The old rule, are you ready to break it?
Convention just isn’t strong enough to make it
It collapses under the weight
of a new world order played out in faith
enlightened by a good man worthwhile
An indigo child running wild
sparkling eyes so sweet, noble to the core
No story quite like this has been written before
He speaks kindly and clearly to every man
He’s a language that everyone understands
He’ll stay with you come whatever may
Staring down the impossible, he always sees a way
So simple yet so profound is his gift
No need to struggle, he’ll lend a hand and just lift
this burden into the ether and off your shoulders
He’ll laugh with you as you grow older
A hero that wants only your favor in return
A fireman to rescue you as this world burns
A great example that equalizes the good books
A man that forces you to take a closer look
at the version of truth you’ve chosen to greet
and if you look both ways before you cross this street
you’ll surely see his gorgeous, speeding karma
blow by brilliantly and run right over your dogma
Mother roots are vessels
deep in the Earth.
Trees leisurely bleed into sky
when they give birth.
He would not strike his brother,
but the bar behind him meant nothing.
Clenched and thrust towards hot breath.
White knuckles break wood as they whistle past head,
splintering like a spider’s web.
Termites emerge from deep within,
jaws fit for red oak choke on blood splattered,
soaking to the core of this easterly wind
where soldiers settle debts with swords
and women listen to their men.
The fates, that night allowed him to avoid
an evening ending with a funeral bell’s ring.
The beautiful moon shining through the void
gave him a peace fit to ponder for years on end
but also a profound sadness in
knowing with this grave dishonor,
his brother would never come home again.
The bugs swarm and burrow deep
with the good brother’s blood on their teeth.
Crawling, manipulating energies,
animated by what was once.
A wood entombed Djinn
harnessing not the peace,
but the fury of the same fateful wind.
Possessing the disgraced, bequeathing purpose,
unholy strength in blood filled eyes.
A broken man, the perfect vessel for this demon’s rise,
finding vigor in angry desire,
consuming the family name in gorging fire
uncaged by misplaced rage, the flames.
Fanned by all that’s transpired.
Worming into the double helix of what’s yet to come,
gripping the blood yet to flow
until it’s undone and he does descend
with the souls of them all to exact his revenge.
This poem is meant to illustrate the voracious, all consuming disease of addiction.
Looking for love
from all of the wrong
when I should be looking above.
Looking for love from the
when I should be looking within.
Falling out of love with my
when I should be falling in.
Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.
I don’t need suggestions!
I know love’s going to win.
Stopped, dropped, surrendered,
And I’ll never stop giving in.
Already knew, just had to remember.
All is well under this powerful spell.
A perfect life for me,
conflict is done.
The truth is and always will be
that love’s already won.