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Ron Gavalik Mar 2017
‪I am you‬
‪and you‬
‪are my enemy‬
‪Late at night‬
‪I plot your demise‬
‪In the mornings‬
‪regret‬
‪In the evenings‬
‪I beg forgiveness‬
‪The cycle‬
‪never ends‬
Hit it HARD: PittsburghWriter.net
Ron Gavalik Mar 2017
‪Loneliness‬
‪is a contagion‬
‪of the mind‬
‪fueled by propaganda‬
‪from toxic allies‬
‪Believe it or not‬
‪we live and breathe‬
‪succeed and fail‬
‪together‬
Hit it HARD: PittsburghWriter.net
Ron Gavalik Mar 2017
‪Me and the typer ‬
we fight the world
with vicious fury
We shake mountains
Entire lakes
of tears ripple
as we live
our truth
as men
Hit it HARD: PittsburghWriter.net
Ron Gavalik Mar 2017
My thoughts
never dwell on you
not even when I see tree branches
reach for the sun
like your arms
when the doctor said
the cancer
was gone
Hit it HARD: PittsburghWriter.net
Ron Gavalik Jan 2017
Sins are often forgotten.
Brain molecules are overwritten,
cell pathways erased,
as good conquers evil.
The righteous actions that ignite enlightenment
and solace for the sins we can't remember
are also eventually forgotten,
because evil also devours virtue
in what priests and monks refer to
as an ancient and everlasting battle.

Some people live out their lives in solitude.
We see them in quiet jobs,
alone in libraries and coffee shops.
They patiently wait out the battle
for the day when the struggle ends
and they finally know tranquility

Others choose action,
to play their roles as instruments, weapons,
sometimes for the forces of good
and sometimes for the forces of evil.
I’ve chosen to add my flavor of mayhem to the world,
inspired in forgotten nightmares
and during quiet car rides home
after the job has drained the last drops
of energy and self-respect.

Without the battle
humanity certainly would be boring.
Unfortunately for all of us
nothing is quite so dull
as serenity.
Hit it HARD: PittsburghWriter.net
Ron Gavalik Dec 2016
In our youths
Sundays were dreaded
We mourned the death
of weekends
Now, on Sundays
we reflect, quiet
on the continual
struggle
Quick thought.
Ron Gavalik Nov 2016
All I ever wanted
was to be left alone.
The more I ran,
the faster the cockroaches pursued
with their false friendships
and self-serving greed.

A man grows tired, sagged,
and his body slows,
his mind withers,
as death approaches.
This is not from old age,
but from thousands of stabs
delivered by forked tongues
of friends and enemies,
and his women.

As the spirit escapes
and runs
from the madness,
its the soul which finally
has the last laugh
in the darkness,
alone
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