No More

How did I get here
acutely aware
yet obtusely insulated

My hands are corruptly sterile
my life, falsely sanitized

Blinded by the speed of static
to the hurt and pain
that lies bleeding
outside my creaking door

With each passing moment
a soul cries out
a soul dies out
Silenced by the silence

I can't go on living
in this bleached, wretched way

One soul cries out
one soul dies out
no more

Grace

A life once recklessly driven and tossed asunder
Broken into nothing but jagged pieces of pain
Grace stepped in to clear the debris

As the storm of the century destroyed this feeble, fragile ship
Leaving the paper thin sails ripped and tattered, lifeless in the chaos
Grace supplied a heart shaped umbrella

Narrowly escaping the shackles of the valley of death
Only to turn the corner and face the ghosts of the past
Grace spreads its wings of gold and silver to quietly lead the way

A restoration of the condemned
A gift undeserved
A pardon among thieves

The blueprint for love
The environment of peace
The road map to humility

Grace

Obscurity

We wrestle with obscurity
A matter of what matters
In an endless ocean of existence

Will our best thoughts evaporate
Our strongest words discarded
Greatest works forgotten
If ever

Will our very existence be something of substance
or simply become significantly insignificant
While some feverishly toil and others falter
We all struggle to create finite moments
Drowning in an infinity of infinities

Spoon

As some walk on a guided path
Others simply slip and tumble
Though fight as they may
Nothing breaks the fall

At times the free fall slows
Only but to give way
Another cliff
Another crack
Another false floor disguising the abyss

While some are born destined to soar
Others are aborted to struggle
Left to sift through the remnants
Of the crumbs fallen from a silver spoon

Hounds

The howls are recklessly closing in,
Once barely a sound, a hint of nothing,
Now viciously, their icy breath chills my bones.

Such a naive thought of being immortal,
No matter what decoys or diversions we pretend to spring,
Those bastard hounds always find the trail.

Such blood thirsty, cold blooded killers,
Driven through the abyss of forever,
feeding on every pitifully helpless soul that falls into their path.

We run aimlessly, hide carelessly,
But these cunning predators never stop,
Such a simple vapor on which they follow and selfishly dine.

The howls, near deafening,
Once a mortally tipped scale now becomes eternally balanced,
Does it matter now which ladder rung you futilely stand on?

A single common thread we all fatefully share,
In the end, we are all reduced to nothingness,
By the wolves just outside our door.

Egg Shells

My dimming eyes watch on as the world slowly waxes worse.
The egg shells we all tread upon are cracking,
giving way to reveal the rotting beast within.

Instead of caring for the corroding behemoth,
we poke our crooked sticks in it's eyes.
Just to see the ruthless ratings go up.

Civil unrest will soon transform into uncivil retaliation.
Peace will become as the giants that roamed the land in millennium's past.
Conflicts of the present day will melt down into war machines,
feeding on us without cause or prejudice.

What are we to do?
The lost souls desperately seeking clarity in this bitter cold sea.

For now though, I worry not about my own fate but instead of the destiny that awaits
the tiny eyes that so innocently stare back deeply into mine.

I collapse to my knees, kiss the ancient dirt,
then rise and turn to the sky.
Hurling prayers to the heavens in hopes that there is some supernatural deliverer in all of this crumbling chaos.

Secretly fearing though that in the end though, there might not.

Dam

Once a simple stream
misdirected and held back
with sandbags and driftwood
creating a stationary place of life

Time brings the rain
the fragile stream steadily grows
sand bags and driftwood give way
to bigger, stronger barricades

A river now replaces the tiny waterway
the dam begins to flex under the pressure
fissures and cracks start to form
as the riverbed slowly starts to erode away

The vicious rains never cease
and the river waxes ever so violent
churning and thrashing
testing the integrity of it's buckling captor

Will this dreadful downpour ever dissipate?
Will this raging, wrathful river ever find peace?
With all these inquiries, one stands above the rest
will the deteriorating, damaged dam hold it's place
or be breached by the wicked waves below?