There just below the surface,

more present than you know

 

A prophetic Jeremiah,

calls out to us to know

 

His message serves as warning,

“False idols block the light”

 

Our gateway through the darkness

—his vision gifting sight

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

If you finally struck gold

And were digging out the mine

Would you leave it for a month

And come back to what you’d find

 

That’s the way I feel each day

Being blessed to write verse

The prose insanely waiting

—for my voice to reverse

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Step out from behind your ego,

see what others see

 

An imperfect vacuum caught in time,

a drum with empty beat

 

The mirror lies habitual,

to pose as your best friend

 

A single letter does conspire,

whose “I,” your will portends

 

That monetary wardrobe,

gold patches on your sleeves

 

To hide the truth you’ve left unsaid

—forever to deceive

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

To catch you in my rhythm,

ensnare you in my rhyme

 

To make the meter come alive,

and pull you out of time

 

With lines that end so sweetly,

words pleasant to your ear

 

For you to carry past today

—and sing from year to year

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Some poems are true monuments,

some lower to the ground

 

Some verse is loaded, stacked, and piled,

some stored away till found

 

A phrasing here, a meaning there,

now where to put it all

 

As voices cry within the womb

—unborn, but still they call

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Living within our given time,

happiness

—a present state of mind

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Posting before the verse is done,

the baby not quite born

 

Feelings chase the words I write

—the sheep not fully shorn

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

My tongue on fire,

words despised

 

The page in flames

—ashes cry

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

There are many voices

—but the truth speaks only for itself

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

A tamer version of myself,

I rise from day to day

 

Fit for consumption publicly,

in camouflage I play

 

Memories deep, and memories stored,

from oh so long ago

 

Now sleep inside my attic walls,

ephemeral they glow

 

My current frame of reference…

four always two plus two

 

To the mundane I show deference,

and do what others do

 

But late at night I hear those sounds,

now coming down the hall

 

Remembrances to fill my dreams,

my treasure out of pawn

 

With sleep unchained and dreams on fire,

I return to who I am

 

And pray that on tomorrow’s eve

—my past will come again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)