-Oh no
  She saunters by
The air stiffens and falls, mountains bow,
               All kowtow, or at least they should
                 -We’re not worthy
      She looks over her dominion
                                          She rules all that she sees
            None standup to contest
                   She has me too, I confess
                                             -I like it
                     She looks through me
Another face
Another peon
Another nothing
                                                                               -HEY!


-…Place your hopes here my lad
-No, I am better than this. She will see ******
LOOK AT ME
           Not another tidbit for the
Proverbial chopping block
     Her neck turns; time stops
  Clocks tick without their tock
        -We get so lonely
        Or is it for her? She tops me
Swivels slowly, no stop
A slow-mo accident waiting to be replayed
        -Oh God please
        -Oh God no
She cuts the room in two, parallel lasers
     Heads
                   roll
                            and
                                    smile,
                           they
             cheer
       for
me
-You got this Tiger
-Steady man, steady
     She sees my eyes with hers
Dull brown against the firing squad
                      -Ready boys! Aim
Her lips part, chest slightly rises loading the bullet
      She locks on her target and she never misses
          A bead of sweat rolls on past
              It asks
-What have you done
     They look to her
-Take the shot!
And she does with a smile
                                                  -*Hey

What’s this?
A relic from my childhood.
Long forgotten.  
Memories spring forth from nowhere.
My imagination is brought forth front and center
And history is repeated
For me alone.
I watch the movie
Every emotion (such joy, such fury, such sadness)
I feel again with renewed vigor.
Cringing in childish embarrassment and smiling the way children do.
Every motive (children are really such fickle creatures; innocence isn’t something learned)
Is held dear again in my heart, overriding my ethic, my values.
My senses are overwhelmed with old, dusty film reels and stale popcorn.
I grip the armrests of my seat; I cannot take my eyes off.
I laugh at every cereal-box quality joke and cry over every scraped knee.
I even feel the relief and comfort the cartoon-character Band-aid brings.
Sandboxes and freshly cut grass.
Bright, warm sunlight and the rabbit hutch.
Vacations with Mom and Dad together.
The movie ends but lives on as I walk out of the theatre.
Like a tattoo on my shadow, it walks with me home.
All of this in a blink of an eye.
I remember.

Silently they prowl. In
gangs howling in hunger wondering
what led them over the edge.
They wonder who marked the ledge
and why the fall hurt so bad.
Sadness and filth.
Desperation.
Had God truly forsaken or was it the bottle and ******.
Then why do they stay in the alley
like a Jew in the Promised Land?
The milk and honey is all but sand that brings no sleep.
The Deep is dark and swallows
dreams but not hope.
Hope is all they have.
A better tomorrow.
A new today.
Something to sway fate's grip on a burdened shoulder.
Providence is rare but endure like boulders
of a mountain. They cry out
-Why?
The worst can't come tomorrow
if it came yesterday.
But today they lay in their cardboard.
Hidden behind society's sweet smile.
All ties cut and sewn with lies.
The blood still fresh on the chopping block.
The cleaver bound for another round.
The clock never stops.
Slaaam goes a hand
against the *****'s cheek.
-Only the meek inherit the earth
she remembers the Father say.
A happier day to remember but today no acre is hers.
She will sleep and dream and cry.
For Grim's helping hand.
The ticket out of the human condition.
A release to white.
Sins washed and cleaned fit for a God to see
life may not be the Eden he planned.
Tonight they sleep hoping the wears and tears this
perpetual nightmare to end.
A new beginning.
A second chance.
Life.

Boomboom cannons flair and scare. And
me? Scared. Frightened. Covered.
Stink. Sweat. ***** too.
Look at me. All alone with my crew of
skeletons and ghosts.
Or soon to be.
-Watch out!
someone shouts and I do watch out. Only
to see
wet rage of lead to greet the dead
with a new life.
-Over there!
-Over where?
Everywhere men fall
and babies bawl.
And me time stalls for just a minute.
For an hour.
Perhaps I will stay.
And play in this deadly game
of hide and seek
with Grim himself whose not so bad.
-Follow me
and see
what waits beyond
the flame and sorrow,
But I stay to see tomorrow.
And what do I see?
Same story different chapter
of history for the future
of future for the past.
Past what? Time has no meaning.
Only dead or alive
but which is which?
The living dead maybe?
Who knows. I knows.
I can see, smell, taste the
souls leaving with a swoooooosh!
Mooooooosh the day begins.
when did it end?
-It never ends.
For the living.
-Get up up up!
There here everywhere!
Neighs the Steed. And I do
Not wishing I had. To see what happened
Devils yell
-To hell we will take.
You, me, even the Steed.
But through his good deed
bayonet stings and swings at
hell itself.
Blood covered and
fearydreary run too
the night.
Wizzing rounds around me
I run for the safe dark. Steed snorts
-Selfish! Idiot! Nincompoop!
Your men are in danger
when you slink away!
I am swayed not
by Steed but by Grim’s
gentle hand.

