Drink up each day
Breathe out each minute
Roar in your laughter
Bow to lament

Yet but a drop
In a river of wash
Standing still in the pools
Crashing with rocks

In earth and water
We stand one another
Birthed in wombs
Of our ancestors mother

Why is it so hard
for us to accept ourselves as we are,
and yet so easy to pick out our
imperfections and scars
and allow them to taint and tar,
combine and define
the picture we paint
The person we are,
and the person we believe we should be.
The staged presentation
we allow others to see.

Less and less of me
is familiar, and
the more I think,
the less free I'll be,
the stranger I see
in the mirror isn't me
as much as my behavior
isn't me. Insane;
To Be Or Not To Be.

Who I am isn't characterized well
and the choice isn't plain.
Are we even given a choice?
If I am, I'll go insane.


If not, I already am.

A Fossor's Quarry

The numbers are counted
The section agreed
The time is nigh
No pardon reprieved
Iron and earth
Prepare for war
No match no burden
For toil and chore
The fragrant grass
Screams in silence
No match no mercy
From iron's shear violence
Dust and dirt
Receive their blessing
Squared in make
Honed in dressing
In husk and hue
The sun will rise
In tenderness waiting
For the fallen to lie