Impossible, Precious Foresight

Citrine Summers veil the brewing doom,
Hatchets of happiness plug an opened wound.
There’s a king in his castle and he chants my cursed name,
I am his soldier about to fight a battle upon his blessed plain.

By spade and stick, I have hollowed the ground into a hideout,
To save my family from the invasion because I’ve had my doubt,
Call it impossible, precious foresight, a king’s gamble wins or dies in vain,
While the stooges who do the dirty work lose their comrades or their brains.

Sapphire and sweet, his queen stills her heart, though anxious and merry.
Antiquated as royalty can be, she must be just as ready,
Fore if the castle bows as wilts a flower,
Her family will lose their crest and the enemy will assume its power.

When the battle unfolds in war cries, and I have retreated underground.
The enemy’s thunderous stomping, can only mean the end is just around.
If there’s a way out, it’s back to where I began,
Under rule of a new king, as a soldier for whatever he believes in.

It’s a political wheel, spinning fervently to the left then to the right,
When all we need is to be steady. No more fights.
When the fields are lush Emerald from blood soaked from the dead,
Will we finally find the peace or eventually water the ground again?

IX

Those who love will gain love in return.
Those who possess will own nothing they earned.
Where the line stops, I step on over,
And feel the world fall from my shoulders.

I’ve taken my sorrows and turned them to stone,
And built out of them a home, I call my own.
I’ve now made a deal to let the ceiling fall.
I held it up until I couldn’t bear the weight of it all.

Those who wait along the line, will wait through their many lives,
Those who are bold to cross and bear the pain are given a surprise.
Where the courage birthed from, a thousand woes,
And the story begins, a growth from the shadows.

I plan to leave a trail behind,
I plant my seeds to give back to this life,
I will not wait with the others, I will now follow,
And let another life go by that’s hard to swallow.

Through the rubble, a house that once was,
I find my greatest moment, a feeling,
A key to fill the hole in my heart,
I unlock the greatest purpose, to love
Without expecting anything in return,
Even to be loved.

 

This Job Isn’t Big Enough For The Two Of Us

Quiet down now, beautiful little bygones.

Your melancholy harmony was your greatest allure.

When I walk away like a cowboy into the sunset, you’ll miss

The point, and that’s something I’ll have to live with.

 

I’ll throw around words of distaste like boulders,

Looking for the golden ruling, but I’ll never be able to speak my heart.

Down by the water hole, I have reflected more than a man does in a lifetime,

And I’ve found just as much, because there is only one answer, every time.

 

The past is Four Roses on the rocks, And after a few,

I’m drunk in memories. Though it’s easiest to forget.

Strangers will gather and help me sing this song,

That digs me deeper, closer to my grave.

 

The Aces of life I laid on the table doubled its value,

But the dealer knew better and rigged the river,

And all that time wishing for the jackpot,

Left me with nothing but kindly banter from the others being played.

 

Yes, the fear of untimely change can make a man’s paunch ache,

Biting fingernails and sleepless nights, snappy judgment, blind eyes,

Rest assured, everything will be alright.

But first things first, get through the night alive.

 

Today I’ll ponder mortality; tomorrow I’ll fight it.

And that’s the answer, every time.

Today I’ll drink and toast. Tomorrow I’ll find a new town,

And call it my own, until it’s time for my sunset again

When A Pawn Warns Their Bishop

Their ways of understanding fill the steel basin,

As they want, not a drop more or less.

Let the stillness reflect their feelings,

Cool as floor tile, sharp as business kills.

 

Everyone heard about those stock market uncertainties.

The king hangs off the rung above,

Tersely slips a heating plate underneath,

Set to boil. Bubble over, let the liquid

Take its place, rain running fire starter.

 

Disguised in crystal clear, the liquid’s granulated sugar water,

Fore the king charms the bees, ants, and all naive.

The bishop passes down his orders, sacrifices his pawns,

And is wooed he will not be next.

Somebody please, bring a towel, this has gotten to be quite a mess.

 

When a pawn warns their bishop,

He can only watch the signal flare with unmoving eyes.

Cold and silent, their ways of understanding fill the basin,

But there’s not enough for anyone else, but the king and the game.

 

 

Hideaway on West Center Road

In twilight’s moment,
Where the black forest stirs,
Amongst a coyote’s howl for prey,
A burned away chapel two hundred years ago,
Remains a marble alter, a slab wall, and a story,
The sheen of dew shimmers in moon glow.

In a neighboring field, crooked tombstones
Jut up from the ground,
As if these victims eternally try to escape the fires.

These tablets, dressed in dried moss, bear worn out names,
Unpreserved only by ancient lore,
Known by locals who visit at this time to lay flowers and flags.

And behind it all, those rampant woods
Weave through each other like a fence,
Spreading up a rounded mountain,
Where brown bears graze on blackberries,
And rusted car skeletons lay buried in decomposition,
Providing shelters for wasps and field mice.

Headlights attached to my heart flip inside,
And out of the random,
I recall these gurlgling streams that ran like veins
Into deposits where beavers assembled their dams.
These secret lands, where stone trails were built,
By Union Soldiers in the Civil War,
Where I’d walk alone in youthful contemplation.

The church is a stop on the curving road,
Where “country driving” happens,
Where wild turkeys and red foxes meander across,
Where the world has been touched gently over the period of Humans.
It is here, I’ve locked away a peace that echoes
When I need it the most.

It is here, my bare feet squash the soft grass
In search of pinhead wild strawberries,
In search of connecting a beautiful, but melancholy past,
With a beautiful, meaningful present.

I ask, will you join me, or have you already?

Purpose After Purpose

Cool as ice, I am a calmer, collected self
Than I once was.
That is me in the reflection of my black tea,
The one I always wanted to be.

Warm as condensation, I am an aware, energized self
Than i once was.
The sun, the beach, the breeze,
Even I am amazed by my presence,
From a sad, melancholy history.

In love, as wave and shore, I am a confident, determined self
Than I once was.
Higher up the ladder of life.
And I am asking the lifeguard up top,
If they have ever saved someone.

A Lullaby For Our Concerns

A Lullaby For Our Concerns

We defy the malignant fears,
And we see the miracle like a meteor bedazzlement.
Inside those terrors, those morbid feelings,
That paint over skies at night in specter & awe,

The Homeland you once belonged to darkened.
The callous grip on your peoples’ voices to escape,
Those dilapidated houses, and reveal their song

Withheld them all.

We all have a dream,
To scour the land of life anew and lush,
To cleanse the oceans to their origins,
To regain a proper balance of acceptance and gratitude.
We see the outcome as a key to a destiny,

Enlightenment, answers, and more merrily accepted questions.
But still, truth remains absent, somewhere beyond the malignant fears.