I was a soldier, but never sure

  of those things I was 

  charged to do

 

I was asked to fight

  pick up helmet and gun

  men dying around me I knew

 

Those places I’ve been

  and the things I’ve done

  all eclipse the known profane

 

Now with beauty fraught

   you must lock the gate

     —inside this prison I remain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

If it can happen for me,

 it can happen for you

 

If it can happen for you,

 it can happen for me

 

When it happens for us,

 it happens for all

 

When it happens for all

  —the world is set free

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)

Flying alone

   over fury enthroned

 

 Its colors reign free

  and clear

 

The enemy stained

  all freedom regained

 

Covered in blood

  spent and dear

 

Stitched yellow and blue

  its messages true

 

That Svealand does

  not run

 

To hang steadfast

  and slay the past

 

And carry our glory

  sum

 

A crest ablaze

  through fire and haze

 

Horses hooves high in

  the air

 

Now honor bound

  on sacred ground

 

Heralding death

  —our cross to bear

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

There’s a gene embedded in every parent

  to recreate

  what their parents had done

 

Sometimes good, and sometimes bad,

  passing it down

  from father to son

 

To repeat family history through memories past

  the circle

  a lingering fate 

 

Excuses come early with reasons

  too late

  DNA always proffered as bait

 

The young and the old both prisoners of time

  their footsteps in sequence

  to fall

 

 And when questions are posed why they acted this way,

   they’re too busy passing it on

      —to recall

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

We should be freeing and emancipating

   the poor with opportunity

    —not underwriting their poverty with welfare

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

Twilight falls onto my

  windowsill

 

Demon fire in full

  retreat

 

The stars return

  glowing embers that burn

 

In whose radiance

  an Angel will sleep

 

Days grip is unchained,

  the cantor sings while he prays

 

As the chorus cries out

  “It’s unplugged”

 

The sun has now left

  with my hopes not bereft

 

Only the night

  —points to heaven above

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

 

If you ask me to read,

  I’ll say only the good

   —in spite of what others might think

 

Once your blood has been spilled,

  and the cut is deep

   —my task to heal, not push to drug or to drink

 

If the pain is too great,

  my heart you may take

   —as I suture you back from the brink

 

From this deepest of wounds

  that I surround and embrace, as a fountain

   —where you may now drink

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Reborn a poet

  and then set free

 

To live beyond wealth

  —and majesty

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

 

Overspending the bulk

  of my temporal capital

 

Hourly deficits climb

  and pile into notes

 

Debts I’ll never repay

  stored in vaults I can’t find

 

Words lying uncashed,

  as I write overdrawn  

   

Pledging to go back

  and re-sign what’s untendered

 

 I’m unforgiven—overdue,

   my fate unsecured

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

 

 

Would you lease me your heart

  if I gave you a dime

 

Would you lend me your trust

  if I willed you my time

 

Would you seize my devotion

  with its mortgage in tact

 

Would you love me just once

  —or forever like that

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April. 2015)