Tuesday, November 1, 2011

The Fallen Trees

I laugh at the tree who grows tall.
Doesn't he know he will one day fall.
That his hubris was not the first to claw at the sky,
that the builders of babels tower also gave it a try.
But as the tower did, so the tree too will collapse
and like bricks, branches will come cascading past
men who cower at the tumultuous upheaval
that falls from heaven like that ancient evil.
See, we all have that selfsame sin inside,
we bend to the pull of power and the call of pride.
 Until like the Scottish soldier who craved the crown,
our delusion makes our world come crashing down.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Start running, push off that gravel and don't stop
Keep reaching, grab that next rung and pull yourself to the top
Don't look back, there's nothing there home is gone

Keep running, let your feet fall in rhythm and don't stop
Keep climbing, that summit is all yours, you belong at the top
Don't look back there's nothing there but things done wrong

Keep running, ignore your aching muscles and don't stop
Keep pushing, those barriers wont keep you from the top
Don't look back there's nothing there you've been away so long

Keep running, breathe deep, breathe even and don't stop
Keep moving, you can be still when you've reached the top
Don't look back, there's nothing there but a cliched song

Stop running! Rest now let me see you before you start again
I can barely see you from all the way down here
Take a look back sometime, we miss you back home

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Counting Up

I live in moments,
each second is a millenium in which I can define the world and all that is in it
and still forget it in the next eternal moment.
With each tick the world changes
and is reverted upon the tock,
new meanings new hopes,
 but still the same dream,
 the same illusion of control,
like we live on the face of the clock,
at least you do.
I don't.
Because the only timepiece I  keep is the measure of heart murmurs,
but my heart does not murmur,
it shouts
speaks out
 has mind of its own
and though it can only give voice about once a tick
that seems to do the trick
because by the time tock comes
I have loaded my guns.
You live like target acquired,
I live like a poet inspired
and don't you dare get tired
because every second lost upon yawn
is day done until the next brink of dawn
and like a child sprawled on the lawn
who you claim does not realize what he's losing
you've already lost too much.
You say youth is wasted on the young
but moments are all too often wasted on grown up humdrum,
our years are numbered in days
which are constructed of hours
which are made by minutes
which are counted in seconds.
So everything comes down to this next second
which is really the next minute
which rolls into the next hour
which falls into a day
which concludes this year.
Now as you walk into the daily drivel you call maturity
I want you to see,
we youths know our days are numbered,
we are simply unencumbered
by the weight of wasted moments
because we did our best to spend them wisely,
not upon completing the next task
or rushing to get to class but by sprawling on the lawn
watching the coming of the new dawn,
 in awe of moments which last eternities. 

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Let Me Sleep

Well this is awkward, I started to feel for a moment.
For a few futile seconds words I wrote became a world
and here I was living in that world like it wasn't purely theoretic.
Like it held some corporeal substance like it wouldn't soon fail
like I wouldn't soon fall and like I wouldn't soon lose it all.
So hold for a moment, let me write, let me recreate.
let me lay down letters that loop together into lines and lacerations
that leap from the page and surround me.
An imperfect illusion I dare say but one of my liking
and here I rest my head for another moment
let sensation creep from those inscribed wounds
until gravity pulls me back down to reality's crumbling ruins
that now feel darker and more like an inescapable tomb
where bone dust covers every surface
and nothing we do really has a purpose
but to perpetuate this failing state
this homeostatic conclusion
so much duller than my created illusion
and the red of my blood is a useless infusion
because it lands black on the page
as i stand in the back of this cage
with all the pain and pent up rage
because at this point it seems nothing will ever change.
The bars may rust but what is the difference?
Does any effort at all make sense?
Every movement, every action seems useless
and so I stop. Lay down. Quit.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

You know the folks out there they'll say you're one in a million
but really you're not that lucky you're one in nearly seven billion
and that doesn't make you unique, but welly, truly alone.

