The Cold

The cold is bitter, it bites, and I bleed. It cuts to the soul, numbness takes hold, and frozen I'm freed.

Ink

There is something aboutthe feel of a pengliding across a page,thick black linesflowing and turninggracefully, guided byfingers firm andcomfortable on the grip.Swells and curvesand haphazard linesblend and joinas the poet’s blood,rich and black,fills the page.

Helpless

intuition interruptedcorrupted byweakness of thoughtthe heart in its rhythmrevealing frailtyforgetting the souland its purpose for beingblindly followingthe recourse of bloodon a path untraveledunknown destinationsunveiling the momentsthat bind us together

Gravitas

I wonder if my wordsweigh heavy enough,or perhaps are tooheavy for their weight?

The Road

Out there            free to get lost            free to find myselfnothing but the horizonand the memory of youbeckons.In here            lost in my thoughts            lost in my dreamsI hold onto the momentsthat help me find my wayback to you.I love the road            where I’m going            where I’ve beenand the world it gives mewithout and within.I count the...

Perspectives

Reflecting onthe impossibility of reasonwhile embracingthe possibility of chaos,I dwell on thethrone of beingand all that I am not.An interlude awakensthe possibility of madness,inviting us to treasonand the breakingof our will,if only for a momentof forsaking what could be.

Afterglow

And I linger in the moment,frozen by the finality of it all,hanging on the hopethat it’s not really over,that there’s more to come.Savage and brutalwas the release,but it wasn’t unexpected:slow was the rise,intense and elegant,deliberate in its fury,setting the stagefor what was to be.Nothing was so perfectas the way it began:innocence forsaken,voluntarily cast aside,tempting Fate...