Host

Tick tock, tick tock
it's not much longer now
a body once full of life
drained of it's own essence

How mortally tragic
this broken life falling
slipping through our fingers
the sands of time tossed asunder

We build our kingdom of caskets
never knowing which nail will be our last
carefully constructing a tower to nothing
all the while recklessly and unconsciously
digging our own grave

Our attachments become our assailants
our connections become our coffins
our body, merely a host
our love becomes our demise

Crumbling Memorials

We are but crumbling memorials,

fragile and loosely connected,
to the generations past and to come.


Our ideals, hopes, ambitions and achievements,
once holding immense value...even purpose,
swiftly rise and all soon to feverishly fall.


What will be of matter from today,
A thousand light years further from now?
...or just the mere 10 seconds ahead?


We incessantly chase a fools phantom,
A predetermined vision of de jure,
instead of embracing the self de facto.


Futilely searching for a map that doesn't exist,
to the roads we carelessly wander and stumble on,
Broken roads without beginnings or endings.


A lifetime of knowledge would be gladly traded,
to truly know what lies one second beyond the grave,
the eternal terra incognita.

The Undertow

Waves overtaking
As the tides slowly rise
Labored, shallow breathing
The undertows cold, dark grip

Becoming overwhelmed
Fading, faltering strength
Submersion, suffocation
The undertows cold, dark grip

No air, last breaths
Song for the reaper
Vision darkens
The undertows cold, dark grip

Dissipating into the darkness
The monsters of the deep
God please save me
From the undertows cold, dark grip

5

The cracks starting to show,
A strength once present,
Starting to fade,
Slowly dims,
Destruction.

The cracks starting to show,
From damage in time,
Of lost innocence,
Broken hearts,
Erosion.

The cracks starting to show,
Darkened walls close in,
Hard to breath,
To suffocate,
Ashpixiate.

The cracks starting to show,
Spinning out of control,
Brace for impact,
Ground zero,
Tragedy.

The cracks starting to show,
From the inside out,
An empty shell,
Nothing left,
Hollow.

This Final Moment

The sun is starting to set,
Years of fighting the wolves has taken its toll,
The lion’s strength, now faltering,
As the wounds from the past,
Become too great to overcome.

The sun becomes divided,
As the lion slowly falls to his side,
His breathing has become labored,
A heart beat faint, now fluttering,
The hour of redemption draws near.

The sun reveals its final crest,
The wounded lion becomes still,
His souls rest waits in the wings,
The moment is at hand,
To finally meet his father, his savior and his king.

The sun is now gone,
The air now heavy, deep, cool,
The lion closes his eyes in sleep,
Total silence grips the atmosphere,
The last battle has finally been waged.

Out of the eternal abyss,
The arms of the great father reach down,
Lifting the lion into his warm, saving embrace,
The mighty king has destroyed the wolves,
That had fatally wounded his son.

The arms of the father,
Now retreat into the midnight sky.

It is in this final moment we find strength,
It is in this final moment we find comfort,
It is in this final moment we find healing,

And in this final moment we find a way to carry on.

For in this final of all moments,
We do not hear the whispering breaths of a dying warrior,
Only the sound of a roaring, raging lion,
Fully redeemed, fully restored, fully reborn, Disappearing into the night.

The Unruly King

The pattern is the same, predictable.
The path is mercilessly worn, familiar.
The assent is measured, deliberate.
The destination is predetermined, safe.

For a second I pause, contemplating the unknown.
A quiet moment of wondering, wondering what lies ahead.
To deviate from the matrix, to embrace the beckoning abyss.
To become the lion instead of the lemming,
an unruly king instead of the drone.

I savor the moment, if but a fleeting one.
For reality awaits me just beyond the next bend.
The voices of the innocents softly but constantly compel my direction.
My will concedes, the drone falls back into line.


To be the unruly king, although intoxicating, becomes unimaginable.


...I did savor the moment though.


...If but a fleeting one.

The Black Phoenix

A dove among the flames.
Not aware of the danger,
Laying quiet in the blackness below.

A leap out of the nest,
Delivered into the darkness.
Ambushed from every side,
No life line back.

Pure, white, innocent, fragile.
Consumed by the flames.
Destroyed by the danger,
Laying quiet in the blackness below.

No return to the nest,
Deliverance in the darkness.
The scars reveal,
The only way back.

Reborn black, hardened, strong.
Emerging from the flames.
Destroys the danger.
Resurrected from the blackness below.

He spreads his wings,
Bursting out of the darkness.
The Black Phoenix rises,
From the bitter ashes below.