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, Delphian in its natural form, The verses stack and dry of doubt, (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)
What is a man, what is a woman…
solved by the stroke of a pen
The genders now mix, the game has been fixed
—playing fields only pretend
(The New Room: January, 2021)
I’m actually tired of being myself…
can I be you for awhile
I hide from the mirror and monogrammed lies,
as I run from an image defiled
I thought I was safe and had made my escape,
when memory reminded again
“You can run, you can hide, your indenture unkeyed
—the chains locked secure in your head”
(The New Room: January, 2021)
The dead never get to say goodbye,
as they charge across the line
Finality left to those who live,
still victimized by time
The dead never get to say hello,
a bust that’s now recast
Their sacrifice a milepost
—beyond the futurepast
(Valley Forge: January, 2021)
What purpose Poetry,
if not to transcend
The mundane, the broken,
those roads with no end
With every feeling
new words are reborn
To speak to Creation
—and live readorned
(The New Room: January, 2021)
Where do you go
when your war has been won
The enemy vanquished,
the legion’s undone
What do you do
when your purpose is gone
The feelings still burning,
the will to fight strong
Where do you go,
the last battle adjourned
The fields lined in blood,
all caissons returned
As men march in unison,
their rifles unbreeched
A lone bugle calling
—the dead beyond reach
(The New Room: January, 2021)
An Anthology Of Perception 