He climbed the edge

Of uncertainty,

Ever upward

The fall so high

At the height of his

Desperation,

Plunging into regret

And sorrows tide

Hitting his last

Tomorrow,

Broken feelings

Left to drown

One last hope

The flow would wash him,

Into the pool

 —of knowledge found

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

The deeper we get into

 the idea of what’s real,

   the further away we become

Trying to put our formulas

 into a box,

   is folly zero sum

Like the horizon before you

 that you see but can’t touch,

   the truth forever disguised

Its costume to change

 with every reason we claim

   —only the search bringing meaning to the wise

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

As a Poet,

 I don’t have to prove what I mean

Or reveal the pigmentation

 of colors that gleam

Or the height of an Angel,

 compared to a Man

Or whether the Devil,

 cannot or then can

As a Poet,

 I don’t even have to explain

The temperature of a sunrise,

 or a sorrow unplained

Or the width of my paper,

 the length of my pen

The fact that I’m sitting here,

 tautologies end

And thus as a Poet,

 I’m free to espouse

The beauty around me,

 without saying how

The magic that marvels,

 never revealing its trick

The hat with the rabbit,

 the joy in the mix

All Poetry a lens,

 through which others can view

Life’s focus e’er changing

 —each moment anew

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

The intention of silence…

 to expose or deceive

Its power much greater,

 than most would believe

Sometimes to say nothing,

 speaks loudest of all

The quiet most deadly

  —when falsehood befalls

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Inferable, unknowable,

 all senses on fire

Beyond contradiction,

 sans myriad liars

Its vision unstated,

 true knowledge unfeigned

Born into our souls

 —its silence to reign

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

A hurricane of stimulation,

 a tornado of thought

Blowing through the vast unknowing,

 our natures to be caught

When doubt sits high on light’s horizon,

 storm warnings there portend

Whose cyclones of enlightenment

 —with hailstones shape and bend

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

The fact that God has survived

 in spite of religion

May be his greatest miracle

 —of all

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Memories of memories,

 illusions called the past

Their structure self deceptive,

 inside our minds ill cast

Memories of uncertainty,

 and memories still to come

Embedded in our consciousness

 —this moment zero sum

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Every man dies,

 but not every man lives

Embracing his passion

 —eternity bids

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Those most desperate among us,

 must learn to cry alone

Themselves regained through tears of pain

 —to mark their pathway home

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)