Pages turn quickly.
Events happen on each page.
Some defining you.
Other events making you weary.
Some events that happen on the page are good memories, those seem to go even faster though.

Some sinister stare, some mocking grin
Some sauntering gait
Poison drips from the chin
Smelling of medicine though reeking of sin
Sweet, sweet, sweet absolution

Guilt isn't heavy, regret is a feather
Love is a memory buried deep in your dresser drawer
What is more; the sores cease to sting
Lacerations healing
Love is a son who's died in the war

A war that's for peace but brings disconcertion
My son died in a clash of raw rash emotion
Drowned in the Pacific under titanic swells
And here, where I stand, I will drown just as well

In some fight I surrendered so long ago
To some serendipitous tide
Some hellish curse
Some bittersweet brutish tempestuous flirt
For in a fight with a devil I know I can't win
Inside this bottle I find absolution

It is not some dusty frame,
            hanging rusty nails;
                        chaotic mess.

            No es amor solo amar, to you,
                      just some language you,
                                can't comprehend.

Distraught, despaired, disheveled,
                a dystopian novel notion,
                                     romanticized.
        
                     There's no need;
you don't need to patronize.

Cold hand upon cold hand;
       lifeless smiles colluding.

                                 And as if you were a Monet sunrise,
my impression of you is that of drunken brush strokes,
                                                        ­                   dull blues,
                                               and angry orange hues,
Left on display within a rotting, wooden frame.

There is a never ending toll
Down, in the deep pit of our soul
In a constant, trembled churning
A house-fire e'er brightly burning
While we, trapped scramble inside
As the smoke and heat, they rise
We stand to face the black smoke
Move forth, stumble, cough, and choke
Eyes squint in blearied raging reds
Yet we must shuffle on ahead
With our loved ones right by our side
Together press to find the rise
Where the air and heat are clear
To Stop and move beyond our fear
Finally, fresh breaths fill our sides
Til we find, someone was left inside.

O'er lakes and ponds, skyscrapers too
With lashes, hooks or skyward beam
Furious synapses sparked and they grew
Systems of masters and slaves team
To recreate what the earth already knew
As told by the heavens and the seam

As cool rivers flow and airy winds blow
The lights and the sounds reverberate here
Calling to us in broad spectacular show
Til it is no longer the darkness we fear
Blades of leaves and the grass bellow
But what they say is no longer clear

On, forth, the improv of our sale
We trudge onward with no regrets.
Now each connected by our grail
Lost, except within hearts of poets
The stars still shine and tell their tale
Obscured by the lights of our sets

When you think the battle's ever won
By hundred spear, sword, or gun
In slashing, pillaged mortal right
Come together, for now we fight
Think not upon your mortal dread
Will fail you even when you're dead
The battle will for ever clatter on
Praised in joyous kinds of song
By gruesome men in drunken seige
The fight for the end is your liege
Not your pitiless sacred stone
Or the loved one left back home
But to fall upon the largest stage
The coming of the end of days
Honor and sacrifice is what will tell
The lasting sequence, the final bell
So stop ye now your idle chatter
Sharpen that what really matters
Try to remember what was done
The Sword, the Spear, or Gun.

While plucking, prodding, pulling
Defacing the nature
Of our own wildernesses