Bow to
the greatest thief that ever thieved.
I can steal opportunity from
myself
with ease.

Bow to
the greatest liar that ever lived
I can kid
myself
if I so please.

Bow to
the greatest killer that ever breathed.
I can leave
my dreams
deceased.

Tony
was an attorney,
torn between his morals.
He could close cases cleanly,
no matter
the quarrel.
But his impeccable
character
creates a dilemma;
Tony always noticed,
as he sat down for dinner,
defeat,
nepotism,
ignorance abound.
Astounded that injustice
was easily found.
As label managers
drugged
and *****,
judges
excused it,
by calling it
fate.
Men lording it over
with promotions in their pants,
while Trump's on TV,
with his bigoted rants.
Tony feared
for the future,
mutual destruction was near.
In fact it's
probably probable
it happens this year.
He wanted
to vent pent up feelings,
so he
refused the judge's
shady dealings.
He lost cases
but not cause,
won activist's applause.
For the rights of the ignored,
he'd draw attention to the laws,
that were
unfair or
unjust.
With his heart and his soul,
Tony
won our
trust.

It's perfectly fine designing
poems, not knowing where to go in
terms of content.
I've spent minutes hellbent on it's
problem, so solemn at the fallen
words on the line.
But the worst crime is finding I'm
frequently intent on a segment
that mirrors the open.

I mutter stuttered syllables
into shut ears,
so I'm not heard very often.
I'm not good with words,
not when
my mouth staggers, lagged behind my thoughts.
But give me time to reflect,
and I expect I could make something
worth hearing,
with your eyes.

Reborn
on that slimy isle of sea and sky,
I'll bolt the door forever more.
A depth of death awaits my soul
upon the ocean floor.
The scream of salt,
and squelch,
and sea,
more chilling than the roar.
A flash of flesh
was cause enough
for terror thoughts galore.
Returned I am,
my thoughts
beholden to
this deity of lore.

When she found him,
he was a brittle bag of broken.
Drawstring taut.
Tight.
Holding thoughts that went unspoken.
Opening up isn't easy,
though they say it is in theory.
When putting it in practice,
words slowly flow uneasy.
But she found her way to his heart,
started to slowly pull it's strings.
Looser and looser.
And now his words he sings.
His spine was cracked,
so she blu-tacked it back together.
His mind, a map they scrawled
on scraps of black leather.
Bandaged his ego and plastered his past.
A perfect example of a person well matched.