Bonus Poem: As An Old Friend

Sometimes I wonder,
about rain and thunder,
snow and ice,
wheat and rice.

Then I remember,
sleek and slender,
the nature of reality,
and all that we see.

It’s but a phase of dimensions,
angled in tensions,
to form minds of oneness,
bring hope to the helpless.

Thus we remain,
forever contain,
the universe’s essence,
in our lowly presence.

And when one day
we step away,
we’ll turn to dust,
with stars we trust.

So when it comes,
total your sums,
and greet the end,
as an old friend.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Soar

Withered and ashen gray,
curled beneath full moonlight,
the wind whispers incessant seductions,
while midnight rivers drain of blood,
and the scent of a fresh kill taints the air.

In the distance coyotes are calling.
Who or where is as equally our question as theirs.
Beneath them is the sound of even-further waves,
they crest with crescendo, their sea a symphony.

Between here and there is all reality,
but if no-one is there to witness it,
it fades.
Thus men of faith, religion,
pay homage to imagined creatures,
so that it might forever remain.

There is something to be said here of hope,
belief its benefactor, life its assassin.
So that it might meet reality, too, in the end.
But the abyss is wide,
ever growing.

Serpents’ forked tongues can sense death on the air,
like crimson blood tainting white wine.
There are no secrets to life.
No greater meaning.
There is only existence and those that exist.

Take heed this lesson.
Remember it.
For no meaning,
no purpose,
is true freedom.
We are bound by no shackles.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: For Me, For You

Nicotine stains my fingers,
while they beat a rhythm over keys.
Color flickers beneath them,
from multicolored LEDs.

What do I say?
To Whom do I say it?
Hope and love and peace,
things I used to preach.

But now things have changed.
My mind’s estranged–
not from reality,
but sheer morality;

the is and the was,
the what and the how,
even the where,
is not the now.

Slaving each day,
for no monetary pay.
I’m crazy some say–
or stupid, in a way.

But I do what I do,
for the hope of all,
to read and to listen,
let reason befall.

Whether for its own benefit,
or the mere fun of it.
I give you words.
Let them be heard,

and perhaps felt,
by one and by all,
whether big or small,
I give them to you,
so we might never fall.

Bonus Poem: Sold Our Soul For Oil

This country,
sold its soul,
for oil,
and jet-black coal.

We polluted the land
and perverted our rights,
for illusory security,
and cold, dying nights.

Were we not so young,
we might not be forgiven.
But we will not be,
unless we take action.

We watch puppet shows,
elect their prettiest lad or lass,
but they’re all the same–
a hand up their ass.

Then we let the rich
walk across our backs,
trample our faces in mud,
and drown us ‘tween the cracks,

of a system we built,
but they bought and paid for,
what shame we should feel,
despite all our labor.

So much for,
the land of the free,
and home of the brave–
if only we’d see,

that such platitudes fail,
when faced with the truth;
that rich oil barons,
and religion’s uncouth.

Until then I guess,
we’ll all have to accept,
that the rich will get richer,
by snapping our necks.