#reprieve
Feet upon the ground.
The air still trembling from what he left behind.
Shame is a distant echo now — a sound lost between old walls.
A sound host, carrying burdens in spite of the desire for a reprieve.
He walks through the threshold where fear once spoke louder than truth.
The skin of the moment stretches thin,
and he passes through it,
weightless.
Alone does not mean abandoned.
It means unshackled,
quietly infinite.
Though screaming for consolation — he also carries it within himself.
Without him, I'd be nothing.
Embrace him, for no one else will.
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 4:35 PM UTC
When gloom grips the hand of loneliness
And through my heart they brazenly roam,
With a deluge of words I expel them,
And they're briefly exiled to a poem
They never go far, yet I'm grateful
For their absence, if only a while;
I sigh when pain and loneliness retreat . . .
While unfettered, I manage a smile
It might seem strange that I must relate
Through verse what my heart can't forget:
The anguish when Love walked out of my life,
The delight when Love and I first met
You see, poems are words I write in haste,
With a madness that's hard to explain;
Much like a snake shedding old worthless skin,
Through my poems I shed unwanted pain
But the day will come when I'll admit
How absurd it was for me to think
That I could escape this prison of woes
With rhymed words and a few drops of ink!
Jan 9
Jan 9, 2026 at 9:13 PM UTC
I've posted all the poems,
Well, all except for one,
The little bits I wrote,
For my summer collection.
I decided to turn that mix of feelings and emotions,
Into my first book, my magnum opus, MY collection.
I was sure to spell my name right,
Unlike the book I was featured in, a slight mistake.
So, if you'd like a copy, they're $7.99,
In the U.S., at least.
If you want all the poems that you've read,
In book form, I'd appreciate it.
Ones such as "The Sea," "The Singer," "The Wendigo,"
"Bad Blood," "Vain's Vanity," and "Poor Pluto."
Fifty-two poems in total,
All chronicling the thoughts I thought this summer.
Nov 22, 2025
Nov 22, 2025 at 3:18 PM UTC
When we first moved in,
The landowner said that
The old crabapple tree in
The yard hasn't yielded
Its fruit for many a year.
The executioner was going
To end its life, but we
Convinced the judge to
Grant a stay of execution
Regarding the beheading
So we could make a valiant
Effort at rehabilitating
The desolate old soul.
All because of a last minute
Reprieve, that unproductive
Tree has been rejuvenated
And regenerated; once
Again bearing fruit for
Many a year for us to eat
And share with others.
Apr 29, 2025
Apr 29, 2025 at 9:07 AM UTC
Upon this poem I entertain relief,
From an uncertain journey with lack of reprieve.
A prayer delivers the same result,
A warmth in my being, an absolving of fault.
My thoughts are freed from their hampered state,
No longer caged by triviality or the dullness of fate.
Daily routine had exiled imagination,
But with this escape my thoughts upend reputation.
The daily grind had dampened my soul,
But looking toward heaven I envision being whole.
So small a thing to provide such release,
So fleeting a moment in a life so deplete.
But it’s just enough to keep madness at bay,
These times that I write and those times that I pray.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
your delicate frame was bent
in the act of beseeching contrition
like remorse was a mask to be worn
like penitence was a role to play
my opulent frame was bent
in the act of torturous punishment
like sadism was a game to be mastered
like a grudge could be beautiful art
your delicate frame was bent
in the act of beseeching contrition
like mercy was a place we had visited together
like absolution was a time that you had marked in your calendar
my opulent frame was bent
in the act of humorous revelation
like it had taken you a year to realise
that there will be no reprieve here
Nov 4, 2020
Nov 4, 2020 at 5:29 AM UTC
If all the wrong doings and doers that have or will come to me
Were to hand over a key to their destruction before they leave
I'd melt it down to nothing so they never again feel that initial fear
I'd never allow such weakness to remain in these moments tied to pain
For from within every weakness either strength or evil is released
So as I melt away the demons fears, so too myself have I reprieved
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 10:37 PM UTC
Rest is Reprieve
from the burdensome curse of futile toils
Rest is Restoration
of the perfection of life freshly bloomed
Rest is Return
from Edenic exile to its fullness of beauty
Rest is Remembrance
of Seven, an artefact of Mind
a Mystery and a Measure of Time
Rest is Today
for as long as its Today
until the Eighth Day dawns.
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 8:30 AM UTC
grab your bags
let go of your inhibitions
and let's leave.
leave this town
leave this city
and break free from our shackles, our chains.
we'll run by fields of gold
bask in the warmth of dusk
wade through the weeks of cold
and reach the crossroad of life.
together,
all the way.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 1:23 PM UTC
................................
Reprieve
Reprieve
Reprieve
Reprieve
................................
Life is so precious
when you're the one who's taking it.
I took the life of your friend
Again, again, again.
I'm contracted to take the hit
I know that makes no difference.
The lives you hold so very near
I'll take them from you dear.
................................
Why can't
my mind
find its
ease?
................................
I know the position you're in.
I was not born into this.
A hit was placed on my family and friends
to recruit my obedience.
I pretend to be normal
until my contract is signed
and the clever, chaotic side
unleashes on its next sacrifice.
................................
Reprieve
Reprieve
Reprieve
Reprieve
................................
There is no way to say this
I'm a killer who warps the meaning of justice.
I'll die alone in a ditch
and laugh at my own hopelessness.
................................
I laugh
at my
own mind's
unease
................................
Reprieve!
Reprieve?
There's no reprieve!
................................
Laugh!
Laugh!
Laugh with me!
................................
