Rob Rutledge

Rob Rutledge Dec 2016

Among the days of December
A new member joins the fold.
Born of love and melodies
A song sung once and then retold.
Hope wrapped close in silence,
Cotten swathed defiance,
Far from the tyrants of this world.

For a moment there is peace,
Time catches breath,
Young prince lays sound asleep.
Counting the bleats of passing sheep
Your parents guard the door.
For when you wake from slumber
And satisfy your hunger,
Opened eyes shall discover,
That all this world is yours.

For Ronnie Sharma 11/12/16

Rob Rutledge Dec 2016

Iron Sky

An Iron Sky, sighs.
Provides the rusted
Rhythm of the night.
Silence supplied,
Swiftly denied.
Wisps of winter light
Smitten by the smile of night.
That obelisk of shade,
That monolith of shadow,
Minor burns,
Wounds carved shallow onto skin,
Flesh lays fallow
Till iron breaths again.

Rob Rutledge Nov 2016

Fallout

Banished to the grey.
A conglomerate of clouds
Surround and shroud the day.
A world found still
Shrill sound of silence.
Echoes of shadows
Grace violence on our walls.
The blood of our compatriots
Our lovers, our fools.
Ours, not yours.
Potential and not a tool.
"Too little, too late"
Muttered the lips of fate,
For the ending is well overdue.

Rob Rutledge Oct 2016

The Wind Speaks In Warnings

The wind speaks in warnings
Passed fast from leaf to leaf.
The rustle of the undergrow
Stirs firm in disbelief.
Pitters and patters scatter
The fallen pain.
The last acorn of the season
Falls,
A final act of treason.
A beacon among the coming rain.

Rob Rutledge Oct 2016

Amber

Time sits slouched,
Whisky supped from a shoe.
Space takes his place,
Beard smothered in brew.
Hope sprawls eternal,
Smiles, on the face of the few.
The night is masked,
Casked honey dew.

Amber obscures,
Procures,
Distorts the view.
Glazed by a hazy
Feint green plume.
Time takes a sip from
Weathered worn out shoe.
As space wipes his face
Hope yawns on que.
The night is released,
At least for now, until
The fall of the morning dew.

Rob Rutledge Oct 2016

Fist Blossom

Again the fist unfolds.
Fingers unfurl red
Petal blossom of a rose.
Scent of a broken nose,
Stain shed on shaven heads.
Kings with no crown nor throne
Lay prone in whitewashed beds.

Thorns in their own sides,
****** in their own right.
These manicured monsters
Cry a challenge unto the night.
Marching on through kebab dreams,
Weeks 'for we speak of Halloween.

Rob Rutledge Sep 2016

Shadows Deep

The wise are always troubled
And the troubled seldom sleep.
For the path is dark,
The shadow's deep.
The past imparts pressure,
Weary woe-marked feet.

The pillow lays drenched.
Sweat beads billow flames of fear.
The sound of all our choices
Rung clear for all to hear.
The cries of countless voices
Found close to passing ears
But ghosts weep most in whispers,
Lest the living hear their tears.