Monday, September 19, 2011

I owed someone a poem

It's a funny thing her smile
'cause it doesn't always reach her eyes
and it's not that she's telling lies
it's just a granted courtesy
kinda like "Why yes, that's nice, here's my smile, see?".
Once in a while though, she loses control
and she ends up baring just a tiny piece of soul.
Her teeth flash and her eyes wrinkle
she giggles a little and her nose crinkles.
Then she hides behind her hands
and I think i might be someone who understands
It's cause she's let that bit of soul out before
and it seems like every time she does someone lets it crash to the floor.
but once in a while, when my gaze lingers
and I see the fleeting smile when she lowers her fingers
that little bit of soul is still there and it has bruises and breaks
it has seen its fair share of and liars and fakes
yet, I think, if she's given the time
that piece of soul it will be just fine
and maybe then, she'll let her guard down

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Let the winds roar and the waves crash.
Let thunder roll and lightning flash.
Let the clouds close like curtains across the skies,
Let tears flow like rivers from her eyes.
Let the her be taken by the dramatic intensity,
Let her be awed by that single action's immensity
Let her fall limp against your chest as her heart swells
Let her be when she dreams of wedding bells
Let her look into your eyes and let her smile glow.
But don't you ever, ever, let her go

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

In my mind everything is ablaze
hotter than asphalt after a week of long summer days.
Everything glows orange or is tinged red,
sadly this excitement is only in my head.
For though I dream in tongues of flame
I know you do not see the same
and whilst I breath passion and fire,
your cold seeks to quench my desire.
It creeps along icy tendrils of word play
Seeps into hearths and hearts leaving only an ashy gray
Collecting in sullen recesses of shadow and despair
invisible to the eye but oppressive in the air
that same air that escapes your mouth with every breath
clawing its way across subtle spaces and bringing with it death.
Not that my fire is any more gentle
In fact the gouts of molten need all but drove me mental
No it would be that to sate the fire's need
would char our hearts indeed
for I am heat and you are cold
you are coy and I am bold
so here: take hold of my hand let loose a laugh
we'll ignore the cruel cold and the heat's wrath
for it is clear we are not meant to be.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Not the Ones I Want to Say

It's funny, this little tickle in my throat.
The words of a poem that I never wrote
itching to be heard, to leap from my lips.
Sadly they'll forever live on that precipice.
Existing only in the world of what is yet to be
existing in a world that most will never see
Have these words, not the ones I want to say
but ones that are vague enough to see the light of day

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Little Bits of God

I called the man who taught me God father
But he was not a priest
Not an ordained one at least
But still he lectured and lead men
Abandoned souls he did defend
And I sat beside him for enough car rides
That he made it clear where God resides
So when I cradled that baby in my arms
When I did what little I could to shelter her from harm
I knew I was holding God against my soul
I sang little rhymes in a language she would never know
I cooed and danced I hummed and I bobbed
I tried to give her back what humanity robbed
And as I circled around the room
I saw more little bits of God trapped in that tomb
And in a judicious sense of mind
I sought to more evenly divide my time
I tried to put her down while she slept
But from her mouth a fierce cry leapt
And though my flesh remained whole
Into my heart her voice stole
The pain raged through me like a filthy fire
Compelling me to fill the child's desire
Then sickness took me like a plague
forcing me to yield to what she did beg
So I took her up again and the cry did cease
And on her face rose a look of peace
Then falling sand did call me to depart
But before my exit could be made one last scream did she impart
and though I left the room with my prayers said
The sound lingered in the dark corners of my head
So I yet see her minuscule body wailing in her bed
 I recoil as though she could strike me dead
And I remember what that man taught
Then without a second thought
I devoted myself to the scattered
Because outside of those tiny pieces of God, nothing else mattered

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Life & Liberty

He came to the door often enough
asking for sandwiches and water and other stuff
but that wasn't the point was it?
in fact he could be any number of children
at any number of doors in any number of cities
but he was at my door, in this city
so what could I do but pour a glass of water
and his eyes would be on my back
burning into me, not with hate or anger
but with a unspoken need, a quiet hunger
that raged beneath too thin arms
which hung off the too short torso
of a too small young man
and there at the doorway i would stand
awash in the cacophonous sounds of a city
sirens and screams, overplayed radio hits
and the lone wail of a child
but this is civilization
thank God we marched out of the wild untamed world
we made it our own and in a glorious era
have we not become masters of our existence
 and who is the face of the beautiful light
who is the lamp which shines out into the looming night?
is it not the nation who leads the fight
where women are beautiful and the children bright
or they were once
beauty has been has been replaced with cruel plastic facades
and the children weren't left behind but pushed over a precipice
launched into a cross between huxley's oblivious world
and an orwellian lie of a government
and those who hold the whip in their trotters
serve themselves alone and we are but meat for the fodder
 I think of all this
of the injustice of the world
and the yawning void outside my door
all present in the hunger of this kids eyes
and I want to slam the door and run
hide myself behind a mixed media shield
one part game one part  television on part program
hang my self on my cable connection
then cut the cord and I could say look ma, I've gone wireless
more like we've gone spineless
 as a generation so caught up in our own witticisms
that instead of standing up for something we slouch down
and collectively ask the world
"you mad bro?"
well they should be mad
and so should we,
cause there is no reason for kids to need
no reason they should sit in the street and bleed
but here have some social security
a societal band aid for the booboo
maybe this little first aid kit will stem the arterial flow
but if that doesnt work put his hand over his heart
apply pressure and tell him to pledge
cause he's got the right to life and liberty
but let us not forget the pursuit of happiness
we'll hunt that bastard down
pin it to the ground
and force it to omit and admit
that we are the free world



Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Not a Poet

I would like to call myself poet
I would like to drop verses and let the world know it
But I feel like I'm not worthy
Like there's too much more to see
Like in just 16 years
I haven't faced the fears 
Or shed the tears 
Like in just 16 years I haven't lived enough
Haven't really ever had it rough
Never had to be that tough
Sure I was never rich but I was never poor
Maybe American poor but not world poor 
And I'm sure beggars and wraiths could let their words pour
They've lived the real life
They've faced true strife
So I can string together rhymes
And I can write lines and lines
But were I to write until the end of time
The title poet never would be mine

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Grown Up

This world is bleeding
There's no line between wanting and needing
Always some new hate breeding
Some new rage to be seeding
New lies to be reading 
New rules to be heeding
And you have got to get growing
Cause your youth it is showing 
And the winds of change are blowing
Aint it time you got going 
Cause there are things that need knowing
Broken hearts that need towing
Angry seeds that need unsewing 
And it's all up to you
In your raggedy shoes 
As you hum the blues 
And count in twos
The lies that you choose
To believe
And what will you do when they leave?
How much weight can you heave
Which explanations will you weave
What heights will you achieve
Whose heart will you deceive 
Cause you can't remain naive
You gotta get real
Forget how to feel
Learn how to deal
Which words will seal
And allow you to reel
In the fools and cowards
From their ivory towers
Cause your words carry powers
And sweet things have finally soured
Bright eyes now glower 
At you from across the table
You were once so able 
But now you're stuck with that label
And maybe your life is a fable
A lesson for children to learn
An example of what happens to those who spurn
Those stride forward when told to turn
Those who rise only to fall from grace 
And it's a bit late for you to save face
You can't even slow the pace 
So with your admissions make haste
Say you had but a taste 
Say son life's just race
So you can't be a waste
And gears begin to turn again
And maybe he'll make things like they were back then

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Devil's Advocate

Ahh look at this sun, radiating beauty, purity, innocence.

Innocence? HA! Like innocence could exist here, even your precious sun makes shadows, only in the creation of light can darkness be found

Well see here the majesty and power of the ocean!

The ocean is a king confined to his throne, his power is a sham, he can struggle to rise out of his chair, but he will be chained, forever.

What of the sky? It has no beginning and no end, truly free! 
 
Free for what? To expand forever into nothingness? Has the sky ever gripped you? shaken you with its power? It may be free but it is purposeless.

And the ground upon which I stand, holding up the weight of the world?

You make it sound so strong! It is riddled with cracks and cavers, even molten lava runs through it the ground is useless out of its own division.

So what?What should all these things mean for me

I just told you!

Don't strive for innocence when by your nature you are dark, with light within so must dark be within, recognize it and take away its power 

Don't be fooled by the appearance of power, for power only exists within boundaries and as soon as those boundaries are reached all appearance of power is gone, power like all things power is relative.

Don't fear tethers, finding something worth tying yourself  is a gift within itself. Living for the sake of living will leave you empty

Don't believe anything is too solid, you know nothing in this world, the next second of your life could be an end or a new beginning. Things are always shifting dividing and crumbling, take solace in the lack of human permanence.

Know yourself, do not fear power, look for worthy links, be prepared for change.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Thems & Theys

Look for a face man
realize who you're killing
who you want dead
the massive numbers of people
you have the right to condemn
so pull away the masks
the turbans, the burkas and hijabs
look at who you're killing
man up and dont say
"they did it"
"I'm against them"
know your enemy
if you cant love them
cause really
that's what you should do
but don't let me stop you
throw around the thems and theys
just know that in their homes
in their hearts
they are human
they were made by God
they have a plan and a purpose
condemning them
does not bring them to God
it takes away their ability to come.


