the strike out

encounters unsettled, like the sharpness of swords,
I'll bleed through the eyes if it comes to the end,
when the dusk of it all, finally shakes to the ground,
I'll break the encountered in an attempt to defend,

the battered tones of a conscious defeat,
and the taming of egos of a unenlightened seat,
the encountered will walk it off, with her head held high,
and I'll take it home and sleep it off, in my bed by and by.

Partum, Ruina, Vita

Creation, Destruction, Life,
It will make you believe, and stupefy you,
Heart has reasons, reason does not understand,
In things, in action
Belief is discarded,
Belief is endured,
A many in small,
Always, everywhere by all,
In Being itself,
Partum, Ruina, Vita.

on a park bench

In a passing breath, the light will fade as pillow clouds pass by,
Sitting on a park bench, still as trees, when dawn says goodbye,

I'll wait for sleep to come my way, if thoughts do not prevail,
But not before a whiskered Sun moves fast the night so stale,

With ease of hand the sun will shine his light upon my face,
But not until I've spent the time in nights unfathomed space,

What tethered thoughts will come to me, when darkness takes the front?
With fastened knots they swing about, withered thorns sometimes so blunt,

But peace will come eventually, from without or from within,
With rhyming words I'll tell the tale of nights without sin.

stay or go

The body of rules, augmented by my ancestors compels me to stay,
To trim my beard and tell no lies,
It calls to me and I pretend to care,

A form fitting coat of arms to appease and maintain-of copious decay,
In time I'll learn of Fates surprise,
If duties will call, and intentions to bare,

But grown in its place, with only embers of talent, a dreamer, a bard,
A contestant of Fate,
With ill-contented eyes and busy fingers,

Will the statue erected so pure and clean cry? Will the embers so chard,
Fan the flames of my state?
Or weaken to dying cinders,

A call for a move has taken its place, the Coral Shrewd imposed,
He has stood his ground,
An incontinent wine decanted,

Poured out and free to merge with the tasteless air-reposed,
He will splash and breath unbound,
Free to change un-recanted,

My derailed train of thought, I'll pick up the pieces tomorrow,
With a bottle of red, in my head, what can go wrong,
After a dream I'll pay the price,

There is light in being single, and light in love,
A light of love will do its best, but tear at the seam,
When breached a distinction is made, light bulbs or candles,

You will make the choice, which one we can be,
Natural yet flickering, unable to last past the dawn,
Or shining bright and constant, yet borrowing from grid,

We'll know after the morning smoke, what your eyes will say,
I'll be the man and make you some coffee, but what will your eyes say,
After our eyes met, and you took my light -shit-what did your eyes say?