We don't have to wait,
Halloween comes every day,
Shadow figures on their way,
The side show
The freak show
The funhouse across the bay,
We go there on purpose every day.

My light is kind of
fading I can see it
in the mirror
I can't quite see my way
to make it there today.

Your flashlights
in this funhouse Darkness
continues
to light the way,
for lost and wandering souls
as it has every day.

Humor
Grace
The soul whisperer
A lone long walker
The warrior spirit
A solo ocean swimmer
The darting eyed organizer
with the heart of gold
A stand-up comic
The old old sage
willing to fight it out
in the bleakness factory
every day.

As I make my way
to the exit sign
I can hear the five o'clock
screams
the lobby scene
cops dragging
a woman
screaming my name
I go anyway.

For those kind souls
left behind
as
the listener hums a tune
in his own mind
closes the door
one last time
with a sigh,
finally
has left it
all behind
saying
a
short prayer to the passing
of time,
for those who put their
love and compassion
on the line
in every way
every day.

How I lie and break, broken till to the very tip of my bone
I dislike how I ate my own hate, swallowed till it reaches the gate
How the voices preach to breach the barriers of the untouched soul
Purity bleach the acidic preaches of ones owned,
rinsing the putrid echoes of THE hateful stone.

Innocence remains unreached; it’s a battle of everyday presence.
My pure essence survives the life’s impermanence.

Winning and Losing stands in equilibrium.
Life is not as tasty as the sweet brew.

~

“can a mother forget her child..."
though separated by the grave?
the son she bore and bathed,
the one whom life she gave,
the one she nursed and fed,
whom she carried on her side?
the son she taught to love,
to give, to walk, to pray,
him she watched with pride?
no, never... and a day,
not ever in one thousand years;
though the earth go on forever,
the son who was her babe
she'll not forget him, ever!

~

*post script.

celebrating my dearest wife, loving mother
and doting grandmother on this Mother’s Day!  
sons she gave us, three she bore;
two with us... one gone on...
awaiting our arrival, home.

Isaiah 49:15

.
•    
re-
     kindle
    the spark
   that governed
    this game•the fire
  that once burnt as bri-
  ght as sun•all of this once
before, had a name•but now
is weak from the time it had be-
gun•there was a time when it wo-
uld consume•......it would defy the
odds....just so it could burn as one•
frantic and desperate for the magic
to resume•uncertainty has carved
itself into the heart that has come
undone•winds bearing ill no-
tions revealed as the enemy•
stitch up the gaps keep-
ing out the rogue
gust•
  pro
tect
  the
light that burns ever weakly•rejuve-
nate the spirit that harbours broken trust
•rekindle me now... i'm still in the game•
the heart                   save the     you will
isn't                              candle           need
ready                           and              to see
to make                         nur-              me    
sense                            ture             with
of the                             it                 this
dark•                             to                  in-  
                                    fla-              sig-  
                                   me•             nia
                                     ­                     as my
                                                         mark
                                                         •
.