Prayer and Practice

I would like to practice,
to put my theories into play,
to show that all these things
aren't just something I say

I would like to show
all the sarcastic naysayers,
the people that snip and snipe,
that God does answer prayers

I would like to push back
against doubt, against wrong
to show the faith proves true,
even if it does take long

But there is little I can do,
just kneel and pray,
through my faith I know
God has the final say

My shoes.

Most people who have known me for a while know I don't really care about my shoes.
In fact, I like to think my shoes kind of match my personality.
For instance, my current shoes are monochrome black.
Not flashy, not fancy just simple.
I like to think I'm not flashy or fancy, kinda simple ya know?
But, I also run around and I'm really energetic, so my shoes are all torn up.
I don't know, I guess I ijust like my beat up ol' sneaks.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Pour

Come rushing down sweet summer rain
Wrap in moisture the still burning pain
Come down and cool the molten asphalt street
Wash away the tyranically oppressive heat
Let static build, lighting flash and thunder roar
Allow me to bask in the sudden down pour
I want my hair to be left in dripping locks
I want rain in my shoes to saturate my socks
I'm done with cliche suns and skies of blue
All I need is the sharp cold rain and you

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Why I Bleed

There is nothing to writing, all you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. -Ernest Hemingway

How many pages have I coated with blood?
Surely enough to slate a battlefield's thirst
Yet still, new unblemished reams call for more
So away go the bandages, torn are the stitches
I clench my wounded heart and let the red pour
Drenching the paper, quenching its thirst
But why must I drown out the empty white?
Could I have found the secret of alchemists past?
The source of immortality is neither medicine, nor elixir
But the bloody letters, torn from the body day by day
To live forever between covers, sealed in written  word.


"Love casts out fear, but we have to get over the fear in order to get close enough to love them."

Dorothy Day on how to love enemies.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Ode to Winston

Two plus two is four
I know this
Cometh the pain
Cometh the pain
I see the fingers
Four extended
Four
Two plus two is four
I think this
Cometh the pain
Cometh the pain
I see the fingers
They're extended
Four?
Two plus two is five
I want this
Cometh the pain
Cometh the pain
I see the fingers
I tell the lie
Five!
Two plus two is five
I know this
Lessen the pain
Lessen the pain
I see the fingers
Five extended
Five
"The dictionary definition of a Christian is one who follows Christ; kind, kindly, Christ-like. Anarchism is voluntary cooperation for good, with the right of secession. A Christian anarchist is therefore one who turns the other cheek, overturns the tables of the moneychangers, and does not need a cop to tell him how to behave. A Christian anarchist does not depend upon bullets or ballots to achieve his ideal; he achieves that ideal daily by the One-Man Revolution with which he faces a decadent, confused, and dying world"
Ammon Hennacy on what it means to be a Christian Anarchist
"We must use the weapon of love. We must have compassion and understanding for those who hate us. We must realize so many people are taught to hate us that they are not totally responsible for their hate. We stand in life at midnight, we are always on the threshold of a new dawn." 
Martin Luther King Jr. on how to fight hate.
"We are spending all this money for death and destruction, and not nearly enough money for life and constructive development....when the guns of war become a national obsession social needs inevitably suffer"
Martin Luther King Jr. on the Vietnam War

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Release

At some point there's no more space left
At some point there's too much weight to heft
To push up against, to force high into the sky
And I? Am I to simply step aside and stand by
As you rip, tear and destroy everything that I hold dear
You don't realize the need they have to hold you near
Hold you and hope, that maybe you wont ruin it again
A basic hope, that again and again you rip and rend
Made useless, in that it has been torn and tattered 
The things they wished for you have since been shattered
And here I  stand, too mad to beg but too scared to look away
So I fall too my knees, throw my head down and pray
I beg God to intervene, to cross that divide that you created 
To brighten your heart, to defeat your thirst that cant be slated
To do whatever is needed, to take you from where you stand
Refusing help, scorning aid, turning away each extended hand
Because I don't know anymore, I have nothing left to say
I have no olive branches unburnt no hopes for the new day
Too many times have promises been broken, chances squandered
Too many times has the path been laid bare and you still wandered
So now I'll stand back, I wont pull you away from what you become
But never forget where you once called home, where you came from
A house of sainthood, of sinners trying to make some light 
In a world where darkness is stacked against all the right
And you succumbed, you fell and you let yourself be taken 
Shirk the blame create the guilt but it is still your faith that was shaken
You stepped away from the promising future the plans and power
And I remember when once I was wrong and i looked to you in that hour
And you were good you reminded me of proper dos and don'ts
So maybe you'll return to that  man you were or maybe you wont


This is the first time I've done a poem this way, I kinda just let go of some things I had been holding onto and this is how it turned out, I know it's a little rough but bear with me.

