A want for destruction Held by A lack of faith In the oneself Wrapped in your Pious hope Choking on Identity indignation And the suffering
Tag: Prose
Some Things Never Die
Through these caverns An echo mourns The passing of a life Wrought with hope And the illusion Of significance A wordless meaning Left hanging on
Old Men and Their Candy
The old man satLegs crossed, foot bouncingThe blinds were drawnSummer heat screamingFrom the warped floorboardsYou could see the dust, each particleFloating in faint strips of
Nothing
I grow tired of the reflection How it always stares back at me Like an old friend I’ve watched over the years Condescending, knowing, judging
Empty, Within
The glory of the passing Shared among the weak Claimed by the strong Hold it up with pride Bear witness to this Ignore as my
Plenty of Time – No Time part 2
I’ll put it away now, for later, maybe Crudely wrapped in blue smoke and Pounding fists, squinting eyes, ripped pages Thankful for the occasional flicker
The Stories In Between 