Swept Away on a Bitter Eve

That somber eve condemning me
was my malice anguish of past,
Swept from my loft by his horse,
riding into darkness at last…!

Under the blood-stained moon
we cut through air like his blade,
This dastardly horseman roared
as my torment and grief decayed.

Quickly over the threshold
of the revelations at my feet,
My distasteful surrendering
was my sole, sane retreat.

And at the heart of the journey
was her transfixing medallion,
Grasped in one hand, and
the other upon Death’s stallion.

Losing Lenore

A grim and darkened sorrowful tale
of a dimming fancy, henceforth ail.
Shallow green swallowed eyes, skin pale,
my conscience since adrift and frail.

A valorous faith in that lustful sin,
and a wicked pleasure in her grin.
Her seducing vitality from within,
enthralled as if lost in gin.

Her adorned amulet had whispered low
of reverie, in which one could bestow.
This lone enchantress, a sole doe,
I had once believed to know.

But swiftly risen of ill will was a harpy,
and inflicted vengeance of jealousy.
This dire revelation taunted to me,
a wrath of hell, and of yours truly.

A treacherous traitor, accused heretic,
but the actions alone will contradict.
This deceiver, this siren, will afflict
what she believed to have been tricked.

This wretched imposition awakened,
now deserted and solitarily shaken.
So lest my heart be forsaken,
withhold this pondering taken.

The Veil

Your stolen vanity cannot cover a truth
of which you deceive yourself by youth.
And hope cannot comfort your grief
without another's undying belief.
Impatience has become you for it all,
yet for what and why I cannot recall.
Forgotten by choice is your purpose,
a content within you, but not for us.
Your rotted core, now for which I adore,
yet still, you yearn and lust for more.
You uncover the veil and strip the gown
to urges of jealousy to which I am bound.

A Sweet Serenade

Please forgive misgivings, and my repose,
and a distant intimacy seeking unknown,
a near hollowed core dazed in wear,
all such bound in fault of my own.

This of an adversary of trivial matter,
so we emerge triumphant each time,
within, I foresee pressing times come worse,
but our pinnacle is passion and resolve.

A sweet serenade is my burnt offering,
a requiem of heartfelt hand in hand,
side by side we will conquer all,
and this I give, a vow like none other.

Drifter

I drift when I drive, and dread when I arrive,
so I just sit outside, where I'll feel more alive.
I'm tempting the fates with my all consuming hate,
and still my need to create lies in a dormant state.
Whispering a comatose breath, brought on like Seth,
I heed my own death as sure as the fall of Macbeth.
An eventless, winding road, driven to my own ode,
with a machine in corrode and equipped to explode.
Here I am effortlessly alert but restlessly inert,
and never could I convert until settling in dirt.
I swear it's so hard to care in a world unfair,
and to prepare when everyone has become unaware.
I desire the trust, but yet settle in dust,
and when nothing is just, the world can combust.
With apathy a virtue, only tolerance is true,
so the peaceful view is something long overdue.
Rooted deep in my mind is this thought to remind,
and my temper now blind for all of mankind.

Shattered

I was not the closest, but I cannot forget,
and I know you never warranted any of this.
Mangled metal and shattered glass made silence,
their thoughtless disregard had tipped the balance.
Your abated vitality was instantaneously taken,
and left only another's volatile nature forsaken.
The fault was not yours, you could not have known,
yet the other's implication prevents their atone.
This oversight left them visionless and stray,
and they destroyed more than one life that day.
The good die young, they say, and now I know
you would want this swelled hatred in me to go.

Section 8

An abode in an asylum,
bound in bowels with bedlamites,
yet certain I can circumvent
degradation and decay,
and escape.

A Fun Day

You had a blast
when I buried you
in sand
up to your neck,
until you realized
I wasn't done.