God Bless,
Ammon

The Nature of Expectations

At the start, they're good things
A recognition
A commendation
One likes the start of them 
But at that point they're rare
An instance of going above
And beyond
The thirst for appreciation 
Drives one to exceed expectations
Again and Again
Until one is no longer complimented
Thus the extra work falls by the wayside
Now there is disappointment
Why has the good work stopped?
Extra work piles on
Now more good things are needed
To be recognized
To be commended


Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Hands Talk

Our hands define us
Not in that they shape destiny
Nor in that they foretell the future
But in that they record the past
Scars, callouses stories of a life
I scratched at what hands meant
In The Process of Existence
When I feel hands as a general rule
I look for things, callouses of course
But also a strong grip tells stories
If a person has something to prove
They'll clench your hand like a vice
If they're personable they'll be firm
Weak handshakes burn me especially
You're meeting a person, that's important
It's an opportunity for you to connect
And weakness is what you show?
Ridiculous. Simply ridiculous.
Knuckles talk too
Rough knuckles are angry
Soft knuckles are more calm
Nails are also a tell
Dirty nails mean a worker or a slob
Blunted, chipped, nails probably a worker
Long creepy nails with scum? slob
Clean nails mean lazy or clean freak
Short manicured probably clean
Long or chewed on lazy bum
I'm just saying hands reveal things
So I always look at hands
Maybe you should too

Monday, April 18, 2011

Bitter Night

New fear born of rage born of wrong
Animosity blooms as shadows grow long
And in the time of stars and stolen light
Jealousy burns and anger blurs the sight

My First Villanelle

Hugging tightly closely fitting 
Sparkling shining like a bright suns rays 
Swaying bowing slowly spinning 

Now our dance is just beginning 
Can you see her bright eyes blaze? 
Hugging tightly closely fitting 

Hear the piano lightly playing 
The dance continues in a daze 
Swaying bowing slowly spinning 

Hushed voices softly singing 
Surrounding us in an opaque haze 
Hugging tightly closely fitting 

Eyes shining tears falling 
No escape from her stunning gaze 
Swaying, bowing,slowly spinning 

See now the dance is ending 
We are alone for this final phase 
Hugging tightly, closely fitting 
Swaying bowing slowly spinning 

poster's note: I never came up with a title for this piece, it's from my freshman year feel free to offer titles if you feel so inclined.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Why Must I Fall Again?

Why must I fall again?
Why must my core be so vulnerable?
Why must every look she gives me
Be so redolent of pain
Of sorrow
Of chances lost

The deep pit of hellish emotion
Cannot be negotiated by youths
with hearts unblemished
novices of treading loves
murky waters

This stark realization bludgeons my senses
As I try deliriously to find my soul mate
Such a visceral experience, unique
In power In rapidity 
In foolishness I am the blundering jester
Traipsing around the world in search of love
In search of companionship
In search of a healing heart that will alleviate the pain
All the scarring turmoil
I have ever felt
and that will be in need of me as well 

poster's note: this was originally written by rots28, he sent it to me and i made some suggestions he thought i changed enough that it was co-written

The Process of Existence

a hand brushed my arm and i looked up
the palm had the callouses of work
but had not yet attained that sandstone quality
that characterized the hands of working men
my eyes wandered over a not so young face
pioneer facial hair colonized baby cheeks

he wasn't a man yet but he was growing up fast

burlesque knuckles stood out on coarse haired hands
a smoke graveled voice spouted harsh swears
skin hardened from years of industrial labor
eyes glazed over with cynicism born of experience
a limp that told of athletic days long passed
bitterness emanated from pores creating a cloud of regret

he wasn't old yet but he was ageing fast

an aged arm reached up and grabbed my wrist
arthritis riddled fingers held me like a vice
skin faded from age clung to his skull
parchment flesh, marked with the stories of life
liver spots and scars, wrinkles and crinkles
a testament to a well worn existence reaching its conclusion

he wasn't a corpse yet but he was dying fast

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Attempted Introspection

Feeble thoughts float across my mind
Tedious incorporeal theses linger
Teetering on edges, until attention shifts
And  ideas, symbols, hopes get left behind

