.
Gentle sounds that jar as fog rolls in—
Blue Jays knock and forage in the leaves,
Days turn to nights in a cold winter rushing,
Atop a hill overlooking my disappering village,
Darkness is expected as always unwelcomed,
My guest that will not— not come— as I wait,
To hear the lone emptiness of a fog horn blow
From out there, incoming, pray old harbour
Bay. Is it an omen of souls landing or lost?

Four Riders mount their horses, them you soon will hail
One white one red one back one pail
-
They have been ordained, for a time a day and hour
That time approaches fast, with fear you're going to cower
-
When the First Seal breaks, the white horse is the steed
Of the Man of Sin, he's coming with his creed
-
His "creed" is going to be, take his Mark or die
It's in the Book of Revelation...read it, weep and cry
-
Go ahead and take his Mark, a little longer you will live
The SIN you just committed, God will not forgive
-
If it happens that you live, for another seven years
Another Rider on a horse, will **** you without tears
-
You'll be killed and sent to Hell, FOREVER there you'll burn
The Rider on the True White Horse, you did only spurn

In darkness I am free
In light I live in false security

They say the shadows flee from the day
But they only retreat in my mind

I feel more horrors in daylight
Than I see them in the night

The fuzz in the air
The tempo stomping
It's so heavy
It's so slow
It surrounds me
It drips onto me

The sound encases me
Piling on thick
Not letting go
Not letting up
I crave more of this
I need more of this

The death of me, will probably be, self-inflicted or come unnaturally. /
My generation has metamorphosized to believe this ideology filled with lies, and grown to despise all things good, all things right/
Holiness is but a mythically unattainable virtue only seen with wise eyes/
And me with my wide eyes open couldn’t even see past sunrise/

Many times I hid behind my Christian face/
My black skin speaking tales of my Christian race/
But then straight after church my rehearsed day begins/
Go to see “that” girl and write Haikus on her skin/
A 3 bar poem about why she’s the one/
Taking hours to come home before the day is done/

The death of me will probably be this doomed society/
Digging pits for their own graves with their words of blasphemy/
Drugs lay waste to what remains of their minds/
Trying to convince them that God exists is like defusing a land mine/
Who am I to try and help, I’m still suffering the same/
Can’t even control the thoughts flooding in my brain/
Had to write this out just to try and stay sane/
Thinking is speeding up now, I’m like that electric train…/

And then I see it/

Tomorrows generation smokes drinks and takes drugs/
Looking everywhere for things to fill the void left by love/
Searching everywhere except above /
They are scanning the sea for a raven not a dove/

This is todays tomorrow, where the truth isn’t believed/
And the generation of that time will choose to live disobediently//

Few things touch a poet more than the pure beauty of a smile newly in love,

Or the tremendous pain seen in the tear filled eyes of a heart recently broken.

I can no longer see one without recalling the other,
And in that I find my poetic doom.