Short Probate Poems

A cracked windowpane. A few daffodils peek their heads through the weeds that grow tall where flowers once smiled. Purple nettle chokes the life from any grass courageous enough to try to stand in its way. 

                                 Birds tweet their dismay
                               the feeders are all empty—
                                   No signs of life here
...

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The Art of the spoken word
Is east
Jerusalem 
Ornate 
Probate of the money lenders 
Who tender purity and security 
For a price
Gods children are willing to pay 
Because they are the sheep
On which the idol's seek
Prohibition 
The body and the blood 
Never knowingly 
Roots are tales 
Into the afterlives 
Slave's integrate 
At the table of former master's 
Free at last 
Free at last 
If only my children could see me now
It would all be worth while 
My Child...

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I have opened the door of adventure,
A flood of emotion I'm assured.
Fear and grip in measures,
But I have chosen the hardest course,
To reach the glorious altar.
••••
Probate I treasured,
A policy of treason I shun.
Many times in my dreams,
The crusts itself,
Comes knocking,
But I've long lost the keys to my innermost fear.
••••
I have saddled my horse,
With whips across the valley's of grip.
With whims I trod the throne of thorns,
That loses their teeth against me....

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