Better to be in Hell
for all eternity,
than in Heaven
—on borrowed time
(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)
Better to be in Hell
for all eternity,
than in Heaven
—on borrowed time
(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)
I never chose to write like you,
it’s enough to write like me
My feelings live to shape each thought,
your passion foreign known
I need to use those gifts bequeathed,
while searching endlessly
And leave to you your native tongue
—and speak my words alone
(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)
Organizing each word unpenned,
I gave myself to rhyme
And offered up my humble skills
in thankfulness sublime
Each one a treasure unto me,
with silence on the run
Verses promised and drifting near
—of memories to come
(The New Room: March, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
Truth can’t exist
in the absence of courage
Words of appeasement
—freedom denied
(The New Room: March, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
Buried in the shadows,
hiding at night
Valor pierced and left to bleed,
hemorrhaging with fright
Fangs exposed and deadly,
searing from within
Readying to pounce and strike
—vengeance to begin
(The New Room: March, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
To understand the problem,
look from deep within
where logic and the sciences
are both cut wafer thin
Our thinking trapped and handcuffed,
when seen by reason bound
those answers we were given born
—unquestioned and profound
(The New Room: March, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
I grew up
having never become an adult,
the years to now betray
My body infirm,
my vision impaired,
my hair has turned to gray
I grew old
while living within myself,
false promises to none
Retuning to boyhood
each night in my dreams,
my age still zero-sum
(The New Room: March, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
Did you make the moment,
did the moment make you
Did you give truth a name
—time forever renewed
(Dreamsleep: March 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
Transcending jazz,
folk and rock,
blues master’s stop and bow
Winwood standing
far above,
we ask not why—but how
(Watching The Master On AXS: March, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm
To not appease the critics,
success within our grasp
The charlatans of written words,
venom of the asp
They bury deep inside their dens,
ordained iconoclasts
Passing judgment, casting blame
—on what they fear might last
(To T.R.’s ‘Man In The Arena’ March, 2021)
Copyright 2021 Kurt Philip Behm