Sunday Afternoon

Today my world is like a long Sunday afternoon
Nothing to do, nowhere to go
In you there is a serene monotony, picturesque in nature
A million words said in silence, a million stories told
A million feelings felt like warm hands intertwined as roots beneath a tree
Motionless, as if in death, there is a connection deeper than life
As all the world’s worries fade away into silent harmony

-unfinished/untitled-

The slip – the tumble – the fall
All results in a fail
From me to you
A constant reminder of my flagrant inadequacies
An inability to do right by you
This inconsiderate youth, blessed with a loyal heart but cursed with wanton hands
Steeped in self-destruction birthed in self-loathed
I remain, your constant misfortune

If, then why

If you are heir to the sky why walk along the earth
Amongst those unfit to draw same breath
Polluting what is,
An unredeemable birthright
In exchange for spoils, which,
As enticing as they may be,
Pale in comparison when weighed against immortality

these hands

These hands will be the death of me
These calloused, unrepentant hands
These vipers with veins that run deep into my soul
These hands that take without giving
Destroy without building
These hands that sit like vultures on a wire
Wretched am I for I cannot control these hands
Or force them to do my bidding
Their strength over-powers my will
Like the hangman’s noose that drags Hyde to hell
Where penance awaits the monster
And those too weak to control emotion and choose to live uninhibited

Game of Hearts

To all who have loved I salute your patience
For man is fickle and cold
His heart is not made for yours to hold
Rather, its design is meant to crumble, like sand, in your hands
While yours, in his, remains
In one piece, or in many
Broken fragments, breathing life into calloused hands
Fighting against all odds to take hold
And escape the thoughtless fall that precedes forgotteness
It is a grim game that hearts play
A battle waged in futility that leaves all scarred who take part
For hearts break even amidst the kindest intentions
And that which one once loved shrivels into obscurity

Jezebel

Sultry and salacious, with skin like seduction
Without unction, her words flow like silk on the river Nile
Her smile was ivory and her heart was crimson,
The skin on the nape of her neck was soft to the touch
Without a blush, she let loose her name
The utterance of which would keep only the purely insane confined to the ground on which he stood
Like the champion of champions, she preyed on the strong
With an iron will that ripped through the being to expose the weak
She was fool’s gold, promise without substance
Still the thought of her alone leaves knees weak, hearts beating,
And ears itching at utterance of the word ‘love’
At the sound of which unbelief disappears like bats in the night sky
And restraint is unfettered,
Leaving hands to lead and touch to do the rest
She, the master of emotion and rational, turns men to pillars
I, strong hearted but not strong willed, am ripped to shreds by her gaze
A damnation born of want,
lust is a powerful thing

Gratitude (For my Mother)

I see you on your knees, and it makes me smile
Because you still take time to think on the littlest of these
Things small in the present, but large in the scope of things
Rarely escape your gaze
Mindfully, you hold my whole world in your hands
A sage and a saint, the wisest of all living things
Your sweat is my sustenance and your blood the fuel
That propels me ever onwards
Until I eclipse that which you have built by your own hands
And achieve those goals whose sole reward is the smile in your eyes
And the enduring utterance of pride upon your lips