The tortured remnants of horrors past,
ancient catacombs, collect their bones.
Marbled halls, stifle anguished screams,
amidst horrid, human honeycombs.
Haggard hearts heavy, must levy,
who's next to be fodder, for the feast.
Their ragged remains, that stain, still remain,
and lies empty, in the belly, of the beast.
"Woe to the weary," whiplashed whelps,
who must pick and choose, in death filled rings.
Sweet molasses, calloused classes,
still, must be vetted, by the King.
As for the King and his Court, no retort,
to their whims, that swim, in sorrowful silence.
They refuse to consort, as constructs support,
that the Crimson King...resorted to violence.
From a dynasty of light
There came a glorious dawn,
A mighty king, a noble knight,
A leader of our own.
He shone to end the darkest nights,
He rose to help the weak,
A man of strength, of will and might,
His people's good he seeks.
A protector of all that is sacred,
A loving father, a caring brother too,
His light shines bright against all hatred,
And in our hearts, his love will grow.
Throughout his reign,
He lived by his word and never failed;
Each day brought forth a lasting gain,
As security, prosperity, and justice prevailed.
So stand with me,
And let us proudly sing,
As loudly as our voices can be:
Long live the King!
Long, long live the King!
LONG LIVE THE KING
Neptune slept, the fathoms deep
Cronus fled, off Saturn's rings
One by one, they turned away
The gods but one, Ares stayed
An angry Sun filled the skies
Know this night, all sleep denied
Towers shook, twisted, fell
Inside out, so rose hell
Another bite, rancid sweet
Nectar, rind, core, and seed
Where pits were spat, chaos rained
A tree of fire, leaves of flame
The road a snake, millions crawled
Bleeding, burnt, blind, they called
Join the march, on Eden's gates
We'll take what's ours, hang all saints
Angels brought, to their knees
Dragged and shot, cut their wings
Worn in mock, They formed a ring
The King is dead, long live the King
God is the great creator of all
in all Earth's fullness, see God's mark
even on the waters over the oceans
from its beginnings, when founding the ark
The Lord stands high on His majestic hill
challenging all to be able to be His equal
for holiness covers all of God's features
only with purity and cleanliness can one be still
God's blessing is only for the holy
salvation comes to the humble in heart
those that receive such a great bounty
are blessed with righteousness from the start
The King of glory comes to enter
be sure to lift up your doors and head
for the Lord is strong and mighty in battle
coming to feed you with the living bread
This is the everlasting King of glory
open the doors so He be received
to establish His eternal kingdom
there is the Lord of Hosts as you believed
a man of towering stature,
mercurial temperament
well-known, his avarice
for absolute power,
a dreadful reputation
for intimidating underlings
in brutal fashion,
unsits the current king,
takes control
of the kingdom.
there's not iron gate
he cannot get past
the strongest of towers,
he could tumble down
his favor cannot be won
by a silver coin.
who has the the courage
to challenge his authority?
he mutes the loudest,
makes whispers
out of their screams,
he fearlessly
takes on giants
he puts away crowns
too heavy for his head
yet, his shadow fills
any room he walks into,
it makes
the proudest bow low,
still, he can never touch
anyone's light,
or steal the love
foreign to him
Knighted under the blood moon while
Inside he felt only loving-compassion,
Nevertheless, he was to subjugate without mercy.
Gaining territory based solely on hereditary menace,
Only to be diffused in imperial will by the joyous allowance of being,
Frontier-ed outwards he was by order of the magistrates to dominate outer lands.
The secret solace being the souls of all he encounters within the guise of a hateful army.
Earthen-bound he meets all with grace and reverence in loving-secret, ir-
-Redeemably spreading like a viral ghost love.
Reigning in plain sight of the magistrates,
Only two verses were left.
Readers everywhere are left--bereft.
Life’s unsung tunes fade away
into nothingness with the menagerie of mirage
disappearing in the realm of death.
