My Wall

I am the bricks which stand to loom
till cracks will spur to someday fall
while old men die and young grow tall
I am this tomb
I am the wall

I am the fear which holds this stance
till blinding ignorance consumes us all
while brave men strong become too small
I am this place
I am the wall

I am the key
I am me

I am my only wall

To My Chalice Afar

Where is my chalace in which I'm made to fill?
Why is this chamber setting still?

How empty, left, the bottle sets
and ages wine for better days
collecting dust on shelves like nets
ensnared till due the timely raise.

I'll age and turn my all more sweet
for you who loves my wine
to fill your glass when e'er we meet
dear chalace forever mine,

An Ode to Now

There once was in my youthful state that manic crave of ill repute, oh destitute the wayward way, like I who stayed the plot and grazed my heart to once be lame but guiled it so to make me brave: so wicked living onward crave. How does the wind feel from the east that blows in hair and shakes the beast to fall to knees and quake like thunder for how the world is full wonder, so it lacks the thoughtful heart and ills it so much pain.

Now I who locked my thoughts in airy grasp could gasp that gastful arching way. OH I pray from day to day that I can say what makes me brave, but lost to what can make me strong. How does it stir within this womb of heart that grows to some unholy child that ages mocked and spit on by the popular differential.

How could I beg of any one to know where morals lead and truth should go? When I, so young, once fell to words. The start was word, and ends silence. I'd brake the silence with just one word, to make me stronger than the heart could tell in phrases from a pen, or in a shallow quandary, laid to rest in someone's grave of mem'ries lost. It hurts me now to see my feeling lost to gayful mindless dribbles, thrown to wind and westward blown to once again shake that beast that holds me low.

And the word is Now.

Where I Buy The Rites to Think & Feel

I walk in shadows for light is owned
and sold at discount sales
the fires aren't lit but merely loaned
where coins became the nails.
I live were no man dares to breath
for air costs more than bread
were worth is made in timely death
though you pay
for your last day
to be seen dead in bed.

How now to the dreamers say, "I think, therefore..."?
for thought takes time, and time is money walking out the door
to lose those precious dime filled times would make your pockets poor
what then could dreamers say to you than, "n'est ce pa l'amor"?

Love has its price
you blandly say and turn your head to smile
your lovers go where life is nice
not where your "dreams" compile.

Your lovers stray when there's no time
for your dreaming eyes to leave the dime
that pays the grain and sets the rhyme
to live
beating
to give
Your ending heart no conscious worth
the valued dreams no man sees or cares to hear
are dizzling down from sweat to earth
to EARN to be some dream to birth
a world that's more than mortal fear
to walk in light you can't afford.