The outside is where I belong
The inside so filmiar
A constant stride to belong
To fit the mold of what a man should be
Weak I am cancered by self denial
When will it end for me
Alone I be
What a disappointment
A shaded comparison of where I started
I seek something
But back away
When it gets hard I blame all but me
I am the cause of no resolution in my dimise
It's hard to see past all the flaws when they seem to out weigh the successes
Torn apart from it all
Just dwell in the peices of insecurities
What have I become
Lost in the shallow of a hollow man
In a world built in expectations I fall flat everytime
What is the reason for this prison
It's all in the past part of my present
When will this future become bright
When all around this body is a dark mass
Haunted visions ghosts of remembrance
This is how my life develops
Within the carnage of love and hate I collide
Still beaten and battered but whos throwing the punches
Me a lesser verison of myself
Where do I go
Where do a belong
In the wasteland of failure for all to flourish except me.
Categories:
cancered, conflict, confusion, dark, depression,
Form: Free verse
There is no god in England
(I learned of that this day)
For when a man is stricken
He has no more to say.
He lies in expectation,
The end to shortly be,
Torment is blindly gazing out
Through eyes that barely see.
The blaze within his body
Radiates, and yet,
The chilling of his very soul
Allows him to forget.
With sonance all around him,
The sobbing and the tears,
He listens to so many words
Whereas he hardly hears.
And so, within his restless mind
His hopes are all he'll keep;
All he'll find to warm his heart
As those about him weep.
And in the darkness of the hour,
When all is done and said,
He sleeps the sleep that comes to pass
And rapes his weary head.
Categories:
cancered, angst, bereavement, cancer,
Form: Rhyme
The birdscarers have been at work in Mariupol.
Not with firecrackers in barrels
But shells and rockets.
There is no birdsong in the trees in Mariupol.
The birds have left.
There are no trees.
The trees are splinters.
The flowers that bloom are Pion shells,
Blossoming red among apartment blocks.
Spring recoils at Mariupol.
An ashen winter has corroded buildings,
Left bleached and blackened skeletons;
A winter made in munitions factories
And spread broadcast like cancered seed.
There is no perfume of spring blossom in the air;
The smell of burning drifts across the rubble and
Sweet, sickly odours hang heavy.
There is no birdsong in the trees in Mariupol.
The birds have left,
All but the carrion crows.
Categories:
cancered, spring, war,
Form: Free verse
splintered fractures
screaming light telling tales of once being
Hallowed sand that skirmish
our skins release
as cancered waves
blow their dying breath
entwined in our writhing's
kisses softer than shadows touch
and tongues that grip
in turmoil
Categories:
cancered, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Spring Dog,
like any terrorist
I've ever not quite met,
not seen eye to eye,
nor found knowable,
nor fathomable,
Out to see the world
and form colonies
to feed his cancered Ego,
Teaches his hungry disciples
that success
goes to those who push
most resiliently.
I work against fear
we are heading for a confrontation,
where Earth must win
so Spring Dog must
inevitably
unpopulate.
Earth's journey
away from terror
and toward compassion
experiences intelligently designed success
with those who cooperatively pull
toward nutritious multicultural resonance.
Spring Dog
dismisses EarthMothers
as too weak
and poor in Spirit,
Not yet realizing
His poor in Spirit
is also Falling Eagle's
rich in cooperative MotheringNature.
Summer Otter
mediates between these ways of seeing
slippery slopes toward owning Earth
encourage Spring Dogs
to treat EarthTribes,
human
and OtherWise,
as natural
unspirited,
secular resources,
owned domestic elements for harvesting,
property to feed
and heat
his Winter Hawk nest
of capital-infestment
Further fueling Falling Eagles
to pull full-flight
toward more cooperative reinvestment.
Categories:
cancered, dog, earth, health, native
Form: Political Verse
SONNET :
ELEGY IN BLANK VERSE
I wish I could find death before I grow
so I could miss life's pain and agony.
A child can only feel and hear and see
the universe with love and happiness.
A child does not fathom those cancered ills
that fog a twisted mass of foundered souls
nor understand the horrid self one needs
to govern and succeed in society.
Nor does it care; it only wants and needs
an unencumbered path to happiness,
a guiltless trail to heavenly frolic;
a road that's lost when grown ones rule the world.
I wish I could find death before I grow
so I could miss life's pain and agony.
Categories:
cancered, death, happiness, philosophy, universe,
Form: Sonnet
Dark to black and beaten skin to living bone.
Chosen by name and marked by birth.
You hang me, cajole me and yellow badge me.
You segregate, strip and stick me. Jackboot,
shoot and gas me, but most of all you humiliate
me. You denigrate my living soul
A nation of teutons, with stiff arms and
hearts fired with ice and faux compassioned
isolation. You, who possess the freedom to hate
without reproach are abhorred, like the
craven lice you name me to be
Now, free from your chains, I rise up. And,
without trial, I beat you with relish and hang you
with my revenge-filled heart. Is this not a
reasonable crime? Will my peers turn away an
understandable eye? Where does my revenge end
and your piety-ridden justice begin?
You, sat in your smug-filled homes, wearing your
warm coats and smoking your dollar-cancered cigars,
eating your belly-filling beliefs. Drinking with your
full-sized families while reading through your
victory-fogged lenses.
I am hungry and I shall be fed. But I; I shall feed upon
dead beliefs and drink without a full-sized family.
Categories:
cancered, dark, hate, jewish, racism,
Form: Free verse
Disassembled parts lay scattered,
Desolation after destruction,
Determined to destroy the battered.
Dabbled in days of discussion.
The words screamed could never replace words unsaid,
Even if whispered in pain,
Deadly verbal daggers thrown that could damn the dead .
Always whispered in vain.
My soul mixes with the air to cause cancered hearts,
I'm not of this world,
My being fixes to assemble scattered parts.
I didn't mean to hit eject and be hurled.
A dangerous landing erased careful planning,
But alive i am,
Tedious demanding encased understanding.
But scattered i stay in dunes of sand.
Categories:
cancered, faith, philosophy, sad, sympathy,
Form: I do not know?