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
waves orchestrate
bruised kisses
smack
dazed moon’s
beclouded stare
numb
teal canopy’s
torn sinew
strewn
tidal riposte
homeless debris
scars
shattered fins’
bullied silence
screams
callous world
spawns grinding
vice
rabid avarice
fuels dueling
drive
winds stir
shifting sands
gasp
light eclipses
night’s capricious
rule
noon darkness
steep ransom’s
paid
earth salvaged
true Son
stands
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 6:42 AM UTC
we've been perched on the hot seat
from this weather there's no retreat
a week of the sun pouring scorn
no wonder we're feeling so worn
day break confirms more of its beat
reprieve not coming to the pleat
air temps truly stifling of bleat
they're so draining our seared corn
we've been perched on the hot seat
summers not being a pleasant treat
consistent the burn of defeat
far too much of it did adorn
we await a cooler fall morn
to breeze in with a notice neat
we've been perched on the hot seat
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC
to avoid the pitfall of prospective homelessness
which near future prospect
induces existential angst i confess.
Today (end of rope rhyme rote
approximately deux orbitz round the sun),
i wanted ta die and bid god riddance grandly
going gamesomely gra grave,
de deum, and cymbal crash
to Bing mulct emotionally, physically and spiritually -
all the grinding hardships would be gone in a flash
how tempting to seek ot a solution sans hemlock
or other deadly potion,
whereby toothless mouth need not gnash
boot simply swallow and drink from the goblet of
mortal freedoms renting psych *** under
with purposelessness mine hash
tag, which bout with suicide
while n the edge of thirteen -
Anorexia nervosa defeated -
then as now experience
10,000 banshee maniacs whip lash
lacerating, flagellating,
and repeatedly rousing thoughts
shin to circle back to why death be not proud
when life on par with a mash
up of ennui, futile gobbledygook housing incubus
analogous luft waffe bombardiers quash
the joie de vivre per je ne sais quois spritely spring
in step happy jollity,
and levity attempt to make light
of psychological me's mental illness rash
whence thru the (then) lvii roam min years
as chief garbage taster of trash
hurled my way gnome matter
the gremlins dwelt within the Wabash
distance to inflict din er of dissonance
targeted this mortal for'er abash
as soon as he got expelled
from the womb, his reddened ears did bash
from sonic screaming boom causing astir the nurses
into the maternity ward
of me late mum sped like dash
her, and fast as a comet Prancer doth emulate
a con ***** dancer, cuz ova this rude half
re: that came a boot
from genetic chromosomal dna wash.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 3:56 AM UTC
where is the note
I long to hear
the one that echoes
freedom
life
insects, birds
maddening sharp
should be solace
stylus cruel
when armour's slipped
no safety's found
each breath is work
to think impacts
audacious sun
attempts to smile
through winter's hold
reprieve to none
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
I didn't ask him why, he was banging on the door
I was only there, installing the new floors
He drifted in, like an unwelcome ghost from the past
Asked if I had finished, completing my best, and last
Thinking quickly, I told him "NO, not today"
Mind in a quandary, nothing else to say
Leaning in closely, his fetid breath upon my skin
"It really doesn't matter", as he played his violin
Feeling my heart leap, having not finished the stairs
"Bet your house, could use, some handy man repairs?"
He paused, contemplating, his sickle in repose
"I guess it wouldn't hurt, so I do suppose"
"You can start on the entryway, and stoop"
"Doing your best and lastly, building a chicken coop"
I have a small extension, but know it will take years
Renovating death's house, and ordering, from Sears
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 8:19 AM UTC
Sooner or latter your numbers gonna come up
Sooner or latter you'll have to drink from that cup
That's the reason I got my phone disconnected
Maybe, just maybe I won't be affected
But death plays for keeps
It's only job is to reap
Very few get a reprieve
Death is very hard to appease
So live every day like there is no tomorrow
Don't leave behind bad memories or sorrow
Because you might not even make it through the day
So leave them all something good to say
About your life and how you lived it
Even if you lived to be a hundred, you'll have to admit
Life is to short
Sooner or latter we'll be standing in the Almighty's court
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
What if you're not ready?
What if you don't want to be set?
But you're supposed to be,
So reluctantly you do it anyway
But why?
If it's not for you, then it's for them.
Except, it's not
Don't you get tired?
Don't you just want to leave?
Not because of anything they did
The hurtful things they said,
You're stronger than that
Yet you still want to leave
The worst feeling is you can't figure it out, why you want to go
When everything in your life seems
to be going perfectly
But you're still not happy,
And it's not your fault
So why do I run, you ask?
I seek perfection and nothing
at the same time
I just run because that's what I know
I don't think I'm scared of anything
And it's not because I don't love you
I run away for me
Me and only me
I don't know if I'll ever stop
I imagine it would be nice
To let people back into my life again
But I'm not ready for that yet
You running along beside me
does not bring me comfort
Rather, it's the exact opposite
I am the most okay with myself
when I am unsure what is ahead
Running, running, still running
Everything I am, was, depended on,
knew, loved, hoped for, dreamed
All fading fast behind me
And yet I keep running,
All because I'm not ready,
nor do I want to ever be set,
I just wish to forget it all
and you with it
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
Yesterday,
I could have sworn
that I could live out
the rest
of
my
days
in peace;
content
with knowing
that you’d be
able to fulfill
everything
that you ever
wanted in life,
even without me.
Right now,
I’m a wreckage;
another
shipwrecked,
abandoned,
forgotten
remainder
of a love
that
someone just
couldn’t take.
And it kills
me more inside
than I would
ever
dare to admit;
how,
even after
everything
we’ve
been
through,
I still wasn’t enough.
I still wasn’t the person
anyone would choose.
I still wasn’t the person
anyone would fight for.
I still wasn’t the person
who you’d love
and want
to stay with.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC