Sebastian

couldn’t live

without saving

the walls

His paint

covering over

dire messages

 scrawled

 

All passersby  

witnessed

each canvas

restored

Reframing

dark alleys

with hope

evermore

 

Sebastian

a warrior

of brush

and stroke fame

Graffiti

a pockmark

his quest

to disclaim

 

Alone

in his wander

where shadows

hold court

Each wall of new

slander

his palette

— retorts   

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

 

 

What stays

unwritten

 silence claims

forever

— to remain unchanged

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Not so much

a lie

with little

truth to tell

 

Not so much

goodbye

with greetings

gone to hell

 

Not so much

romance

with feelings

dead or pawned

 

Not so much

to dream

with sleep

— bereft and gone

 

(Bryn Mawr College: May, 2025)

When verses

run dry

do you hide

in despair

When the Muse

is on fire

only ashes

you’ll bear

With silence

embedded

on each

empty page

Your fear

is the foundling

that kindles

— the rage

 

(Ronald McDonald House: May, 2025)

 

 

 

 

Trimming fat

off his soul

he searched

for the bone

 

With every

new slicing

his consciousness

honed

 

All waste in

the fire

to sizzle

and fry

 

Excesses

like smoke

rise forgotten

— incised

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Tall grass above

a sleeping dream

Hiding what

His promise deems

 

Embedded deep

within the blades

New whispers seed

as life conclaves

 

The sun to mirror

God’s new day

Each ray He grants

new hope in play

 

That rises softly

through night’s travail

An open petal

— as Grace prevails

 

(1^st Book Of Prayers: May, 2025)

 

 

 

First

Last

(and)

Always

— say something

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

Do you have

enough scars

to help others

heal

 

Or wounds

that stay open

the past

uncongealed

 

Did you suffer

in silence

each moment

of pain

 

Did all hope

leave you orphaned

alone

and profane

 

Is your counsel

of value

when the weak

come to call

 

Can you see

through the trauma

and cushion

— their fall

 

(1^st Book Of Prayers: May, 2025)

 

 

Snippets

of the truth

being a

little bit pregnant

 

In the

promise

of a dream

eternity sleeps

 

Freeing

tomorrow

with each moment

recaptured

 

All time

in an instant

as the music

— begins

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)

He died

in a whisper

alone

in its presence

 

The call of death

weaker

than what he’d

been told

 

Wading into its

shallows

each step

took him deeper

 

Reluctance

and acceptance

 both swimming

in turn

 

Each voice

every motion

he passed

toward the bottom

 

The pressure of

choosing

now

drifting away

 

In denial

and waiting

the past

floating above him

 

But the end

of its

shouting

— had finally begun

 

(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)