When the heart has fallen short,
the mind cannot conceive the sort
of sins that plague the failing souls,
who lack in shame and self-control.

Kindness dies and hatred reigns,
and good has lost the peace campaign.
And like a nameless virus spreads,
Death preys upon the world’s unfed.

And still I hope that when I stand
against destructive and misguided man,
That freedom, love and fate’s design,
will join me at the fighting lines.

And finally, amidst the cries,
Beneath the vast and blackened skies,
With courage and my soldiers three,
I'll set some broken spirits free.

He bites his lips, the shape of ***,
and creases his  brow.
A musty breeze from the bar’s open door
sends me the taste of his breath,
cheap peppermint and wine.
Its succulence dulls my senses.
His terrible fingers trace my neck,
and I forget about the danger.
And he pounces, an incubus,
an ancient resident of urban wells like this one.
But his mouth is so sweet,
I cannot care.

A balcony above a city
a gallery filled with express food,
and disposable people.
A yellow ‘M’ glares at passers.
It shines it’s eerie light
on the indigenous of the street.
They sleep, compressed in all
their destitute,
shying away from arrogantly sympathetic stares.
And on this balcony,
above a city of refuse and glorified rot,
your eyes are the only real warmth I see.