As a Poet,

 I don’t have to prove what I mean

 

Or reveal the pigmentation

 of colors that gleam

 

Or the height of an Angel,

 compared to a Man

 

Or whether the Devil,

 cannot or then can

 

As a Poet,

 I don’t even have to explain

 

The temperature of a sunrise,

 or a sorrow unplained

 

Or the width of my paper,

 the length of my pen

 

The fact that I’m sitting here,

 tautologies end

 

And thus as a Poet,

 I’m free to espouse

 

The beauty around me,

 without saying how

 

The magic that marvels,

 never revealing its trick

 

The hat with the rabbit,

 the joy in the mix

 

All Poetry a lens,

 through which others can view

 

Life’s focus e’er changing

 —each moment anew

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

The intention of silence…

 to expose or deceive

 

Its power much greater,

 than most would believe

 

Sometimes to say nothing,

 speaks loudest of all

 

The quiet most deadly

  —when falsehood befalls

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Inferable, unknowable,

 all senses on fire

 

Beyond contradiction,

 sans myriad liars

 

Its vision unstated,

 true knowledge unfeigned

 

Born into our souls

 —its silence to reign

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

A hurricane of stimulation,

 a tornado of thought

 

Blowing through the vast unknowing,

 our natures to be caught

 

When doubt sits high on light’s horizon,

 storm warnings there portend

 

Whose cyclones of enlightenment

 —with hailstones shape and bend

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

The fact that God has survived

 in spite of religion

 

May be his greatest miracle

 —of all

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Memories of memories,

 illusions called the past

 

Their structure self deceptive,

 inside our minds ill cast

 

Memories of uncertainty,

 and memories still to come

 

Embedded in our consciousness

 —this moment zero sum

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Every man dies,

 but not every man lives

 

Embracing his passion

 —eternity bids

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Those most desperate among us,

 must learn to cry alone

 

Themselves regained through tears of pain

 —to mark their pathway home

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

 

A sudden embarrassment,

 a moment of shame

 

A lifetime remembered

  —in flashbacks of pain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

Why start at the beginning

 and not at the end

 

Why is reality nothing

 more than pretend

 

Why are most facts

 at best a mere guess

 

Your order disordered

 —logic a mess

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)