Trudging on the desolate deserted pathway
the fragile footprints collapse in his kingdom
where the cosmic monarch of the end,
the ruler of the last breath,
carves his throne from the sands of time.
With the arcane image of terror concealed
like the sordid silhouettes of lethal menace
the king rules without mercy or malice,
lurks in the shadow of dark danger
into the quintessence of placid life,
and waits at the pause of every heartbeat,
encased within the freight frame,
configured from the vicious void
of timeless inevitability.
Killing with kindness from a dark place
Improvising love forcing a smile on face
Needling white words meant to assure
Greetings heard but not felt not pure
Onyx heart that never skips a beat
From missing spark of love not tenderly
Tears hide behind white winged words
Even narcissist fake kind to be heard
Raping spirits of the blue beautiful ones
Raging you fear it the love of gold sun
Only yesterday gives you any jaded joy
Remembering the good filling a void
Salty as kiss of abyss meant to destroy
My dog moves slow,
and his face is white.
His body is ill,
but I know he will fight.
My dog is weak,
but he knows his name.
His body once strong,
things are not the same.
My dog’s life is long at fifteen years old.
He has little time left,
As we have been told.
My dog sleeps most o@ the day.
I don’t ever want him to go away.
My dog was once thirty-nine pounds.
He’s starting to look like a di@erent hound.
My dog likes the backyard so he can roam.
He will always be the king of our home.
“Supplicants, bring forth your offerings”
“Your Majesty, I bring encouragement”
“Your Highness, I bring optimism”
“I, Your Awesomeness, bring unbounded joy”
“Your Honor, I bring dinner from my wife”
“What? Dinner from your wife? What kind of offering is that, knave?”
“Well, it certainly is no sacrifice, sir!”
We spent the summer of '99 waiting for the sky to break.
The old seer had promised us a king—
not of crowns or gold, but of sheer terror,
dropping from the heavy heat of July.
People pulled what they needed from the ink.
Some swore it was the third beast waking up,
a fundamentalist storm ready to swallow the map,
while others just saw the familiar rot of politics
finally bursting into a global fire.
Either way, the dread sold a lot of paperbacks.
The prophecy became a ghost in the movie theaters,
a blockbuster specter we could safely watch
while pretending the end of the world was just entertainment.
The world didn't end, but the earth keeps shaking.
With every new war on the evening news,
every disaster that leaves a city in the dark,
somebody always dusts off the quatrains again.
We tell ourselves it's just a myth,
until the horizon bruises,
and we catch ourselves looking up.
(Repost of a former poem, “If I Could Change The Past,” written 2016)
September eleven, two-thousand-one-
dark age of homeland terror had begun.
If only I could change this horrid past-
alleviate deep pain from grief at last.
Three thousand souls were lost forever, then:
three hundred forty-three were brave firemen,
so many whom I'd come to know before,
when they'd stop by our fire equipment store.
Our County is just sixty miles away
from New York City, South of us, and they
would often live up North in New York State,
commute each shift- but many met their fate.
One family resided on our street.
That morning, he left home- for death to meet.
So many others we will never see
who purchased goods from us so faithfully.
For those who died, whose bodies were not found,
we gifted presentation helmets bound
to loved ones for the funerals they held.
Such awful, somber days, unparalleled.
If I could change the past and turn back time,
erase that day of tragedy and crime,
my heart, with all the others, would rejoice
that these poor souls could live a life of choice.
What was the price I paid for life?
None; it was given me.
The cost of spite and strife
Was great, but I in turn learned humility.
With age came wisdom and dignity,
The scepter of compassion,
The scales of honesty,
Where we need
Consider the frailty
Of those tender hearts
Fallen before me,
For there is always a price to pay
For living as what we say,
Be it by fault
Or be it by may.
“Man’s word is god in man”,
I once read an old King say.
Ancient scrolls foretold
Dread the dead kings reckoning
Cursed crypts of gold
The Ace Trumps a King
You have no cards left to play
No peace prize for you
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