One day it will rain.
The soothing water will wash
away the sins of the world.
The sun will shine.
Its light like liquid gold.
Behold! The Miracle!
Pain erased, sorrow forgotten.
Tomorrow will cease to be as well as
yesterday.
Only today will remain. Nothing will matter;
everything remembered.
The SON OF MAN will greet the children of his Father.
Tears no more. The Human Condition restored
to what Father planned.
Thwarted by the KING OF LIES.
Won back by the KING OF LIVES.
Everyone bows. Mountains crumble. Lakes deepen.
The SON laughs at humility.
After all he is but a Man.
Humanity at its finest.
Though his Condition no better.
Like a shepherd he leads on.
The strays and the lost
He has not forgotten nor forsaken.
Though they have.
They are sorry. They see their mistakes wishing for a second chance.
Their tears
wet the path to
Damnation.
The river of tears flows.
Engulfed by the flame.
The Fallen grins.
He is happy.
Misery loves company and He is misery.
The Anointed cries with them.
The SON empathizes.
-They are human.
He leads them with his crook.
Their tears dry. The river a cracked bed.
The flames subside. Morning Star laments
-It's not fair!
SON counters
-And what do you know about equality?
The gate is open. The future awaits.
Brighter than the Luminous City up the path.
The Struggle is over.
Peace begins.

The rain falls against the Face
Each drop like a tiny bomb
-SPLAAAAAAASH
-KABOOOOOOM
Its features made smooth by its school of thought
- Dum Dum Dum
they strike and insist
never miss
Blasts of kettle drums mingled
with the Staccato
All sounds brought forth from the
Technicolor Heartbeat
The clouds watch Face as it pours
-Anything to make us pure again
What cure is there
-Purify
-Pacify
-Rely on social norms We know what you need
Media never had it quite right
There was no fight
only Acquiescence
The slow acceptance
Eyes can be fooled and these clouds are
-Not convinced
The fractured Block inside the Face
offers no place for peace
for minds
Thoughts race behind the clouds
and fall behind the march
-Hey wait up
-NO LIE DOWN
It only rains when they lead the parade
and this charade is growing tired
Block is slowly
picking up the pieces
-Reconstruction
A better tomorrow
A new today
Clouds watch the world on stage
A play that never stops
Actors get off and paradigms shift
enough to crumble any mountain
and drain any sea
So the clouds rain
painlessly to each passerby
even though they get wet.

The day is sunny.
The time is a little past noon.
The red door casts a small shadow over the green grass.
If you stand there and close your eyes,
You could swear you hear a river as it dove through the forest.
But the river's not important.
What's important is the door, or rather, what's behind the door.
The door is never locked.
The **** is always loose and fits nicely in the palm of your hand.
You can look around the door.
There's nothing special about it.
It is painted in the most ordinary of red.
The molding on the frame is nothing to admire.
Its importance is almost never recognized at first.
Everyone will see this door in their lifetime, sometimes more than once.
Some even grasp the **** and give an tiny tentative turn.
But many, too many, will turn away.
Fear loves to sit by this door.
He will take the hand of anyone who'll embrace him.
He never solicits his services.
He never advertises.
Yet people flock to him like flies to honey.
Funny how flies also gather around garbage.
But if you ignore him you will find your hand on that doorknob.
Give it a turn and extend your arm.
Close your eyes.
Remember what it took to get here.
The door gives a satisfying creak.
The dour man besides the door gives a barely noticeable frown.
You notice how it almost seems to glide open on its hinges.
A small bead of sweat carves a path down his forehead.
You gently let go and allow the door to open.
Like it was made to do.
He looks ill.
Step on through.