Truth is a title,
  reason is a slave

Love is a mistress
  forgiveness, bed unmade

The past for excuses
  the future willed in vain

Memory still the master
—of what goes round again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2018)

Start looking outside your frame of reference
  for that which stands you alone

Stop longing for praise or high endorsement
  things only borrowed or loaned

Start feeling those words you preach unto others
   no longer idling yourself away

Stop blaming the time and the message it brings
  —for those excuses that keep you ‘at bay’

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The string is broken,
  the past is lost

A road forgotten
  late winter’s frost

Memory clearing
  new thoughts to spin

All distance thawing
  —another Spring

(Court At K.O.P: February, 2016)

In the still of night, between the sheets, she came to
  me again, her mission clear, I must adhere—and let
  the dream begin

My fears and hope she then ignored, and covered both
  with dust, to mask the past and future lies, whose
  weakness I entrust

In the dimming light her wings were spread, as sheet
  and blanket flew, and from her back, a world
  estranged—from what I thought I knew

She burned my eyes and entered deep, to places I
  had banned, and far within what I’d become—she
  let go of my hand

Now looking back, I see the dust, it marks my entry
  clear, and covers up my last denial—and buries
  every fear

The dream to end, my soul to mend, new eyes to open
  wide, but when they close, my spirit knows—the truth
  now sleeps inside

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)

The light burns brightest,
  that burns within

The embers warm,
  as memory dims

That final verse,
  an Angel’s hymn

The light burns brightest,
—that burns within

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

For forty years I walked alone
  and lived on borrowed time

And thought each year that came and went
  would be my very last

The ending close as days rolled on
  tomorrow left unrhymed

Caught looking back or then ahead
  the moments never fast

For forty years my steps were soft
  the eggshells cold and hard

With broken dreams to mark my way
  and rocks my garden thronged

But now my mind has been released
  the past and future charred

With time undone, all reference lost
  —my fears all turned to song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)

Broken feelings…
My chest of gold
A torments ransom
No trinkets sold
The treasure bounteous
Walls lined with blood
Its hurt and pain
I have withstood
The jewels lack sparkle
But shimmer deep
Their cut and clarity
My soul to keep
And words if cheapened
Must leave this throne
As the lid reopens
  —on the pain I own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

Reaching into the demon’s mouth,
  the search entraps and burns

With every click and byte we choose,
  the less we seem to learn

Our privacy we save as bait,
  the wolves set free to run

Stripped and naked, to live as prey,
  —our pasts now theirs to hunt

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)

Not like her,
And
Not like him,
And
Not like you
  —I write!

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Lay your feelings out there,
  put them on the line

Send your fear back down to hell
  forever to remind

Evil in submission
  darkness wrapped in fright

Its voice silenced with your words
—prisoner of the light

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Poetry is different
  when spoken than read

The words more musical
  outside my head

No longer imprisoned
  or held on the page

Their freedom unharnessed
  —the voice of an age

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2105)

Musical words and painted phrases,
  dance around my memory

Reds and Blues and vivid Gold’s,
  rush across my bridge of dreams

Stream-streaking into the sky,
  their song a magic portrait

Clouds chanting in vibrant hues,
—as the light sings palette free

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

January 1st,
  a crescent moon

The past crossed over,
  the future looms

A New Year dawns,
  as daylight breaks

With wishes fresh,
  new oaths to take

Feeling lighter,
  old burdens gone

New lyrics written,
  a familiar song

The year to bring,
  what fates allow

As wonder ages,
—in this moment now

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

The Crucifixion self-endowed
  by the greatest of all men

His death then chosen, not denied,
  his message not forsaken

His torment was a sacrifice,
  an offering to all

Our souls to rise through bread and wine,
  his voice again to call

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

The livery on fire
  its horses set free

Misery beckons
  the future to bleed

The gates are broke open
  all streets painted red

Death has awakened
  life dragged from its bed

One bugle is left
  blowing perdition’s melee

All swords are unsheathed,
  terror sharpens dismay

Tomorrow unpromised
  today but a curse

The monster has cometh
  —a hell upon earth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Did you waste your life
  just making money

Did you eat the bread
  and not the honey

Did you sell your soul
  as your children watched

Was your heart left cold
  in a tinderbox

Were your excuses rich
  and your reasons poor

Did you wake up full
  and still ask for more

Were your blessings shunned,
  as you scratched and clawed

Saying: “No harm done,
  I never broke the law”

Were your teeth all straightened
  and your motives bent

Were your eyes detached
  from what heaven sent

Were your memories lost
  in some dead refrain

As a lonely footnote
  to another’s name

If you had one chance
  to re-right these wrongs

Would you hide in silence
  or break out in song

With your soul imprisoned,
  the choice is clear

All joy awaits
  —redemption near

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Will there ever come a time
  when a moment doesn’t matter

Will there ever come a date
  when the days won’t connect

Will there ever come a phrase
   its words devoid of meaning

Will there ever come a song
  whose melody won’t play

Have you let what you celebrate
  turn into celebrity

Have your messages been transformed
  into a billboard or sign

Have you become a lonely caricature
  of a free and lasting symbol

Have your words become mere chatter
   —in a pandering for fame

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

If you ask the right questions
  expect silence to answer

When begging for the truth
  —your poverty shows

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

At eighteen,
  I thought that I could write my way to heaven
  I’d waltz right in, announce my name, and sit
  down on its throne

At twenty-five,
  I sat in jail to rot in isolation
  my freedom gone, my will deformed,
  but worst of all alone

At thirty-five,
  I thought that I could write my way to riches
  the screenplay bombed, all doors were closed,
  and wounds there freshly mined

At forty-eight,
  I met a man who told me I was lost
“By Looking Out The Words Won’t Come,
  Your Truth You’ll Never Find…”

By fifty-five,
  my path was set—all trails converged as one
  the entrance closed, the exit marked,
  a road of denser stone

By sixty-eight,
  all verse within, the lines reset to music
  the darkness gone, my words set free
    —all light now heaven shone

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)