My words the result

 of the times I’ve lived

 not a classroom exercise

My feelings all paid

 with the blood of my fears

 not a rambling diatribe

My trail has been lined

 with each tear and misstep

 to mark the way ahead

My life a memory

 telling a tale

  —whose direction my soul has led

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2018)

Surrendering very little back to life,

 the time became solely my own

Which I spent on myself and the ones I loved,

 protecting what inside was my home

The years raced along with my memory endowed,

 regrets being seldom and few

Each choice that I made—every promise I kept,

  my spirit enthroned sovereign and new

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

I discovered this morning

  after all these years,

  that everyone is really different

  from me

Whether rich or poor

  black or then white,

  it goes far beneath the surface

  to see

When I look in their eyes

  only questions stare back,

  as I try to keep my thoughts

  to myself

But along with those thoughts

  comes the promise I bear,

  and its hard to stay up

  on the shelf

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Never writing for the unholy dollar,

 but that kid in a hundred years

When the world has irrevocably changed,

 and lies are all one hears

If he could happen to chance upon my words,

 just once while searching blind

Then my humble verse would come to life

 —within his ears to find

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Would I trade the words…

  would I trade for a song

Would I trade the words…

  for a life ever long

Would I trade the words…

  for a pulpit on high

Would I trade the words…

  for the moon and the sky

Would I trade the words…

  for immortality insured

Would I trade the words…

  for your love still unheard

Would I trade the words…

  for all fortune and fame

Would I trade the words

  —would my soul then remain

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)

Within every verse,

  many meanings reside

The reader determines

  in which couplet you hide

The words both descriptive

  with colors aglow

The eyes as important

  as what the ears know

When backed in a corner,

  don’t ever explain

Words beckon discovery,

  refusing one name

The same reader may leave

  with a differing view

Each time he goes over

  and finds something new

A question once opened

  can never be closed

And verse penned inherent

   forever to know

With time of no consequence,

  your poetry waits

For the next searching pilgrim

  —your words to relate

(Rosemont Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

Religions survive

  through subjugation

Without it,

  they are lost

Wielding guilt as a weapon,

  they proffer salvation

Enlightenment and freedom

  —their cost

 (Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

We have no idea where it goes,

  when the spider leaves its weave

We have no idea what’s left to dream,

  when the sandman robs of sleep

We have no idea the day nor hour,

  when our maker calls us home

We can only hope that the love we’ve shared

   —is enough before his throne

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

      From ‘The Book Of Prayers’

Are all notions of time a trap…

The perpetual present

The greatest one of all

Are all capsules of existence

Just graves we dig for ourselves

Each shovel full of denial

Burying us deep

  —within an empty reference

 (Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016) 

If every day to matter

If every moment counts

If every word to chant and sing

If every phrase be stout

If every coin pound sterling

If every debt marked paid

If every feeling dubbed divine

  —salvation pre-ordained

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)