The answer never welcome…

   ‘The Price Of Joy Is Pain’

 

A question forever mired

  —in perpetual disdain

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The words flock together

  and stretch on the frame

 

Their meaning runs over

  still wet from the pain

 

The canvas is porous

  the easel maligned

 

The curtains blow outward

  faces calling in mime

 

The streets all a-chatter,

   it was Paris in spring

 

And striving to look busy

  the most important of things

 

Looking back at my window

  above the tannery so high

 

A shadow stares back

  —and I flee in disguise

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

A literary sociopath…

  Hemingway wrote

 

Both gifted and tortured,

  his words they provoke

 

A verbal combatant

  with battles foretold

 

His last the most fatal

  —all memory on hold

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Was there ever a rebel

  on the inside looking out

 

By definition he’s outside

  —his legend to shout

 

The insurgent, his tactic

  playing Russian Roulette

 

Holding the status quo hostage

  —with fear and regret

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

We are never

  so afraid

 

As when frightening

  ourselves

 

That face in the mirror,

  the one that won’t leave

 

A shadow looming over

  —eternity’s sleeve

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Will there ever come a time

  when time doesn’t matter

 

Will there ever come a date

  when the days won’t connect

 

Will there ever come a phrase

   its words devoid of meaning

 

Will there ever come a song

  whose melody won’t play

 

Have you let what you celebrate

  turn into celebrity

 

Has your message been transformed

  into a billboard or sign

 

Have you become a caricature

  of a free and lasting symbol

 

Have your words become mere chatter

   —in your pandering for fame

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

The older I get…

 the closer I become to the things I can’t see

 

The older I get…

 the more I’m amazed by the things that surround me

 

The older I get…

 the longer the nights and the dreams that they bring

 

The older I get…

 empty words falling mute—each new season to sing

 

The older I get…

  those women that I loved I now carry inside

 

The older I get…

 that child I once was to return with a smile

 

The older I get

 the deeper I embrace the reason I’m here

 

The older I get

  each moment a gift—with its vision so clear

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2018)

Darkness, the beginning path

  spawns brightness at the end

 

Storm clouds over a troubled youth

  division on the mend

 

Struggles, trials, and failures past

  just fuel to keep you warm

 

Sagacity, the final truth

   —eyes seeing through the harm

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

Every book has a hundred messages

  trying to get out

 

Every song has ten inside of it

  waiting to sing loud

 

Every painting has a hidden image

   fighting to be shown

 

And every poem has a secret voice

   —dying to be known

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

There are stages you run to

  and from stages to hide

 

The performance of a lifetime

  or the shame that will chide

 

There are actors in character

   and actors on loan

 

One change in direction

  —and all meaning has flown

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)