Would life to some be for others deceased
The greed of man is the Devil in awe
Open and eager to satiate the beast

Allied; redundant rebels fast become feast
A thriving surmise from a snarling abhor
Would life to some be for others deceased

Stiff media outlets quietly policed
Less of a *****, more of a *****
Open and eager to satiate the beast

Dynamic complex entity, undefined common thread in the East
Internal displacement clashes with border decor
Would life to some be for others deceased

Bray Lampwick; Bray! Add volume to the doom release
Crooked anticipation of the determinate straw
Open and eager to satiate the beast

If the potent and equipped old grip is continually greased
Our trades will deduce the national core
Would life to some be for others deceased
Open and eager to satiate the beast

Craig Steele

my heart, darker than the night sky turns black

from such sadness you have clouded me grey.

oh, how i dream someone will mix in white.

on a rainy day i start to think back

to when we’d spend time watching the trees sway;

fluorescent green and yellow shine - not black.

i noticed how your love began to lack

a smile so genuine; no longer gay.

your brand-new shirts are blood stained and off-white.

your sudden change-of-heart gave mine a crack;

paralyzed for weeks, i watch curtains fray

and lovers overwhelmed with joy - not black.

just like a train with rails off the track,

i haven’t moved in weeks, wishing you’d lay

with me one last time - to mix in some white.

love letters i write to you form a stack

in the bottom drawer of my desk, they stay

and my heart becomes a little less black;

since i figured out how to add some white.

She waited impatiently for dawn to break.
Darkness had swallowed up her small house.
Her golden locks wound tight like a snake.

Her longing heart throbbed with ache.
The hearth’s warmth beckoned a mouse.
She waited impatiently for dawn to break.

Chimney smoke hung over the frozen lake.
Clenched tight with fists her flowery blouse.
Her golden locks wound tight like a snake.

Thoughts of mourning she tried to shake.
Overflowing to the floor her *** of scouse.
She waited impatiently for dawn to break.

She couldn’t join the rest with a smile so fake.
Her soldier was somewhere from here to Laos.
Her golden locks wound tight like a snake.

His absence pierced her heart like a stake.
Driven to the bottle like a louse.
She waited impatiently for dawn to break.
Her golden locks wound tight like a snake.

She thinks he hung the moon.
A princess with her shining knight
In love, she fell, with him so soon.

As he proclaimed her beautiful, she swoons.
He stands in black; she walks in white
She thinks he hung the moon.

Pinot grigio in crystal poured by noon;
He reads to her in the yellow sunlight -
In love, she fell, with him so soon.

By night, he has her wrapped in a cocoon
Fire ablaze, she clenches his arms so tight
She thinks he hung the moon.

By morning, it’s their honeymoon
He kisses her hard with all his might
In love, she fell, with him so soon.

And then, by the end of June,
Inside her something stirs, a delight
She knows he hung the moon,
In love, she fell, strongly with him so soon.

The timeworn valley deafens us with hollow sighs and screams.
Its captives ensure to advertise a uniform and mundane beauty.
Look past the freezing air and glacial words, lest we forget it’s better than it seems.

The sunlight on the frosty grass blinds us as it gleams.
We keep ourselves safe inside with scalding chamomile tea.
The winter gods shower in gold as another devotee screams.

The red chariot regrettably careens
Into the gates of Hell, as much deserving are we.
In times like this, we tell ourselves, “It’s better than it seems.”

In a bubble filled with emperors, tsars and kings and queens,
A king may think of another king, “I wish I were he.”
Inside of all the royals, the captive stabs and claws, bites and shoots, and screams.

The regal slaves make love under the biting moonbeams,
Not frozen yet, and never to be.
The prohibition and clandestinity make it better than it seems.

We have all divided into designated teams.
When the clock strikes four, they issue the royal decree.
This place is a shelter for our screams,
Because nobody’s home is better than it seems.