Deep into the night of the harrowing dawn,

old voices went astray

And fast on the morning of no return,

final judgment came to stay

Crashing like a wave was the prophet’s voice,

this time not to be ignored

Washing away all excuse and false remorse

with damnation

     —forgotten Lord

(Grantham New Hampshire: March, 2015)

From silver to gold,

the years marched along

As language emboldened

its words into song

The grey of my twilight

a welcome relief

All reasoned excuses

now another’s belief

As the winds through the canyon

blow the valley to sand

This ending now welcome

—a new beginning again

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Long before the clocks ticked,

  the garden was burning

The law had been laid down,

   only the animals ran free

Long before the clocks ticked,

  two lovers were yearning

The power, the struggle

  —the lust to deceive

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)

Will the pieces of the life you’ve lived

  come together at the end

 Will the times that you reflected

  straighten your path out, free of bends

 Are the places that you visited

  more than way stops that you chose

Are the feelings that you left with

  still inside you—heaven knows

Are your children still in contact,

  do they ask you what you think

Are your parents now forgotten

  as you pour yourself a drink

Are the days now counted backwards

  with the best all left behind

Does the silence serve to haunt you

  with those things you cannot find

Does the laughter fall on deafness,

  do the smiles pass you by

Are your friends now off your guest list

  with no time then left to find

Are the pieces of your puzzle

  pointed sharp, and ill to fit

Does your conscience wear a muzzle

  with the blame an endless pit

Is it what you said you wanted

  when you started down this path

Or are you now among the hunted

  in a bad choice aftermath

If before you’re gone, one chance flew by

  a difference then to make

Would you hang on tight to all the lies,

  or embrace this change of fate

And if you do, the words will say,

  you almost got it wrong

Before you called those choices back

  —and changed them into song

(Grantham New Hampshire: March, 2015)

   The flames rose
    as history burned
         —and memory settled into ash

                                                           The smoke carrying away
                                                                  all reasons why
                                                         —dying embers of the past