Rebuild

The end is near, as the men with signs say.

The writing is on the wall- crimson red!

The old for purging, and burning away,

Strip the ruins to the foundation bed…

While all that can be reused will be kept,

the broken, the rotted, shall be tossed out,

and all the decay that has slowly crept

into the shadows, the corners, the grout…

Shall be brought into the broad light of day,

to be exposed, and slotted for the purge.

The ruin thus scoured, on full display

the old fading for the new to emerge…

Sacred Blueprints by my own two hands drawn: A self-built temple for a self-made Dawn. 

Joe

 

Beneath the boughs where the river flows,
he walks in whispers through the town.
By the fates decree, contempt like a shadow follows
but on his bowed head, his people’s crown.
Scarred and scorned, in youth untold
vengeance sought by his own hands
for righteous Justice, in a faith extolled
to right the wrongs on his stolen lands…
No, it was not greed that found him in that cave,
that curse that is their favorite sin…
No…It was his lands riches he wanted to save,
to buy back some land for the sake of his kin.

Matthew 25:40

 

I made a deal with a devil today,
to pull me out of spiraling crash
and to keep the snarling wolves at bay
and it only cost me double the cash.

A short-term fix, water for the flames
or if you will, a hastily placed tourniquet,
but at a high interest all the same,
saving me today to pay tomorrow’s high debt.  

The ones who could help me out
turn a blind eye, and cold shoulder
and thus condemn my family to this route.
Never has my own heart been colder…

For those who could, but choose to chide
for those who with such Christian like love
say this serves a good lesson to be applied,  
their Christlike actions- or lack thereof,

Speak a gospel to me that I would never preach
to those struggling with hope just within reach
and give meager words as their salvation slips away
that all this will pass one day…oh one joyous day!

American Condition

Down
Sinking
falling fast
not in water-
in high interest
and the merciless debt
that accompanies it.
I struggle in vain,
but overwhelmed,
I stumble,
and soon:
Fall….

Golden Chains

A matter of genius in the owner's part,

That when one slave points to his chains

Made of poverty and inescapable debt,

A better-off slave oft jumps up with a start

And denounces his fellow's pains,

Viewing his lamentations as a threat...

For why should he ever be forced to depart

From a system where he's made such gains?

No, he'll fight to keep his links without regret,

Those gold plated chains so dear to his heart,

Shimmer alone successfully constrains

And binds him without a resistant sweat.

Should they still shine when it's his time to depart,

The owner will take the gold from the chains,

And lower him into the earth with a rusted set.

First Day

 

I do not remember that first day
when I decided to put scotch in my coffee.
That first burst of dark roast burned with
the distilled spirits a decade strong.

I do not remember the first day
that I burned through a black label
in the evening after work,
just to melt it all away.

I do not remember the first day
when I got the shakes- too long without a swig,
the bite on my tongue giving me enough
venom to pick up where I left off.

If I could remember that first day
I would bargain like Faust
with whichever kindly deity who would listen
for the favor of redemption.

If I could remember that first day,
A word, spoken through time at just the right time,
to alter the crooked path
that I would find myself stumbling…

Oh, that I could remember,
but I can not summon the memory to save my life!
So why not another venom filled bite
to kill the desire to remember?

…but…If I could remember myself
who I was, and who I wanted to be,
then today would be the first day
that I empty my cup and face the thirst.

Sunday

Ducks

Seven

Calm, floating

A mom and a dad, 

Five little ducklings

Enjoying a nice day

Both the sky and water

A refreshing blue

Wind through the reeds,

Nature's song

Softly

Plays