Life’s Blood

My blood,

it lies pooled

at the bottom of

a well.

In darkness,

it remembers my life,

it speaks of the fire

that once burned within me

as I lay awake at night,

contemplating my destiny.

What is the future

once it is the past?

What were those choices

that we either make,

or don’t make,

and is the difference

between the two

remembered?

Sweet Song of Liberty

I am blinded by this blizzard,

the methodical winds of tyrants

beat me with their frozen taunts,

For they pretend to own my flesh,

as they dictate my future,

and reconstruct my past

to suit their totalitarian agendas,

The storm rages against my notions

of liberty,

taught to me in classrooms of wax

and glue,

colored string and songs of

beautiful country,

beautiful land,

our land,

your land,

but,

sadly,

no.

I am as free as the fish

in the bowl,

but less wise,

for he knew all along

that his world was made of glass,

and that his last breath

was already measured,

a long,

long,

time ago.

Ship Wreck

I am a ship

wrecked upon the shores

that are not of my own making,

though for years I was fooled,

thinking that I was at sea,

rocked as I was by waves

that proved to be malicious,

if only for their indifference,

Lulled to sleep by their rhythm,

a catatonic lullaby,

perilous in its sweetness,

a confection made from the

blood of the unwitting,

It is a golden ocean,

this sea of dreams,

that laps on the sands

of the grand illusion,

and all I wanted was the sweet

fresh air,

They can keep their fortune,

all I wanted was the sweet

fresh air.