O thee, dew vernal!
Nascent is thy form at dawn,
My aqueous muse.

Where th' water 's not opposed, th' water flows.
Where understanding 's opaque, frustration grows.
Where ignorance resides, hatred shares its abode.
Where dishonesty respites, malice lies too.

Where th' voice remains unheard, what good are their words?
Where th' voice remains unchallenged, what 's e'er learned?
Where force triumphs o'er fact, 'tis truth that falls first.
Where truth no longer thrives, falsity 's th' victor.

Where fear supplants courage, nigh are th' darkest days.
Where justice wilts and withers, 'tis th' innocent that pay.
Where vengeance wins th' mind and heart, with haste peace decays.
Where peace 's fated to perish, th' stench of war pervades.

Thus, reader, let 't be you who heeds this writ;
Who remedies the world's defects;
Who restores Good where Good 's spent;
Who bears th' light to illume th' darkness;

Who brings change where change 's due.

it's the small victories
that can mean
the most

I thought I would pen a hymn for you,
But now I don't know if I want to.
You used to say that you love me too.
Now we just scream until we’re –
Blue in the face, I hear you
Cursin’ my name under your breath.
And every time that we drink
We say something that we regret.
And I don't know, I don't know
How to get past this.

I can't count all of the lies,
All the times you said goodbye.
To only come back with teary eyes
Say you got no one else in your life.
And I always let you back inside
To mend our woes for a short time.
Then come the fights, the words, the cries
The sayin' "this won't happen twice".
This is what we know, it’s all we know
Will we get past this?

Oh when the morn comes will you be gone?
Tell me now and this’ll all be done.
Then after you, no I won't run
You can fall into another’s –
Arms, yeah find the one who treats you right
Who stays up with you, talks all night.
Who tells you they'll never leave your side
Who feels your joy, your pain, your strife.
Who really knows you, who really knows
And you'll get past this.

I hope you know I don't hate you
I never have, I never will.
Been with you come the rain or wind.
It's something that I do –
Miss, I know you're leavin’ soon
Before the eventide comes ‘round.
Here's farewell to creviced love
I might not see you when dawns the morrow.
But I don't know, yeah I don't know

Oh when the morn comes will you be gone?
Tell me now and this'll all be done.
Then after you, no I won't run
You can fall into another’s –
Arms, yeah find the one who treats you right
Who stays up with you, talks all night.
Who tells you they'll never leave your side
Who feels your joy, your pain, your strife.
Who really knows you, who really knows
And we'll get past this.

it's the new knives
that can open
the old wounds
the easiest

I recall the whispers of a dying voice;
The forthcoming shadow of who she once was;
The soft laments from a withered, wearied frame,
Enervated by the concoction of bottles and morphine---
Alternating between states of repose and reality, often electing the former.
Tears were eschewed by those around her,
Seeking not to meditate on the inevitable,
But to celebrate a life of felicity and accomplishment.
The hours ceased not in their transit.
Spring dawned and left;
Summer arrived and departed;
The showers came and abated;
The flowers bloomed and decayed.

I recall the silence that morning.
The silence that rendered mute the laughter;
The silence that brought the dolorous realization;
The silence that spoke of her departure.

Spent not are the voices of the by-gone poets.
Interred not by earth profound.
Transgressed not by time’s incessant passage.
The verse ere marked by the plume of the pensive;
The ludic; the bereavéd,
All sustenance for the spirit creative.
Muses of the writers of modern age.
O art unassailable, tongue primordial, light of radiance eternal,
Bulwark ‘fore the chaos of a decadent world.
So transcends the poet’s writ the maxims of the kosmos;
Our ephemeral existence molded by stricture.
That which comes of the pen—
Embodiment of the amiable, and the embittered;
The opaque, and the transparent;
The leaden, and the gossamer;
The facile, and the onerous.
Oh Maestro del Verso, with thy ink and thy pinion
Art thou edifier of universes, of languages, of conscience;
Porter of tidings; bearer of wisdom and welter;
The stones that impede the tumultuous seas;
The safeguard mid the tempest coming.
Thy hands, they bid the wan and wax of Luna and Sol;
Thy mind, the river’s very ebbs and flows;
Thy song, the harvests’ bountiful growth.
Thy *****, the rains' arrival and repose.

Yea, poet, go on!
Progenitor of worlds,
Master of thy creation.