The sky has darkened,
filled with clouds
a violent, jagged
black. Night has
shifted.
Thundering,
shattering across
the vast horizon.

St. Michael,
the Archangel.
Defend us in
battle.

The dream has given
way to nightmares.
Day retreats
to night.

This battle is
just another
variation of my own
jaded
reality.

I’m having a
conflict of interest.
Who will make it
out alive?

Be our protection
against the wickedness
and
snares of the Devil.

I need it now.

No shield to protect.

Dreams burned
white hot into
the back of accepting
consciousness.
Scarred from memories.

Unforgiving supernatural
spirits working
behind
the veil of what is
and what is to be.

May God rebuke him,
We humble pray.
And do thou,
O Prince of the Heavenly host,
by the power of
God.

These premonitions are growing
in the shadows of self-doubt.
Breeding self-destruction.
I must remember
better times.

If it is to be than
what can be done.
Predetermined outcomes
wait at the tipping
point between
this world
and
the gates of Hell.

Fire whipping through air
sapping life from all forms.
Red glow blinding.
Suffering ,
with a fleeting hope.

I must not forget
what past has presented.
What future holds…

Only when it is accepted that
the calloused hands of
Fate
hold the fragile strings.

Can I truly be free…

From?

****** into Hell Satan and
all the evil spirits.

Oh,
the ending is coming.

If I could only
wake up from this
haunting.
Eyes closed,
listening
to the music of life.
Watching bright light
overcome the
coal black distress.

Who prowl about
the World
seeking the ruin
of souls.

I can make it.
The time to be idle
has passed!
This battle will
turn into
all out
war.
When all one must do
is be the best person
they can be.

I can
And will.

I must.

Amen.

This is what I got.
A title that really means more
than all of these words.
Writing a poem is
like a breath of
cliche.
I have been working on
moer than I can handle.
It is causing me to misspell.

Sure,
I could sit down.
write
write
write
Why?

None of these poems will ever
change the world?
Maybe, they will change one person's world.
Maybe, they have changed my world.
I am different.
Before I had clockwork,
now I have this.

Is this a change?
Is this a poem?

The clock rocks
tick tock
all the way to paradise.
While you look,
at old pictures of
situations you can no longer
remember.
In a flash they are
gone.
Long and
short hands
motioning that
your life is draining.
And the blackbird sings,
but only for a moment.
Knocking over the hourglass,
shattered time.
Oh, the
humanity.
Ring the gong,
sending shockwaves through
the world.
The global population's ear's
perk up,
listening,
waiting.
For the catastrophe at hand
to begin.
Monuments shatter and crumble,
the mind begins to deteriorate.
And the clock,
ticks
on
and
on.

I’ll tell you how this poem ends.
It’s with a hard knock and
a whole lot of painful questions.
Who? What? Where? When? Why?
But no how?

That’s a secret.

This poem ends with like taking advantage
of you,
then leaving while you’re still asleep.

It never really goes anywhere.
Sizzle Sizzle Pop Smack.
Just like that,
this poem flashes before your eyes.
Blaine would be proud.

I never read poems til the
bitter end.

No, I skip ahead,
even in my own poetry.
First sentence
to
the last word.

What does that say about me?
Like I said,
more questions.

Impulsive?
Maybe.

Let’s end it here.
Would that be the cowardly thing to do?
Or would it put this poem out of its misery?
It is starting to drag its feet.

I believe it is time.
Fingers crossed,
behind the back.

Click Click Bang Bang.

Don’t you hate it when poems drag on,
word after
word after
word.

Finished.

I find myself
wanting to change,
everything.

I want to go
back and do it all over,
again.

Please,
just this once.
Don't listen to me.
I wouldn't change it.

It made me who I am
today.

I want to walk
over cobblestone roads.
Gaze over red clay tops
and
breathe foreign air.

Remember my
favorite wooden bench,
under the old tree,
dying.
Where I watch the water
speed by,
such is life.

Bolted firmly to the ground,
keeping me from...
Bridges in the foreground,
pale blue
summer sky.
Cloud creepying over
the city.
Whispering,
watching.

A work of art,
one of the finests I've ever seen.

A momentary vision
of something I did not
appreciate.

Next time...

I rubbed his foot.

Drowning in my pillow,
waking up
realizing that this
isn't me.
I am watching life
flash.
Days from sunrise to set
people,
places,
ideas...
Thinking of what should
have happened
but
what really occurred.
I keep re-reading this chapter,
like some emotional teenager.
The next chapter is
being drafted,
everyone has their pen.
They're scribbling.
What are they doing?
Should this be different?
Is it this hard to move on?
I am becoming restless,
tossing and turning.
Sun bursts through the curtains.
Slowly moving my eyes
to the music of
Mozart,
refocusing on the bottle of air-freshener.
Oh,
what another day.

St. Michael,
The Archangel.

What should I think?

Wake me from this haunting.

I have become
the monster.

Defend us in battle.
Be our protection
against ourselves.

This world will show
only what we need to see.

The Devil is
watching us
dance to the bottom
of the bottle.

Sinking

into disassembly
This is not my true face.
No one will ever see that
I prefer to keep it close.

Waltzing by myself…
The only dance I’m allowed.

St. Michael,
The Devil is seeking the
ruin of souls.

I’m anxious.

Drinking alone.
Just waiting for something to happen,
watching life spiral into
madness.

The universe is expanding
and I am staying the same.

What does this all mean?
The story is slowing down
and I need more time;
to fully understand
what the other side wants.

Bending to the will of others
Please help me now…

I am trying to be the
best I can be in this life.

Oh,
the ending is
coming far too soon.

Defend us.

I will become that
better person.
I know I can.

I must.

What happens now?

These dreams
are becoming far too
real.