Rolling in the deep
bottom of the pit it rumbles
to the rim. Filling to the top,
fleeing from the heat. Steam
erupts from the mouth,
flying away into the crystal
light orbing around. Erosion
criples the tongue, whispering
to the belly of the beast.
Tag: Poetry
Breaking Clocks
markets sell to few. You
can’t get a refund on
time. Lie for an hour
and watch the clock
strike nine. Time’s
the only way to
count the time
you spent
making
time
count.
Ruler of the walking land
Holding onto your wisp,
the feint stench of what you use
to be. Before your grasp
was comparable to an Iron Fist,
Ruler of a meek dungeon,
the warden called you Danny,
now you walk idle halls.
Cowboy
Saddle up
and ride through
past the sun.
Your adventure is over
and tavern wenches pass
your tales like herpes.
Hat filled to the brim
of ego and spills
through the fresh bullet hole.
Sleep great adventurer. Your next
adventure has already begun.
Olympus
I see you;
standing
on your mountain top
peering down at us
like a god to a man.
Who crowned you king?
When did your entitlement
place you at the top,
to call down below saying
we deserved our past.
It easy from way up there
isn’t it. Will be
waiting when a sudden gust
out of your control
pushes you. The fall
down won’t be pretty.
Strange Things
Oh we had some good times.
Running threw untrimmed meadows
laughing, laughing until our cheeks
turned red as lips.
Than, oh than the he blew through
the ceiling like a cyclone.
I found the shelf under my ass,
watching the light come through as
fragments dreaming of the real thing.
Dust mites came,
swarmed the finished wood,
to keep me warm through the winter.
Threshold
Standing on a pier looking out-
Seagulls crying to another
waves crashing against the rocks and
wood below.
Youth’s flying kites and running along
the sand leaving behind encrusted
prints of where they have been.
Couples slow placing, looking
for the best lighting to share
their pure happiness. Tourist
with their cameras hurrying
to not miss a site.
The man on the pier see’s it all.
Looking down six feet below to
the roaring waves and jumps.
Hurt
I hurt myself today.
Fell on a pile of stones left
by myself. By myself at a quarry
staring into the sun for fun.
Late for a date I hurt myself.
My mom called it self sabotage
and she prayed for tomorrow.
Praying I don’t visit the quarry again.
Kingfisher
It boils in the pit of insecurity
measured on the tip of my tongue.
It won’t, It won’t
fly like the bird I envisioned.
The bird in my dreams that
flies to new heights, through
the atmosphere and seeing the stars.
It hides in its cage. Chained too
my lunges and sings to
itself about the dream it once
had.
Ego
Battle the greats and hear they roar,
roar until tomorrow’s sun rise
on their command. The greats
are only for a single sun
for the new is crowned
for the moon. The sun
opens the gate of the mountain
for the greats to walk their final
journey. Transcend into the
god, becoming the gods
in footsteps left behind.
Saint's Muse 