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.

 

 

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.

Love Me Syndrome

Love Me Syndrome

Another tempestuous night in Town Park, melancholy

Wild Thoughts, seeks harbor from the fell dampness.

Across an old Maple, restroom facilities, in a stall,

His Swiss Knife carves, help!- a grounded cardinal,

Over faded, besought scratches, then his number.

 

The windows behold an ashen canvas, dashing away

A lustrous moon, sour lampposts, the path back & ahead,

But in buckets of rain, runs a scarlet damsel his way.

Wild Thoughts escapes on some path, Love Me Syndrome

Skips past roley- poley earthworms stuck in puddles.

 

The gales deepen in fury. By the Maple, a scarlet,

Melancholy soul runs to the restroom, closes the stall.

She sees unspeakable markings, one freshly concerning.

A knife on the basin, she dials the splintered number,

My name is Lonesome Dove, I’ve waited a long time for you.

 

A calm develops, drenched footsteps echo anticipations.

The beautiful ones, raised to know what comes & goes,

But not what stays- saturated under fluorescent sight,

They sparkle. Lonesome Dove eases five minutes in.

Your real name isn’t Wild Thoughts. Care to know mine?

 

From outside, a whip of lightning licks the Maple,

Crackling, thickly green branches smoke up, catch fire.

They ponder a tragic moment. Is it you? He knows, It’s

Me. Tragedy. She flies, red tail vanishing in the rain.

 

That night, a tornado brewed, ravaging Town Park.

Love Me Syndrome claimed one, but not the other.

Zephyr

Zephyr

Our lives are zephyrs
In hot Summers of love,
Not just to exist,
But each with this unique, determined purpose.
All the while,
We combat, kiss, kill, care.
We are savages, hostiles, heroes, the hope, servants, Kings & Queens,
We are peace and we are war.

But at first,
We are whatever,
Satisfied in any direction,
Coerced by gusts and birds,
To formulate our own purpose,
Where we grow into our ambitions,
And eventually, restless-

Mind, body, soul
From within,
With a trinity of agreed certainty,
Will leap to the tip of the tongue,
Like a gold finch’s first flight into the serene,
To Drizzle fantastic colors beyond rainbows over
The torpid hues of a day in the life,
Over others lost in the dark,
Or withheld by excess of light,
Or stuck in the grey,
Ones who haven’t tasted a breath of fresh air in ages,
And for that, they have gone mad.