Sensations

Sensations

Sensations lift into the air.

They're soft and travel

through the night.

They circle as if without a care,

and never shudder in their fright.

It happens just so...

as the oceans ebb and flow,

the air is sweet, serene

and longs forever to be clean.

The strings that hold this life together,

tatter in this horrid weather.

They dare not make a sound,

for fear that they'd

be found

...and all would near the end

of what they knew.

Shattered spirits flow among

the morning dew.

It happens just so...

as the air will never grow,

the ground is rough to heal,

and hates to always feel

the sensations...

ripping through a

steady plane,

a tear does terror their terrain.

I Live in America

I Live in America

A blade of grass pricks the

feet of those that wander

through the downtrodden era

of heightened alert.

As life is put on hold,

they make their way to the

fields to celebrate as if

a higher power commands them

to do so.

"Never Again,"

They say to themselves as they

glance disdainfully at their

empty plates.

They are ashamed.

They wake on sticky Saturday

afternoons with a fear in

their belly and a feast in

their minds.

Though they detest the

frustrations accompanied with

their wants, they give in,

as a pack of ravaging wolves

give in to the kind smell of

raw flesh.

"Never Again,"

They plead to themselves, but

the corporations disagree as they

shove slush lavishly decorated

slowly transforming into a

hibernating mass of sweat-soaked

flesh, staining any hopes of a

further consolation prize.

And, they accept their demise.

Heartbeat to a Metrinom

Heartbeat to a Metrinom

Held Steady is the beat of a heart

until its maker is propelled into

a fit of five-fingered fury that

thrusts the earth into a bountiful

sunrise.

Yes, it echoes into the night...

The sounds.

The joy of laughter is put on

hold while the nature of panic

and the art of despair

hold hands in a quiet chorus.

It's soft, like the warmth

of ten sweetened spring days.

A haze of dust and blurry fury

enters and the previously

made steady beat is elevated

to a level beyond that exposed

by the republican era in charge

during terrorist attacks.

Hark the bells of change

because as the skin wrinkles to

its own sodden pleasure, the

heart carries its damages within

its hollow chambers.

It exits when it feels that

it has had quite enough and

it would prefer a quiet life

away from the city.

Then it is all gone.

The steady beat perturbed, it saddles

itself to a lone horse, complaining

that it took too long to get

to retirement and it

stops.

The Light in the Sky

The Light in the Sky

A leg ache...is compared to a broken stained glass.

It's dirty...the light.

It seeps in slow and eager

to burn. It shows itself

scathingly, as if it wished to hide.

But it's not fooling anyone when

it tries to leave.

it crawls slowly with the

intent to hurt.

causing pain is its' only ammunition

as it sits and screams

figuratively as the night

grows closer. The light grows

dim as life nears its end

and death rears its putrid face

towards the sky.

An endless dream is shattered

into a dark and dreary nightmare

full of tales of a haunting

nature.

"Don't cry." warns the hoot of

the sorrowful owl.

He makes his way to the

branches, all the while calculating

a swift escape from the

jaws of the fearsome fanged

horror that waits for

the light to turn in its

grave and make a new

home for the birds in the

atmosphere.

The Prologue of the new story I'm writing...

Prologue









The man saw the snow fall in copious amounts to the building piles of fresh blinding white. He heard the howling wind echo and ricochet off the icy glass windows. He felt the slow creeping chill of a damp and soggy cold make its way through the bare bottom soles of his hardened feet. Oh, it was a bitter cold…the most vile and foul cold that the wretched winter had to offer. And worst of all, this man was not wearing any socks. Indeed, one would think this was a foolish decision. Well, it wasn’t his choice. No…this man had his socks taken from him. His rancorous ex-wife stole his socks and he demanded satisfaction, but he knew he would never get it. She was more than a thousand miles away and certainly cackling at the very thought of this moment. It was a moment that left this particular man in utter despair and pure loathing of his miserable excuse for an existence. It was a moment where this desperate man, with his difficult nature, would go to the ends of the earth to fulfill his needs. It was a moment when this truly sorry man perilously needed a thick and fresh pair of warm woolen socks.