Falling on ears that cannot hear An understanding of the spheres Is null and void "A life mis-steered" The voices of forgotten seers Learned beyond their years Lessons from familiar tears Are cast aside by crowd-sourced fears
Tag: writing
The Hill
A facsimile of faithless nights She was the tyranny, you the rights You can’t forget your blinded sight When she lit the room with dim gaslight The hand was dealt but she slid one more You were eyeing futures, she the door The truce became a seven year war The hill you died on were the vows you swore
Carpentry
I’m told you felt the clothes I wear. I’m not sure you inhabited them differently. Was it without a stain on the collar? Is that the way it had to be? I‘ve read your eyes became a well. Loss grips the strongest of hearts, Changes the heartbeat. Blood and water wrenched apart. I know of your fury towards the takers, The highborn, the one percent, The prophets of profits. A zealot in name and comment. I don’t believe that message is red. Good news is more for living than dead. Points are missed when focused on ends. It’s the moral arc and the way it bends. The here and now, the strings and waves. Eras of mystery buried by days. The hum of reverence, the turning of the dial. Eucharist of body honors the way.
A Few Drops More
Warmth In more than temperature Yearning For more than safety Minimally viable happiness Leaves half the throat parched We don’t ask for rivers Just a few drops more
OVERVIEW AFFECTED 