Ferris wheel evening
And they kissed exploding stars
Amusement park moon

I like my poetry
Like I like my coffee
Unlike most,
I prefer it strong
And heavy

I don’t mind it rushed,
What I really want it to empower
Is the sweet bitterness
That’ll keep me up for hours

How’re you to live
Without a little contemplation
A bitter drink
To match how you think
About the world and its desperation

Its desire to acquire
A meaning higher than is truthful
Since the only rectifier
For all of the gunfire
Is that we remain faithful…

“Faithful”

Faithful to shadows
That we hope to be
More than more than just a domino
From long ago
Toppling into tomorrow

But even so
Truly, we know
We cannot hope to be
More than the smallest
Ripple in the sea

There’s nothing more than what we see
Despite what we wish would be
There for us now and when we
Leave this place

In all of space
We’re merely dust
Upon dust
No conceited reason
Behind every season

No, that’s just the world’s childish desperation
To see more behind each rotation
Of God’s “divine” creation

Since, truly, there can be no rectifier
For all of the gunfire
And despite how I think I may desire
This blessed ignorance of faithfulness
What I value more is truthfulness

And what it’s telling me
(Thanks somewhat, perhaps, to the coffee)
Is that our best intentions
Will not result in intervention
But in blind destruction
Thanks to humanity’s corruption.

…A bitter drink
To match how I think
About the world and its desperation.

And I know
As the wind blows, blows
I will be carried home
As the forest inevitably
Always infatuated with life
As the gentle manner of the rabbit
Is always betrayed by the hawk
As the grass rooted to this earth
Will only experience life running past
And as the crickets sing
For the darkness coming near

Be fearless of the result
It will come either slow or fast
Be well prepared so that  it will do work in your favour

Blowing silence
like a bugle
to announce his dismay

he got set
to make a statement
without speaking for a day

but his mother
just assuming
he had nothing much to say

sent her silent
revolutionary
son outside to play;

outmaneuvered
in the kitchen
by his mother's disregard

for campaigns
of wild muteness,
the rebellion fell apart

to the sound
of scuffing shoes
and the grumble in his heart

'cause silent protest
tends to lose
when no-one's listening very hard..