Skin Deep

I sheered the black sheep,
That wool itched so, anyway.
It weighed me down in the heat of your indifference.
Woven cloak of your shame.
Your shame,
My other name.
Awarded to me like a trophy,
By you, my referee
How dare I not do as you did,
Unpresentable me.
Not draped upon the arm of a rich man,
Not sipping from a golden shoe.
Pride is a subtle thing,
A fragile wing on a tiny creature.
And subjectivity forgotten,
In the law of your land.
The tragedy of funerals had,
with empty graves.
Burying the dead,
while they still walk and talk,
But not to me.
And what beauty I inherited from you,
You, who bore me here.
I can only show
In pictures
and a looking glass.
Faded memories
And broken dreams.

Modern Man

The wretched, cursed man,

bent and weeping,

Walking as if a monument

to sold out souls,

Turning, turning,

face side to side,

but no one sees him.

Still, he saunters,

freely meandering

through streets of

golden auras,

all the promises

well packaged lies.

Smelling flowers

as he travels,

for they told him

if he did so,

stopped,

and smelled them,

life would mean,

something,

anything at all.

Under the Shadow of a New Moon

They watch,

night vision,

and you can

feel them

see you.

Breath rises,

a fog to

peer through.

Still,

silence.

Touching

the darkness,

with outstretched

fingertips,

you make

your way.

Will the

noise,

of your

shaking

feet,

finally make

them

move?

Still,

silence.

You wait,

frozen,

within a

moat of the

vapor of

your own

breath.

The smallest

bits of

light,

relief against

the darkness.

When a flash

could be

a retina,

you wait,

still,

silence.

You wait.

 

By the Pale Moonlight

It is the light of the moon

that makes you so beautiful.

Poor Zombie.

Stetched to almost breaking,

only able to make sounds

through rough, sewn lips.

I compliment

to save his feelings.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know.

Sleepless Nights

It soothes me,

music of the dead night sky,

it is silent,

punctuated by the soft, silver

wailing,

so soft as to mimic the silence

that it ripples,

No one noticed when the

lights went out.

No one noticed when the

lights went out.

But you,

and me.

We stood staring,

eyes begging for

forgiveness,

but nothing came,

just a strain

for the moon

that failed,

burned out and broken,

like the promises.

We whispered,

wondered where the stars had gone,

Where did they go,

when they died?

you’d said.

Is there a heaven for stars?

you’d said.

But all I could do was

shake my head,

and my tears fell

into darkness,

like little stars

themselves.

I remember how

my eyes could see,

colors bolder then

we could ever be,

I think there is vision,

if only there is light.

But no one noticed when the

lights went out.

No one noticed when the

lights went out.

But you,

and me.

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.