I yearn for contemplative brevity
Complex analysis of intrinsic concepts
Overlapping confusion kills concision
And so surfaces a facade of cool levity

Impractical plans incoherent inquietude
These things rule within my cerebral cortex
Below the rabble and arguments of my conscious
Pragmatic practicality rises over useless platitude

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Climbing the Stairs

Click, Crack, Pop
This is the language of my body
Contract, Groan, Release
This is what my body knows

The muscles tighten, the leg rises
Bones slide and joints bend
Tension is released the foot falls
Click, Crack, Pop

Rough sole meets step
The pressure returns to the thigh
Tendons tug and pull straightening the leg
Contract, Groan, Release

One step conquered,
A stairway to go.
You know when you lean too far back in a chair,
And you almost fall and it gives you a scare?
Well, that's how I feel when I look at you

The Time Before Complacency

Whatever happened to youthful idealism?
When was it replaced with cynical “realism”?
I yearn for the days of sit-ins and walk outs
The days when we could actually bring change about
Is it so wrong that what they try to sell me, I won’t buy?
That I don’t believe it when they play politics and lie?
I want some personal change, not the Obama kind
I want a revolution, an overwhelming movement of mind
A progression from the societal glorification of slaughter
That separates father from mother and precious daughter
To a righteous world in which peace begets peace
And this senseless violence and death might finally cease

I can't pledge to a worldly state but I can pledge to something more

I pledge allegiance to God, 
The almighty ruler of heaven and earth 
And to the people whom he created
One covenant, in His name
With mercy and redemption for all

Be Real With God

It's alright to be mad at God, because you get mad in real relationships. It's alright to question God, because being human means we don't have all the answers. But it's only alright to be mad and to ask questions if you are prepared for his answer, because in a real relationship, where you don't know everything, you've got to listen.

Monday, April 11, 2011

When the tide recedes
And the world proceeds,
Who will comfort you then?

Embracing an Exit


Phosphorescent flashes fly across the fading sky   
While all my fears and failures fall from my eyes
And amidst the tedious ties, tithes and highs
I began to sort out stout truth from doubt and lies  
The piercing pain presided in my chest
Welling up and washing over wiping out the rest
And despite hung hopes and hefty hearts
I knew that we as a pair had played our final parts
But your loving lachrymose lingering lips  
Forever perched upon a teetering precipice
Moved maddeningly throughout my mulish mind
Baleful and beautiful an unbreakable bind
In the nebulous nothingness the necrotic thoughts soar
And while you focus on the petals I remember the nettles more
And while your juvenile jugular beats a jiving jungle rhythm
I sing a soulful ode opposed to your sensationalism  
Tell-tale trembles release truths that tumble to the floor
Where they ramble then run on until building into a roar
Meanwhile each malevolent word maintains a malignant meaning
Demeaning and demanding and detrimental to my being
Finally without word or whisper I walk out
Holding strong against the resounding shout
I make my escape fleeing at an insane rate a burning thirst to slate
Furiously and fantastically free I leave to find my fate

Burning Out

A conflagration of life erupted from the wound
The shooter stared, eyes absent of their previously indignant fire
Blinded by the bullet that had in an infinitesimal moment connected the two
With a heavy lead bond, tethering him permanently to the sight

The steaming crimson release sang with an eloquent quietude
Of the ever tenuous grip on life, murderously and abruptly broken
The final luminous sparks indicative of the souls presence leapt from the hole
Burning their way into mudded irises, cauterizing pupils

The guttering glow faded from the sacred hearth and limbs turned to ash
As molten life seeped out of previously bustling vessels
Charring grass, coating in soot the impromptu tomb
And smoke rose up beckoning the shooter to quiet his furnace

Tongues of guilt sprung up to lick his eyes and consume his purity
And in the inferno of right and wrong, anger and action, life and death
A quintessential flame was extinguished and a light went out
The once rosy blush that illuminated his pale skins receded
And by either karmic cosmic justice or perverse regret
His world was reduced to cinders