Foolish beetle, rolling a ball of waste,
Do not you know your feces has no worth?

What a waste of the precious gift of life
In light of bright white stars and vast blue seas,
There is so much more in the world than dung,
Alas with indefatigable grit,
Perhaps a curse of Darwinian perfection,
You pack and push your single earthly thing,
From place to place. It is the only life
You know or have been taught to know.
And though I want to pity you, small arthropod,
I too know how it feels to wander on one’s own,
Wondering why and when the time to quit
Amassing an incessant ball of ****.

These memories will never fade.

These memories will scar my brain.

Forever more I reminisce

In the feelings which I dismiss.

Embracing hatred in despair,

For all the time that I have spent

Just hoping you would care

In my lonely world of discontent.

How is one to help one’s self amidst
This age of screens and brightly buzzing button fiends?
Ever growing, infiltrating, accelerating glowing screens
are stimulating brain and eye and ear machines,
no matter where you go, pupils of caffeine,
or so they’d seem, are seen seeing screens
dilating from the grasping of a human dream
Of digital immortality.

I live without light because of many things

I wish not to see or come to terms with.

For the pain it may cause; feelings it brings.

Yes, it’s love.  Just an illusion or myth.

Once I thought I had it in my own palm,

Yet it fell like rain from a dark gray sky.

The “Love” we create is just a time bomb

Waiting to explode in the blink of an eye.

But what is it that we create desperately?

A story-tale ending, searching breathlessly–

We fool ourselves with simple chemistry

We go endlessly to find our “destiny”.


But I can guarantee that all it is

Is nothing more than heavenly ecstasy.

That which they lack in longevity
They compensate with in narcissistic egotrocity.
Such odd creatures, those confined within humanity,
Always over-estimating, over-conjecturing
Their place and meaning in this yet to be
Disillusioned, elaborate, erratic cosmic infinity.

No other animal I since created
Have made such self-absorbed, conceited notions
Comp’rable to humanoid emotion.

I am ashamed to call them mine,
But it is so. I need not intervene,
For ere the end of World War Three,
They surely will relinquish me
Of my senseless exercise in futility.

Why for miss dost thou torment me so?

Hath I harmed thee in any such way?

For 'tis your beauty that does not let me go

I am captured by it from day to day.

Art thou an angel among the rest?

This cannot be, impossible I say!

For the love of thee is all I request

My heart, lacking thy love, shall decay.

But one should not find their love for I vigor.

Therefor if this love isn't meant to be,

I shall end this charade with one trigger

You can see, you may be the end of me.

But until such day, I shall bind thee tight

For in me, 'tis a fire you light.

The wrinkled, old, decrepit Man of grey
Succumbs to death with graceful dignity,
In doing so, his senescent poignance
Reminds us all of our mortality.

In death he lives vicar’ously through us
And serves to show of our impending fray,
As we one day will live through those ‘neath us
Dead--As an old, decrepit Man of grey.

What is love, just a resemblance of rage?

What is love, but a line of poetry?

I believe it not to be found on page,

For 'tis love which has forced me to my knee.

'Tis love also, who strikes me to the ground

And leaves me to lay here forever more,

If death not by a heart shattered, by hound

As I cannot move with a heart so sore.

But, as this delicate rage comes to me

I can find no escape from this emotion

Though I so intensely wish myself free

Without it, I am lost in this ocean.

What is love, but a rabid beast?

What is love? 'Twill come to know my heart least.

I lay in a room (After a night of intoxication)

I will be up soon (I awaken and find the causation)

Feeling the chilly air (In my pocket I feel a vibration)

Dazed and confused I stare at (My phone, only that)

My situation; complete loneliness.

So I believed, I could build a lover

      One that could walk with me so perfectly

Under the bridge; secrecy we uncover,

      Because for me, I know it’s time to be

The architect of perfect love I need,

      So run with me, my love, throughout the rain

Forget restraints and chains, and we'll be freed,

      I've lost my will to search for love to tame

So be flawless; a perfection for me.

