Tag: Poetry

Cowering in Shadows

Cowering in shadows,

I crawl amongst the soil,

fleeing from the echoes

that bind my brain like coils.

 

(Nothing happens as it should,

and all goes wrong that ever could.)

 

Squatting between dumpsters,

scratching at the dirt,

hiding all the bruises

that I pretend don’t hurt.

 

(Never say I didn’t try,

and never will they see me cry.)

 

Nothing really matters

when you’re in my head;

if you have to stay there,

I’d rather just be dead.

 

(Silence is a precious thing

without which I will bear no wings.)

 

Comfort, I don’t want now,

suffering’s my home.

if you would, please leave me,

I’d like to be alone.

 

(Softly please, now close the door,

you don’t belong here anymore.)

 

9/29/2025

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Infested City

The city streets

Are a tangle

of pheromones.

 

Reptiles

Huddled in the

greasy sand

Sleep

Amid tired

Butterflies

Flitting lazily

Towards

Annihilation.

 

Strange figures

Walk slowly through

The alleyways.

Devotees of rot

Draped in yards of

Fine woven

Fabric,

Dyed the colors

Of mold

And the city

At night,

Make a solemn

Procession

To nowhere.

 

Their robes swirl

Violently

Behind them.

The fabric dances

In the fetid

Breeze

That gusts

Perpetually

Through the

Concrete valleys,

Like storm clouds

Raging

Too close to the

Ground.

 

Infants wail as they pass,

And shadows

Cower.

They scatter their

Mildewed seed

Amid the waste

As they chant

In empty

Melodies,

With words long

Forgotten,

A spell to wake

The end.

 

They invoke,

As they scatter,

Something hollow.

Another,

They say,

Who will arise

From their garbled

Invocations;

One nourished by

Apathy,

Who will take root

And grow

In the barren soil

Built up

In the cracks

Of a crumbling

Infrastructure.

 

The equator

Of the dark of the moon

Is reflected here.

 

Here,

Hidden from the

Lifeless shops,

Where monks chant

And worms

Slither,

The mirror

Is held high–

Showing

The mosquitoes

Their faces,

While they suck

On the life

Of their

Artificial

Host.

 

9/19/25

 

 

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The Fall of a House

Predators circle

Inside the palace walls–

Draped in silk,

They slip between the marble columns

Like ghosts

Amid the usual

Courtiers.

 

With poisoned whispers

They sting the royal family,

Turning one against

The other,

Until all

Become suspect

To all.

 

Wolves howl

In the distance,

As a slivered moon

Sinks

Below the coastal

Horizon.

 

The day breaks,

And hounds in the courtyard

Tear

At the torso of a

Dead prince.

 

 

Another house has fallen.

 

9/19/25

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Mad Were the Days

Mad were the days

when we walked the fields

of fire flowers and wild rain

in the deepest valleys,

dawn to dusk, and

through the howling nights.

 

Sharp was the pain

when I was unreal,

and lost myself in the blinding shame,

counting sins like tallies,

sinking in sand,

nothing was set right.

 

Deep was the night

when we counted waves;

you saw yourself as the worlds flew by,

rushing out towards morning,

riding the crest,

frighteningly fast.

 

Fierce was the sky

in the final days

when stars had burst with a single sigh

in their flames of warning

and smokey mist

that rolled from the blast.

 

Broke were the masks

under which we hid

when Fortune came with her battle axe

smashing all to bits,

tilting the world,

laying us all bare.

 

Sharp was the task

when I had to bid

farewell to the one who saw my cracks.

My heart lost her wits,

away she whirled,

then no one was there.

 

Bleak are my fears

hiding from the moon,

seeking shelter away from the light,

dwelling in caverns,

I’ve fled so far,

since I lost the sight.

 

Gone are my tears,

I used them too soon,

they flew off with my dreams on a kite,

and gone are my burns,

only the scars

remain, as is right.

 

9/18/25

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Back Alleys of the Mind

With steps of muffled lead,

All thick and slow and heavy,

I tread the alley dirt,

And pray that they don’t get me.

 

Those things behind That Door,

Tucked in my mind’s dark alleys,

They scream behind That Door,

Impatient, they will rally.

 

One day That Door will burst,

They’ll pour out in their blood-rage,

And to me they will fly

To kill me in my own cage.

 

They’ll feast upon my mind,

With a voracious hunger,

They’ll tear my thoughts apart,

And rip it all asunder.

 

At least some peace I’ll find

When they have all been sated,

Their hunger thus reduced,

Their rage will be abated.

 

9/18/25

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Autumn Nights

As the days start to shrink

How the memories roll,

They burn through the mind

Like a lump of lit coal.

When the sun, it sinks down,

And the darkness draws near,

The crackling flames

Are the main things I hear.

In the red smokey glow,

In the deep of the night,

I walk through the ash

Of a million old fights.

The last fires, they burn,

Amid embers of old,

And through them I drift

Searching for bits of soul.

As the night wraps me up

In a moonless embrace,

A shroud of abyss,

It slips over my face.

As the world fades away,

And I fade away too,

The knots deep inside,

They begin to undo.

No more games of pretend,

No more masks to try on,

They’re all stripped away

One by one ’till they’re gone.

Now the night calls me close,

The void whispers “come here,

For in my embrace

There is nothing to fear.”

I dive deep into black,

Let it wash me away,

And now it’s all gone,

No more pleasure or pain.

9/18/25

0

Shred Me

Shred me.

Tear me up

and leave me wasted.

Crawl inside me

and poison me

from the inside out.

 

I’m dead anyway.

I was done the instant

I saw you,

standing in the afternoon sun

amid the straggling

crowd.

 

So obliterate me.

You know you can,

and somewhere inside,

you know you want to.

 

Give me mercy.

Put me down like a rabid dog

and end this nightmare

I’m trapped in.

 

There is no

life after you.

 

3-20-20

0

Flying Towards Destruction

I feel the rip–

all raw edges and ragged bits

of impossibility,

tucked somewhere inside

my gut.

 

The pain should be enough

to keep me

from the knife,

but the cut is an addiction

all its own.

 

Soon I will be ribbons;

just fluttering red strips

of my soul

in the wind.

 

Still,

fate isn’t easily resisted,

and I fly

towards my own destruction

aware.

 

3-19-20

0

Something

Rain hits the pavement

like millions of tiny diamonds

falling from the sky

and bouncing in the reflected light

of a digital city.

 

The smells of coffee and artificial pine

leak out from open doors

of brightly lit shops

with painted windows.

 

Ghosts huddle in shadows,

tucked between buildings

like old boxes between furniture

in a spare room.

 

Holiday music invades the streets

in short, offbeat bursts,

as customers rush in and out,

frantically emptying their wallets.

 

Cars roll by

in a slow and halting gloom–

stop, wait, roll three feet, stop,

as their drivers curse the world

and its banality.

 

There used to be something else here,

something important,

something underneath it all.

It has faded,

but still teases the edges of my memory.

 

I’m afraid,

because I’ve forgotten its name,

and without that

it will die,

and somehow,

so will we.

 

12-14-19

0

Hung with My Own Illusions

Dipped in liquid

fire,

you tore me

from my

stupor,

and hung me

with my

own

illusions,

until my eyes

had cleared

once

more.

 

7-7-19

* Written for Loki… the god, not Tom  Hiddleston’s Marvel character

 

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