Choke

The seconds tick, and a bit too quick
to choke the life right from his lungs,
and a heart too old to be too young
and formerly here, but now he is gone,
mistakenly humble, utterly withdrawn,
such irony to dream at night and not day,
a bullet fired astray who cannot obey,
who hates the game he is meant to play
but now is the time to put his toys away,
inhaling through decay and callousness
to relinquish and confess to suppress
with no progress in such endlessness,
with shut eyes and open arms he stands
to welcome the tugging culprit hands
to expand, to undergo and make demands
with spiteful words and a bitter tongue
to choke the life right from his lungs.

A Silent Bequeathal

Stolen rations and wage,
allocations softly taken
from Moria and doom's view,
despoiled and torn
as promising plunder:
Judgement Day.

Retrenchment

Remaining
regrettably
resilient
to restoration,
right,
and repair.
Ready to run
to retire
in remise.
Reaping only rot,
remorse,
retreat,
and recession.
Riding
into rejection.

Antagonists

Your censure by a panel
of unjust judges and jury
for conformity
from arrogance
brought you harmony
in their euthanasia.

Dependence Day

What are you going to tell little Johnny Jr.
when he's "old enough to understand?"
Will you tell him that his “daddy died
defending his family, Freedom, and land?”
What did you see in the bathroom mirror
reflecting back before the glass hit the floor?
Did you see a proud father who believed
Johnny fought for Justice and Liberty offshore?
Or did you see a sever in your own lineage,
a Judas, a traitor to the King and his Crown?
Will the flag you bought on the twelfth of ‘01
keep you warm when Johnny’s not around?
Will you creep in the shadows and stray
from the light, blinded by your arrogance?
Or will you rise up on your own two feet
and no longer accept Voluntary ignorance?
Will you stand up all on your own now
or will you just continue to stay hidden?
Will you keep the secret of your detest
and indulge on all that has been forbidden?
Will fruitless labor of your sweat and blood
find you awake at night as you fight tears?
Will you Vote in ’08 for someone “better”
and bring Honor to your son’s final years?
Will Apple Pie and Baseball be your shield
against Terror and potential Nuclear War?
Or will you declare your own Independence,
an autarchy apart they can no longer ignore?

Return of the White Stag

Upon sight of a pale shepherd of good tiding
you closed your eyes and awoke, and inhaled
as the foliage of your soon paradise unveiled
off in the great distance no longer in hiding.

Atop escort woe and heartache began subsiding
and soon all prosperity and tranquility regaled,
upon sight of a pale shepherd of good tidings
you closed your eyes and awoke, and inhaled.

Pure essentia in euphoria in home-swept guiding,
the journey through pastures of clover availed
a quaint home where kindred spirits prevailed,
and your soul gave thanks for those presiding
upon sight of a pale shepherd of good tiding.

Gaians

Utopia
is green paradise rapture,
arcadia is home and Canaan is capital, the
timberline becomes shelter
to emissaries desiring hope,
love greenhorn gives Terra, mother goddess,
given peace, not hatred; forsaken umbrage,
mankind in sin, men of misdeeds
never forget
- Gaians -
forget never
misdeeds of men, sin in mankind,
umbrage forsaken; hatred, not peace, given
goddess mother; Terra, gives greenhorn love,
hope desiring emissaries, to
shelter becomes timberline,
the capital is Canaan and home is arcadia,
rapture paradise green is
utopia.

Power(less)

Within
my domain
I remain vigilant
despite
ruthless persecution,
scorned
in my own kingdom
for what I am:
mall cop.

I Have You Pegged

Either your intellect
is perspicacious
and immeasurable,
or you were once
dropped on your head.

140 mg of Caffeine

Late nights
wired with the bolt,
a hyperactive radio,
and StarCrunch cookies,
rushing
and crashing
into early mornings,
coming unglued.

Wake

Beneath the worn relics of vanished ancients
glistening essence poured a pool of waking,
a cloudless reclamation of enchantment.

In frore waters she stood stark without shaking,
calmed by new incitement and the cleansing hour,
shedding nimble husk through her soul-retaking.

She bathed herself in crystal native showers,
again she danced with all the aeon amidst,
passions for her own spirit to empower.

Baptized in the immortal fountain dismissed
by all who refuse whole truth or to subsist.