      I wish only to stop looking in vain

If only I could make her perfectly

      Then life would surely be free of that pain.


            Alas, I am no god, for there are none,

            My lov’r is vis’ble as the midnight sun.

So I believed, I could build a lover

One that could walk with me so perfectly

Under the bridge; secrecy we uncover,

Because for me, I knew 'twas time to be

A creator for the things that I need,

So run with me, my love, throughout the rain

Forget restraints and chains, we will be freed

I’m tired of searching for love to attain

So be a perfect creation for me.

I wish only to stop looking in vain.

If only I could make her perfectly

Then life would surely be free of that pain

Alas, I am no god, for there are none

My lov’r is vis’ble as a midnight sun.

We sit here, moonlight shining through the window,

Deepening as the night goes on and on

The feelings since left a long time ago

Yet I stay with you until new dawn.

The night seemed to drift away in the mist

Where has time taken us on this journey?

A land without memory when we first kissed?

Such a place, torture, I’d rather be free–

Free from this clutch you place upon me

The sun raises, I can see you awaken

I can not take this, can not you see?

Together, alone, we are forsaken.

I walk alone under a sun scorched sky.

He beats down on me, wishing me to die.

I lay here just to be stepped upon.

With the power to move, yet lacking the will

As the moon retreats, I lay until dawn,

They come and watch me through the window sill.

From here I would move, with motivation

If I had one who could grant me such,

But I do not, so I avoid the temptation.

For one such as that I would not dare touch.

Alas, I lie on this cold ground alone,

I wait for the next one to step upon me.

This life fits me, yet new one I will own,

In this pain I am filled to the knee.

You and I were never meant to be,

Only this pain from you will set me free.

We are no more in the stillness of the night

To be a thought, was once a gift, but now

Your confessions of love seem much too trite.

Thus now these thoughts of love I don’t allow.

To be or not to be– just gone and dead

In life we die, alas, do we all live?

I think we not, for tears which been shed,

For lies which have been said, I can’t forgive.

The sun of the morning does rise with grace

Yet still nothing to see, nothing to feel,

There is mistake that none can erase.

All of this time I spent dreaming was real.

A once, the trumpet of the morn will crow

She shall have denied me ‘least thrice I know.

I see the pairs conjoin to form but one,
Another eternal love has just begun
Before my eyes I see them dance and laugh
As newly weds do. But she does not know
                  What he does not show.

Their love established in the most formal
Of ways.
Unbeknownst to them the following normal–
Not love.
                            But loathe.

As he entertains, entering another,
His promises of love do not waiver
              Nor do hers,
                                   With his bother.

As time will tell they seek to leave
Their private hell.  
                     Wonder Wells
Inside of me
                 when I see
                          they switch
At last.

Celebrate and give congratulations
       Before the day is done
              With salutations
               For in joy–
                            We join to form
                              Not two,
But one.

These lights, they shine so bright,

These colors, they are so vivid,

These sounds so loud, but these feelings. . .


So empty.

Is this real?

It must be.


See the colorful lights,

Hear the loud sounds,

From the illuminated screens


And the elongated speakers.

This must be real.

But is it?


Can a light truly shine if it does not fill the void inside me?

Can a sound truly roar if my ears do not fill me with emotion?

It is what I see and what I hear.  They must be real.  Mustn't they be?

The spilt secrets cannot deter our faith
In people’s souls– Their virtue and sincerity,
For if we lose our hope in our humanity,
We’ll be afraid to live and love again,
Instead we’ll lock our doors to joy with hate
And there we’ll cloistral sit alone and safe,
But how could we content such lonesome life?
Rather we should, we must, accept reality;
Better vulnerable to such brutality
And live life faithful of humanity
Than not to live at all.

Haikus are good fun
But not so much, as I may say
As breaking rules