of yesterdays, prayed for todays
And died for tomorrows.

Hush now, lay down to rest.
Haunt the Earth no more.
Your children, are my children
Your dreams, are my dreams

Sun rising, we March to Freedom

I remember his memories
Sometimes they are mine
A world of attrition
Skewed by rosey lenses

I felt his pain as they shattered
I felt the burning cuts in his hands
I felt that strong grip as he held the pieces
Just as I felt his strength wilt

He tried,
But feeling for the first time
The physical suffering brought on
by a conflict of emotions unresolved
Led the poor boy down a road
An avenue to bleed out the hate
To break the skin that trapped them in

Short term relief
For long term grief
He sought me out
And asked with a plea
To take his life, and set him free

Sometimes I hear him,
In the back of my head
But no, he isn't dead
He wills himself day by day
To not pull the trigger
Of the shaking gun of deciet.

Being at fault
Makes matters worse

Knowing that
The crippling
Heart wrenching
**** this hurts
Kind of pain
Is the result
of your own doing

If you knew how I died
Everytime that I see you
Tearing apart at the fact
On one hand, you're beautiful
and I love you
And on the other
I allowed you to slip away
Through my inability
To see past my own decisions

My love, if you ever wonder
Into the land of the unknown
Know that I shall always remain

What does it mean to be me,
The soul of a brother,
In the light skin of another..
Mulatto.

That biracial boy with white walls
And white bars,
A prison of stolen identity.

White & Black/ Black & White
Day & Night/ Night & Day

I'm the gray and the dusk inbetween

I wash my demons down with the local brews

Looking out the window panes of dreary nights and days of rain.

A guy and his guitar sing soft beats and sets the evening mood.

His fingers strum the delicate strings, as the music calls to me.

The second round comes and I'm in despair,

As the words that flow leave me gasping for air

The truth in a strangers tune, run down into each stroke of my pen

Here I go again, setting the nightmares free.

Dawn breaks,
Wind rages,
The crow caws thrice.

Marvel at the poet's sin,
Bardic Rule of Law,
Inspiration at Death's Maw.

Deep pockets of space-time,
Treasured energies and auras.
Always looking outward, never within.

Universe, overture of divine sadness.
Humanity, limerick of contained madness.
Bound infinitely in harmonic chaos.

Rivers run rampant.
Time tinkers tides.
Vengeful voids vie.
Worlds wither woefully.

And yet, endless and forever,
The iridescence of written word,
Bends all things against discord.

The problem,
One that I keep coming back to,
In America,
Is one of Identity.

It's a thing that ebbs and flows,
With the coming and going,
Of whatever agenda is pushed.

Now, if I'm pulled over, or looked over by name, or dare I associate with color.

Then they'll **** me and my blackness.

Now, should I take it personally, or empathize within the box they put me.

Then they'll curse me for denying the whiteness.

In this tug of war, I write my own story.

Two races,
One mind,
But the spirit of millions.

I am my ancestors, black and white.
This is my perspective.
I'm taking it back.

Is it such a terrible dilema
To be torn between two
Roads in which opposing
Realities compete for existence

Should I be so common
Or with a key to the unknown
Do I open the lock of life
And achieve the unexcpected

Nostalgia has a deathgrip
A noose of fonder times
Chokes out the potential
In dreams which have yet to come

I dare to be unpredictable
To, with hesitation now passed,
Conquer the life unlived
Willingly, regretting nothing.

I need to be wasted.
like a coward, I hide behind
The glass. Too weak to face
The fears a long time coming.

Floating, in a state,
Of half consciousness.
Drowning out loneliness.
Grasping to hold on through
Clenched fist, you slipping
Outside my reach.

Every opportunity wasted,
Running from innocent
Intentions of simple ideas.
Just to live and breathe
My struggle in sync with
Your pain and passion.

Walls are constructed to
Keep out intimacy's ruin.
But like a prison, chain me.
To the life absent of you,
Over and over, each time
More gut wrenching than the last.
So I order another drink.

I rarely hear the Trumpets now
The singing bellows of quelling sound
Which tame the Beast, I fear inside
His hypnotic trance, is a Demon's cry

I cannot see the Painter's wrath
Brushstrokes raging down forbidden path
Long forgotten, but forever known
His sinister smile breaks day when shown

I know not the Cinder's smell
The Kindling Madness of an ancient spell
Ash inhaled of perfect ruin,
His incantation of evil is brewing

I dare not taste the Wicked's Cuisine
Dark nectars twist the tongue of Fiends
Bellies full of Nightmare's tears
His fruition comes through pain and jeers

I reach to touch the Devil's Hand
Three of a kind and a master plan
To call the bluff or submit and fold
His reign begins, free will already sold

I'm Jekyll
Alcohol is Hyde

Is that not the parable?
The moral of the story?

I am not compelled,
I don't need the drink.

But a few too many,
And its a self destructive streak.

Is that alcoholism?
Is that abuse?

The first step is knowing,
And its been quite some time.

So I stick with few or none,
Hoping to be just fine.

But do be wary,
For that few too many.

Because you'll lose it all if you do.