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)
You try to mask your given voice
in what’s perverse and then profane
But truth speaks only for itself,
your costume tattered—seamstress blamed
This great parade, a grand charade,
your song a flattened chord
Its final line to seal your fate
—perdition now assured
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
My reality secure
from the attacking winds
Sheltered by experience,
a fortress hard won
Neither fortune nor danger
can force their way in
All entrance is barred,
a mystery respun
An Eden contained,
in a legend foretold
Where peace and solitude
rekindle the light
Possessed of itself,
past-futures on hold
Its voice omnipresent
—to guide and delight
(Broomall Pennsylvania: August, 2019)
