“I’ve come to the very end of myself,”

the day cried out to the night

 

“My expiration date lined in blood,

tomorrow less than bright

 

“My beginning and ending dancing a last waltz,

destiny writing the score

 

“My wick has burned down, the music has stopped

—too late to ask for more”

 

(The New Room: February, 2021)

Death is a journey

that’s taken alone

Released from the tempus,

our spirits to roam

 

Death is a servant

indentured to slave

 

A Master beyond

—new Angels at play

 

(The Book Of Prayers: February, 2021)

Language has limits

when backed to the wall

 

Its truth self-defining

by sages et al.

 

Language deserts us

as meaning retreats

 

Its light self-diffusing

—when destiny speaks

 

(Villanova University: January, 2021)  

Freedom comes packaged

entrapped and confined

 

How big is your cage,

 to roam and define

 

Always constricted,

with borders that move

 

Its bars of detention

—forever reproved

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2021)

 

 

 

No one’s ever gone

until forgotten

 

Their memory etched

like words in stone

 

—canyons to remind

 

(Chama New Mexico: January, 2019)

 

 

They separate us by gender,

and segregate by race

 

They separate us by intellect,

and isolate by taste

 

They separate us by fortune,

and detach us by fame

 

They separate us by family,

nepotism to blame

 

They keep us divided

through life ever long

 

The poles ever widening

—too lost to belong

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2021)

 

 

My Pen

My connection,

My thoughts and

My prayers

 

My words

My extension,

My gift through

My air

 

My time

My gestation,

My daughters

My sons

 

My dreams

My redemption,

My river

—that runs

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2021)

 

Thoughts inflame as feelings stir, words simmering yet to boil Unspoken sparks drift through the night, a pyre still to fan As heat restores the human soul, all prodigals return With hope to melt the frozen dawn, and free the Poet’s hand Delphian in its natural form, the smoke a treacherous friend Ink rekindles—lies cremate, the mind, its woods now bare The verses stack and dry of doubt, their ignition up to you As dark they wait for your next breath —to light the spoken air (Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)

When you find yourself sheltered

in your own little corner,

it’s time to move on

 

When you find yourself buying

what your echoes are selling,

it’s time to be gone

 

When you find yourself spinning

in a circle redundant,

it’s time to step out

 

When you find the beginning

detached from the ending

—your future in doubt

 

(Dreamsleep: January, 2021)

 

The night brings solace,

its darkness friend

 

Forever now

—forever then

 

(The New Room: January, 2021)