Is there any more vile villain
Than one that starves children
Or one who leads his men
Unarmed into the lion’s den?
Is there any more wretched soul
Who destroys his people’s goals
And befouls his neighbor’s sod
Then hides behind the name of god?

Is there any more heinous criminal
That those hiding in a high citadel
And ordering the total destruction
The implementation of a weapon
That murders women and children
That have done nothing to them
And hides the truth behind lies
Then points to the flag that flies.

Can anyone ever be worse than
The screeching ugly harridan
Who mouths deceits of her man
And brags she is his greatest fan?
Can she not see what she does
How she besmirches her own cause
By siding with this misogynist.
She condemns herself with her own fist?

Sometimes the villains that surround
Do their work with the least sound.
They undermine their very own fate
By siding with some nefarious mate.
Maybe someday the people will awake.
And make it stop before the **** breaks.
Or maybe we are doomed to forever be
The mindless victims of national apathy.

For those who've seen,
or worse yet shaken,
Deaths' hand leaves, but little trace.
Unharmed they seem,
don't be mistaken,
Death scars all, who've seen his face.
They fail to sleep,
from nightmares waken,
Death holds strong, in his embrace.
At night they'll weep,
all peace forsaken.
Death befouls, who've met his gaze.

I have found her
I finally found her
the distinct enchanting singing
which allures even the
perpetually frightened birds
to her crimson magnet lips.

once in it, there is no return
once in it, you wouldn't want to return anyway.
where the beads evaporate
through the dulcet clouds
only to fall onto your rampant seas again

she eludes nature
yet still acts in concert
befouls all my sorrows
So they cannot see ahead of me.

for what I love is rather bleak
unless it slips between the nets
of her silken mouth,
ensnaring my body
like the ever patly fog does
in the cold mid-spring morning.

I can't spot me, let alone her
I long to see her
but sharing the trait of a jolly sun
confines me to marvel her

'least I can hear the guiding caroling
leading my chained up limbs
to an old long farscaped gate
proliferated with strong green tendrils
that took such good care of it
as if they knew, that I would arrive

one day

Rude-awakened, bare, I plunged
the mine for errors—yelled revisions
up the shaft, felt echoes drift.
Stifled gold-myths for anchors: pig-iron
chained to answers. Asked "which way?"
and felt novel paths fade to gray,
gut-checked at gates Now Boarding,
urgency-alive, departure day.  

For-Shame walks hard his two-block beat:
the love against his feet, the bleach
behind his eyes. The toll is lucid blood:
much thinner, quick-twitch coded,
primed to run. Canaries, fathoms down,
sing longing to the mask
that votes for trade—sweeps laurel off
the heads of state, befouls the learners'
****-grounds. What truth might Satan

still confound? Denounced and parceled,
grifters spend our last resort
up paper-trails that track too short—
force every sense through that
accursed mask.
To breathe, perchance, to ask.

It's a bit late now to search for flowers,
The summer is in retreat;
Soon the cold north winds will blow,
Carpeting the ground with snow,
As slurred prints betray my dragging feet

It's a bit too late now for dreaming,
I don't feel up to the task;
All my dreams have gone unsung,
Bitterness befouls my tongue,
At last, I see Life without its mask

It's a bit too late now to seek love,
I wouldn't know what to do;
Would I even recognize
That crown-jewel of Paradise?
How would I respond to "I love you?"

It's a bit late now to try and change
All the wrong this world contains;
I'll pass that torch to the young,
Now that my Swan Song's been sung,
And the life slowly creeps from my veins

It's a bit too late now for most things,
I've relinquished all to Fate;
Yet, I swear by all the stars above
I want to believe I may yet love!
But I won't ....... it's just a bit too late