Choosing Ground

Addiction can be stronger than the will
to survive,

and it’s as if he wants me addicted
to his society
and their self-righteous ways.

Then I’ll do whatever he wants me to do
just because my addiction to what they call
becomes more important than my own will,

and like a drug addict
that uses any money he can gather to buy
his next hit instead of his next meal,
I’ll go to them with an empty tummy
and demand they put food in my belly.

But it’ll be the food they choose to feed me,
and though something deep inside me
knows what I’m eating is poison,
I’ll eat it anyway,
because though it’s killing me, it feeds
my addiction and allows my addiction

to live

even as I die.


Not in frame of anyone’s sight
Only in shadow of All Hallow’s light
Lost and found in masks of fright
Defined not in day nor by night

The will to be, a welcome end
Daily life a what not when
While the why escapes the bitter bend
Of transformation to descend

Over head, the boastful crown
Skewed fingernails, painted frown
Excitement hides behind the brown
And other pigments training down

Old souls cater to the new
Spirits gather, the happy few
Dinner served as words imbue
Lifting smiles, grifting views

But under moon’s monstrous glow
A finale plays a tune’s dark foe
Thin the bustling, no more in tow
Back to rustling sleep demons go

Sleep Spell

Awake in her mind,
she lay still
while soft dreams and visions
flew through and past her
as soft clouds fly
across the mountaintops.

And where do the mountains
meet the sky?
How deep does she dive
to her mind’s eye?

Her fingertips glide
across petals
stretching mellow perfumes
and vibrant shades
over vast green fields.

Her playful smile,
fresh as the playful rain,
dances with the hum
of the hummingbird’s wings,
though shy in the presence
of secret things.

And what are those secrets
the mountaintops hold?
Silent in her slumber,
may she be so bold?

Bold in her curiosity
of what lay still,
what awaits discovery
at the whim of a will.

The End Of Love

I had a dream
in which I was personally witness
to the wars and massacres
around the world,
to the bloodstained greed and lust
backing these atrocities,
to the races spewing hate against hate
while labeling themselves “victim,”
to the injustices against women
and by women,
to the young men who are left affected
with only one way to express their rage,
to the corporations stealing wealth
from those who have little,
to the public further and further divided
along red and blue lines,
to the politicians standing idly by
and allowing all of this,
helping all of this,
for true leadership skill
or at least an ability to care
is lost on them.
And as I was personally witness
to all of this,
out of the corner of my eye,
I noticed a man beside me,
standing tall.
And I turned and looked
and found that it was Jesus.
Not white Jesus, not black Jesus,
not an invented image of Jesus,
but Jesus.
And as I realized
that Jesus had been witnessing
and weeping over
the cruelty of humans,
I asked Jesus,
“When will you return?
When will you come back
to save us?”
And Jesus turned to me,
the tears streaming
like a river through time and space,
and Jesus said unto me,
“Are you kidding?
They would crucify me.”

Speaking of division along red and blue lines…

Guilt Wish

You feel it, don’t you?
One event after the next
The flow of things
One tragedy leads to another
and another

And the mournful
shed their tears
as the destructors
boast their joys
You feel it, don’t you?

The tears, the joys
and every attempt you have made
to change nothing

You feel it…
The curses
The prayers
The loss of air
…don’t you?

Don’t you feel sorry
Don’t you dare

A Predator

What is it?
We don’t know.
It arrived not long ago
in these woods.
Leaves a footprint
that’s not human.
And it’s been killin’.
Killed a grizzly with ease,
from what we can tell.

Where did it come from?
Out there,
from somewhere above.
Some bright lights in the sky
preceded the madness.
It was then that people,
random witnesses,
started talkin’ of this
invisible… thing.
You don’t see what’s movin’,
only that somethin’s movin’.
And when it does appear,
that’s when you die.

What does it want?
It’s been shot at
but still keeps comin’,
pursues as you try to run,
tracks you down
wherever you go.

It’s a hunter.

What does it want?
Your head
as its trophy.