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Gary W Weasel Jr Jun 2020
Cataclysm masked in magma
And bulging land, aching the trees.
Nervousness and candor entwined
Caution dissipating quickly.
Love has abdicated the throne
Leniency lacking, giving no quarter
Engulfed in the Nietzsche monster
Death when lava flows on Pompeii.
Gary W Weasel Jr May 2020
Today is swaddled in yesteryear.
Left in the iron cradle alone.
Arise from repose, with stale mind
The morrow tarnished by dreams.
Pouring regret over my cereal
I take a spoonful so I stand in place.

There is no ideation, alas, also no striving.
The world's hue has faded from my eyes.
The blue iris around a sea of dreams,
Now is light ash around charcoal.
A type of purgatory, so I burn in my sins.

I think back to the lighthouse on the shore
Wistfully, wonderfully, beacon bright.
When the mind and heart made harmony
And angels proclaimed majesty on high.

The anchor was heralded by the mind,
Keeping the voyaging vessel docked at bay.
An anchor for my soul, yet naught of the heart.

Heart found not the Dutchman, but Jolly Roger
Slipping and setting sail, the mind melded not.

So now here.  Each following breath is waning.

If only...
Written May 5, 2020 @ 10:14 AM EDT.
Gary W Weasel Jr Sep 2015
He dies - - - Yet his heart still beats on

Man of the minute, slipping away in his chair
Into the quiet of the night.
The hullabaloo of his mind.
He slips and slouches, sipping his drink and sighing
Slipping into desperation

He looks at the time - - - behind the hand of the clock
And all the enemies of peace
Standing against an age ago,
Become dread itself, turning into the monster
And horror unravels the soul

The pin drop roars, but what good is screaming
Without an ear to hear?

How can the out-pouring of one’s heart heal,
With tension in the air?

So he welcomes the second death.
Written on September 22, 2015 - 3:50am EDT
Gary W Weasel Jr Oct 2014
Our minds are the dripping faucets
Heralding the drops with great prestige

Yet the rivers of memories long lost...
Are the ones we should cherish the most.
Gary W Weasel Jr Feb 2014
I lie in the sand under the palm tree
Sand between the toes, washing in the sea
I count the stars, for the seventh time now.
With the moon out, I nearly forget how.

My meals come few, and far in between
Could the fish be sparser, so it would seem
There's so much time between my feasts to think
Ocean surrounds, yet not a drop to drink.

I ponder at the moon and recognize
How its hue reveals the deceit and lies
You, my misty moon, I remember you
When I saw you last, in agony too.

Those I held dearest left me here to rot
To wander about, within pain and thought
To fend for myself and survive alone
And march ahead in bracing the unknown.

I lie in wait tearing my own nails
Wondering what first will come, death or sails?
Until then I'll forsake those who left me
And draw closer to the sun whilst I be.
Written September 6, 2009 @ 12:02 AM CDT
Gary W Weasel Jr Feb 2014
Would you be my friend?
Yet in time I gripe with Plato
Could you be my friend?
Socrates and Gorgias spar.

These bandages can only be shrouded
Underneath grains of sand
Falling upon this dune.

During every heartbeat
One thousand grains augment this mound
Within every heartbeat
The earth spins away from days' light.

Time shortens between friend and foe
Their pearls are rusty now.
I simply wait for sand.
Written September 11, 2009 @ 1:47 AM CDT
Gary W Weasel Jr Feb 2014
How I wish the blade upon you
Your lips are benign to all
Yet your heart, malignant

You believe that you know my pain
That you think I deserve it all
So should I gouge your heart?
To give a sample of it?

You had no shame to embrace
One committed to another.
Your selfish ambitions are the death
Of you.

You're not even worth the dust of Earth
Your touch is cold
The steel of Brutus' dagger
Into Caesar's back.

Oh how your statue has evolved
You never cared about me,

For if I am true of your intentions,
Then God's judgment will rain upon you.
Written September 13, 2009 @ 4:50 AM CDT
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