Have you murdered the future
by destroying the past
The present to judge
—sentenced at last
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
Have you murdered the future
by destroying the past
The present to judge
—sentenced at last
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
Is there a higher art
than Martial Art
To live or to die
—all wounds bleeding free
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
Wrestling with time,
an illusion supreme
Its trinity empiric,
three masks to deceive
Past, future, and present,
our dreams undefined
Outside of their stricture,
new presence unrhymed
Rejecting convention,
short sighted and slight
Imprisoning our vision,
with capture and fright
In seizing this instant,
its moment sublime
All truth flowing freely
—unfrozen in time
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
Does your past
inhibit the meaning
Does a smile work
to cover your pain
Does today lie in wait
for tomorrow
Your messages cleft,
forever the same
Do you write before feelings
have woken
The letters pretty, in cursive
review
When your words leave the pulpit
unspoken
Do you retreat to the very
last pew
Taking refuge,
as twilight approaches
All windows shuttered,
any truth to mime
Those orphaned moments
to hold you captive
And a victim
—the prisoner of time
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
The places I’ve traveled,
yet still haven’t seen
Those roads that I’ve ridden,
while caught in-between
The mileage piled up,
as memory lay stacked
Where voices call distant
—my mind to go back
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Truth…
the first casualty
of war
Love…
the last casualty
of truth
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
What good is a poem,
if not to incent or inspire
Just flowering verbiage,
growing out of the mire
What comes from our verse,
if not truth yet released
Each word to enlighten
—our souls to beseech
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
Five thousand sermons,
one point of view
The message sole branded
—the damned in the pews
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
Explosion / Implosion,
caught in the din
Forces once pushing,
now pull from within
The physicist cries,
as the mockingbird calls
To see past tomorrow,
today in freefall
A binary motion
of polar extremes
All consciousness split
—dark hole of my dreams
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
His words in transit,
world travel unleashed,
the world his page to run
Alone in his chair,
both here and then there
—the distance misbecome
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)