The pathway to hell
paved with good intentions
— and unwritten words
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
The pathway to hell
paved with good intentions
— and unwritten words
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
Reconciling
life’s ledger
hoping
it’s in black
Every deed
and every need
accountable
in fact
Debits
fighting credits
to balance
in the end
The gist of life
through joy and strife
where numbers
— will portend
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
You don’t have
to write them all
but thoughts
deserve a chance
To live beyond
this time and place
in words reborn
to dance
You don’t have
to set them free
but guilt
will curse your ink
For thoughts unread
trapped in your head
to wander
— indistinct
(The New Room: July, 2025)
We all search
for prescience
the future
on hold
As each
dying moment
forever
unfolds
We all crave
the silence
preparing
for death
Its welcoming
stillness
a last
— final breath
(The New Room: July, 2025)
If you are
vacant of hope
Hope is vacant
of you
If you are
distant of spirit
Spirit
distant of you
If you are
absent of feeling
Feeling
absent of you
If you are
left without love
Love is left
— without you
(Rereading ‘Leaves Of Grass’: July, 2025)
The joker
in the deck
The jester
holding court
The witness
at my trial
The voice
— of time itself
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
Downwind of the
Halal Cart
my stomach
starts to growl
Foreign smells
have filled the air
my appetite
to prowl
Those places
I have yet to go
but memory
knows so well
Another life
another time
where Heaven
— sleeps with Hell
(The Corner Of 34th & Market Streets: July, 2025)
Perpetual moments
the key
to existence
Memory
your biggest
foe
Blocking
the path
to future promise
Lapsing
forgetfulness
grows
Time an illusion
a crutch
for the weak
To hobble
and stumble
in constant retreat
This instant
recurring
when chosen at will
Where Poets
and Prophets
— forever instill
(Villanova University: July, 2025)
Kill the spark
the fire dies
Mute one voice
and Poets cry
Kill the larva
kill the host
Burn your bridges
— post by post
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
There’s gray
in my beard
but no gray
in my soul
Where Peter Pan
flies
Cherub’s wings
in control
My edges
though silver
my center
of gold
One glance
never tells you
what prescience
— beholds
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)