From whom was your legacy born,

  and where does your destiny lie

 

A voice calling out from the storm

   —a place where the words never die

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Living an eternity

  with each given day

 

The calendar a slave

  to the present foray

 

This moment at hand

  the only time you’re ordained

 

Exploding at once

  —over and over again

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Do You Bore Yourself?

 

Do you rent the space

you’re standing in,

owning nothing in the end

but default?

 

Do you recycle words

until their utterance fails,

mistrusting your ability

to say what’s right?

 

Do you hedge your bets,

never going all in

for fear of losing the very thing

you haven’t got?

 

Do you count the days,

as tedium destroys spontaneity

and all energy drains

from your lifeless form?

 

Do You Bore Yourself?

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

 

Repelled by tradition

  and past status-quo

 

I enter the jungle

  where hides the unknown

 

Rejecting excuses

  and all that’s passé

 

My bow is drawn tightly

  —with fear now my prey

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Lying to myself…

  the truth swimming free

 

Escaping prevarication,

  abandoning my schemes

 

The water got deep,

  its weight dragged and pulled

 

Till veracity returned

   —resuscitation fulfilled

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Its chain cut again…

   the demon is loose

 

Deep into the night,

  she hunts darker truths

 

The hallway’s back stairs,

  her favorite retreat

 

Pending daylight’s return,

  when her bite becomes weak

 

Then she staggers back wounded

  to shadows that call

 

Old blood trails lead silent  

  down that dark lonely hall

 

Where a door is rechained,

  and its lock fastened tight

 

 Until a hacksaw appears

    —with the next moonless night

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

 

The words once they’re spoken,

  notes and palettes enhanced

 

Not judged in reference,

   kindred spirits they dance

 

While music enlivens

  what phrases will say

 

A painting embodies

  what verses convey

 

And the only conflict

  is in the critic’s eye

 

Who sees not the harmony,

   but comparisons lie

 

As all art travels skyward,

  enjoined hand in hand

                                                          

To the source of its power

   —together to stand

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016) 

Choking on arrogance,

 occlusion unrhymed

 

The Reaper lies waiting,

 graveyard of Mimes

 

Choking on arrogance,

 last curse to remain

 

Spat into the wind

 —returning black rain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

Is your humanity held captive

 by your intelligence

 

Does your soul remain imprisoned

 for a self-inflicted crime

 

Are the wishes you made, abandoned,

  prisoners of the wind

 

Is the cell locked deep within you

   —on whose walls you mark the time

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

When the freedom

  to think

 

And the ability to write

  are at odds

 

    —turn the page

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)