We must always continue on, fighting and hoping that what matters is breathing, and today itself is defiance for us, the crazy ones, for whom our restless human existence is thought. We breathe in. We breathe out. We keep moving.
It’s hard to believe when all the voices tell you it’s impossible.
I am the ghost in the machine,The fixer of all things,Purveyor of time and hopeAnd oblivion.Look into my eyes for strength,Into my heart for understanding,And when morning comes againThere is change.Do not fear me, do not hate me,For I walk among youAs a beacon of possibilityAnd promise.Look to me for your stability,And in times of… Continue reading The Ghost In The Machine
In shadowlands dance I with skulls for bells fingerbones for toothpicks choking life from the sinew ambrosia from the mildew and purpose from coincidence, laughing as desperate hands claw at my trouser cuffs, raw in this dystopian illusion where for a moment it seemed the ether would coalesce and somehow become… a human being. In… Continue reading A Human Being
Neither the hand of God Nor the touch of angels Not the turn of good luck Nor the prayers of the faithful Have brought me to this moment Where I breathe and consider The simple act of being. Neither divine providence Nor positive energy Not tears of the mothers Nor intercession by preachers Have brought… Continue reading That Which She Will Never Speak
I laid my trust with a brother but he smiled and laid me low. I hid my pain from a mother She wailed that I treated her so. I knelt before a lover who lamented my selfish ways So I knelt before my maker that he might end my days. Words are trouble. Life is… Continue reading Shadows Are Not My Home
Looking back, I realized my problem: I had tried to do it alone. For the first time, I admitted that I needed help. Looking back, I realized that part of the reason was wanting to stay in the past for just one more moment. Looking back, I realized that the Lord had really set me… Continue reading Looking Back, I Realized…
How I resent these stiff, tortured bones, the aching, sweaty weight of flesh. I would be free, formless and weightless; a whisper on soft summer winds. I would be strong, but incorporeal; rolling thunder and falling rain… Become music, and danced abandon; slip these mortal bonds for the skies. Featured poem for August, 2009. Permalink:… Continue reading Weight of Flesh
I am the waking Balrog, raging agent of chaos, bane of all that’s living in the lands of sullen fair. Aching, ancient fingers brush the raiment of your normality, sparking flames that will consume these trinkets you hold dear. Quiver before despair, for my hulking form rises, searing mists out of currents in the altar… Continue reading Balrog
Empty rooms. Shadows. Echoes. Bits of debris. Leftover pieces. Things that didn’t fit neatly into the romantic reconfiguring. But really, now, years removed and hundreds of miles distant, isn’t it those little, unimportant things that left the biggest holes in the heart by being left behind?