Words of conjecture self destruct

  —when veracity holds its sway

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

Is randomness designed,

 can the dice roll more defined

Is entropy a map,

 less complex as time adapts

Can ignorance be renamed,

 as a home for knowledge gained

Can the circle then be squared

 —arcs and angles still to share

(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

Once truth is judged delusion,

 we choose the lesser of two lies

Abandoning that voice unheard,

 stillborn—a baby cries

The ideal in dark remission,

 all hope now cast in flames

Making bargains with the Devil

  —as the future writhes in pain

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Not a student of Poetry,

  more a student of life

The words fell  before me,

  stepping-stones of delight

Not a student of Verse,

  but of musings inspired

My days withdrew inward,

  the years stoked and fired

Not a student of prose,

  but its lover the same

As words strung together,

  and called out my name

Not a Poet or Novelist,

  but a writer for sure

Verbal stepchild unnamed

  —asking for nothing more

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Alone with my thoughts,

  together in this moment

The light cast off its shadow

  —all prophecy reclaimed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Rhyme…

 the alcohol in your cocktail

 the octane in your gas

 the connection in the words you speak

 fraternal sounds that last

Rhythm…

  the tempo of your heartbeat

  the joy that slows you down

  the shuffle in the words you speak

  that dance among the crowd

Song…

  the phrase that carries upward

  the music so inspired

  the love it brings that heaven sings

    —as Angels join your choir

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Giving and taking,

 both day and night

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Some then mistaken,

 some often right

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Last right of refusal,

 the one holding tight

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

The lows though not many,

 the pain always right

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Words ever radiant,

 the music so fair

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

The sweetness of children,

 my soul they ensnared

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

The darkest of moments,

 their message to share

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

A voice though unchosen,

 inside me declares

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

As the days grew short,

 and the visitors came

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

Their voices cry out,

 calling my name

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

One verse was enough,

 no time to explain

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

My final breath,

 a lasting refrain

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

The money fleeting,

  any fame now gone

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

A 5-star boardinghouse,

 no curtains drawn

On my own terms,

 I lived my life

With arms open wide,

  and the peace to move on

On my own terms,

 I ended my life

All that I’ve written

 —turned back into song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Are space and time much too similar,

 and maybe in the end exactly the same

Our angle of perception the only difference,

 keeping them separate and dually named

If they are distinct where is their departure,

  does its sensing begin and end with us

Or is all we see just darker matter,

 and in verse—the only thing we trust

(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

Poetry should always be given away,

 and never ever sold

Its message to open all heavens gates,

 not translate into gold

Poetry should fly on the wings of a wish,

 with hope its guiding dove

The light of its message to guide all intention

  —transforming into love

(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

Science would like

 to abscond with Philosophy

Claiming propriety

 over truth falsely shown

Measures and numbers

 its weapons of choice

Never looking beyond

 —what its theories bestow

(Wayne Pennsylvania: May, 2019)