The bloody footsteps of man,
EXTINCTION
A different kind of death
(Dreamsleep: November, 2019)
The bloody footsteps of man,
EXTINCTION
A different kind of death
(Dreamsleep: November, 2019)
Consciousness is split in two,
the left side has a voice
The right side listens mute aware,
the left side has a choice
Two conscious beings inside one brain,
split left and right distinct
As knowledge shared is spoken left
—each time you stop and think
(Dreamsleep: November, 2019)
Faith is stronger than its outcome,
an end unto itself
Where souls enmire in hope afire
—to light the dream indwelt
(The Book Of Prayers: November, 2019)
Disco burnout,
fever rampant erosion
Empty glances,
mirrored hollow drums
Bleeding, starving,
passive alertness
Madeup, putdown
—treadmill run
(Woodlands Hotel: Wilkes Barre- January, 1980)
Will your writing change when death comes to call,
knowing it’s time for goodbye
Will each word become richer, each memory dear,
in the limited by and by
As finality beckons, will conviction resolve,
each day meaning more than the last
Your faith shaken then stirred, all verses called back
—eternity’s epitaph
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2019)
Does life resemble a deck of cards,
shuffled back and forth
On brighter days with Ace’s high,
dark days the Joker’s curse
And what about that Wild Card,
that one you can’t be sure
If it will serve to win the day
—or fold your hand once more
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2019)
Do you see yourself inside your dream,
or chasing close behind
Is your love unquestioned, given free,
or bartered, contract signed
Are your lyrics empty without applause,
audience on the run
Will the future ransom a past still lost
—the moment left unsung
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2019)
Each mind is a filter…
the wheat from the chaff
Each vision dissected,
to cry or to laugh
Each chance in the moment,
to live or to hide
Each reason a marker,
to vow or belie
Each leaf that has fallen,
the price that we’ve paid
Each morning recalling,
which bed is unmade
Each voice in the distance,
one name on the wind
Each memory unspoken
—to call from within
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2019)
Do you have enough stories,
have you told enough tales
Is your life overflowing,
with a need to regale
Have the roses you’ve smelled,
lined your heart or your mind
Is the path that you’ve chosen,
ahead or behind
Is your life worth a novel,
or even a poem
Are the years all connected,
or scattered and broken
If you leave only money,
or fortune, or fame
The last chapter unwritten
—and lost in refrain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2019)
The question outliving the answer,
the chosen—their verdict was death
The prophecy destroying the prophet,
religion—its God to reject
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)