Her eyes are like glass pools
That capture sunlight in the dark.
Lying on her lap I feel as though I am immortal
And my warrior woman will stop the terrors.
My world is suspended til she trusts me again
To never be the demon that I was before
There is a castle we once owned called our family
And I may have shut the door.
Give me 10 good men and some climbing spikes
And I will never bend.
Methinks thy testimony doth not merit thy despair
For what thou say'st in ern'st thou doeth in ern'st.
Would a lesser man weep and cry for his atonement
The brazen one claims his conquest and feels nothing.
Nay, thou art too much of a blaggard for remorse
Thy eyes tell a story thy tears will not.
Thy monument betrays you when a fashionable temptress turns her tail.
Remorse behooves the simple man who knows little of what he does or says but thou
Thou art felonious with thine eyes
Vicious with thy tongue
Satan's neice and evil's handmaid
And what's worse, thou hath infected me....
What builds a man save a modicum of pain?
Most scars heal quickly with time-
And yet time is a chef's knife to the soul;
Cutting deeper and deeper since we own it finite.
Pain is a good thing sometimes.
When one has to evolve whatever the reason:
Age, shame or bugs in the brain;
One becomes an ally of time
And it's sharp edge-
Pain is a good thing sometimes.
Do you remember touching death?
As he lay in the casket surrounded by flowers,
His face deflated like a burst balloon over coral.
Had those eyes been open
They would have laughed to see me fail at a push up
My flabby belly touching the floor before my nose did-
And yet, I touched death.
His skin was cold and stung my hand like a bee-
Cradling his jaw was painful as my heart felt
And the sting lingered after I broke caress.
Have you ever touched death?
Life is such a beautiful fairy tale full of laughter and stories
Both the wildly hilarious and the boring as he'd sit there with a cancerous dog
And stroke his soft fur with death waiting patiently by
Have you ever touched a waning soul?
And I never would have thought to see him in that chair
When life was with him after the mind had died
And though his life was warm it froze in
The touch where he lay in his Charon's canoe
And the pain that shot up my arm as I caressed his cheek and knew-
That I had touched death.
Where are the rest? Who know this feeling?
There are support groups for the grieving and the bereft
But where are those who can horrifically recall,
That they touched death?
Goodnight grandfather,
may the cold be only the cold of the bomb shell
In the explosion of your life
consuming those who knew you-
So your transcendence would remain in the world in your wake and their's
As those who knew them would grieve at their side
And feel pain but not deny one last touch of a cheek
Confidently touching death.
I am not one to brave the shore
And yet I cannot account for my stay
So many stable grounds to live on
And yet I love the ocean's sway.
The lack of grip upon my road
Ensures no traveler will sail the same
A wayfarer's lot was mine to gain
And I threw it away for a landlubber.
But there's something to be said for land
For the sea, she can't be tamed.
So I might ride horses over grassy fields
A fair trade for the return of Poseidon's reigns.
Forgive an old salt who's spent too much time away
I wake to rise and shout and quarrel
But where as once eternity was a slew of tomorrow's
I think I've taken to land and enjoy the today's.
When I was a young man, then perhaps
The violence of unpredictability and no shame
But I'm a man now, it's time to give up
The surf of youth and the uncertainty of waves.
I held her eyes within my soul
Who burned their way into my dreams
And fire erupted when she screamed
What glorious destruction comes in moments like these!
Destruction and construction in the alleyway
With passion and hatred, love and war
Collusion at the sliding door
Where once was reason I don't care anymore.
The night brings hard the iron rod
To beat the flowers to a pulp
The steam flies high like wings above
And leaves her with a dying kiss.
And she will hold the river back,
And ride a chariot of porcelain
While he like Grecians at the walls of Troy
Lays face down like a dying man.
They two would only have the night
To battle their flesh and bleed Jörmungand
And though the fight can't be abhorred
I find I may be feeling Thor
And yet come back for more.
