Much of the time we’re faking it,
the airs we put on most false
Impressions made and set in jade,
green onions the main course
Our friends change out with stature,
as silver turns to gold
An alchemist’s dream, the grandest scheme
—our hearts once warm left cold
(King Of Prussia Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
My right brain writes the Poetry,
my left brain writes the Prose
Separate but together
—each voice the other knows
(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)
Poetry in judgment,
condemner of expression
Poetry in judgment
—killer of truth
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
He should have loved his children
more than himself
He should have shared his dreams
with somebody else
He should have left a trail
that a blind man could find
He should have been more than just
—one of a kind
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
The older I get,
the younger I become
Each word a rebirth
—my dreams to outrun
(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)
I tried and tried to tell you,
but I was lost in mixed emotion
I tried to not offend your spirit,
as I wandered looking for a home
I tried to make you understand,
the hard edges would soon come off
But in the morning your fear returned
—our love forever lost
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
Cars line the highways
with their broken life inhabitants,
coffined tributes to a last wish that got away,
android druids in mock procession
—racing toward the end
(University Of Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
Is a promise left unspoken,
the breath that holds the key
Unlocking what the twilight brings
—till dawn can set us free
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)
The best of Poets don’t explain,
their truth the readers judge
The best of Poets to remain,
what time will hate
—or love
(Dreamsleep: January, 2020)
Without rhyme,
the words fade into the mist
Without rhyme,
the verse so begotten
Without rhyme,
all passages blow with the wind
Without rhyme
—so quickly forgotten
(Villanova University: January, 2020)
“Without rhyme, it’s like playing tennis without a net.”
Robert Frost
An Anthology Of Perception 