A Spilled Glass of Light.

A lead foot and we're racing
to red lights without patience.
Rubber burned into the road,
a footprint left on the pavement,
lines of words we could have wrote:
have been left out for the wind.

Home has never seemed so far.
The beacon of the lighthouse:
memories turned to scars.
Senses that fail me; untrusting words.
The light from the windows
spilling onto the curbs.

Nights that once were friends to us
have turned their backs in defense;
the cold has snapped all around us
and it's useless to try and prevent.

Nights that once were friends to us
have turned their backs in defense:
the cold that has shaped around us
has kept us from making progress.

Sleepless City

The city never sleeps; fog fills the streets.
Oceans beneath my feet.
The Earth spins silently.

A city that cannot rest; a hollow spot filled
deep within the chest.
Oceans in my heart.
My Earth sees sun again.

Cars that pass so frequently;
punishment is no longer begrudged to me.

The layers of grey dissipate,
revealing asphalt, concrete, stone.
The Earth continues to rotate,
but no longer am I alone.

Faith (Part....3?)

where am i to put all of this faith?
like a tree planted, it has grown well with age.
despite the lack of sunshine and water,
and the incessant axe that was the blunt end of her logic.

but the tree has regrown, the leaves are green;
and the bark is as brown as the hair upon my own head;
and the shadow it casts is like black construction paper that has been pasted to the ground.

but, oh, where do i put the leaves when they fall?
these leaves, these green leaves, from this tree grown so tall?
and, now, even while they are green as i speak, i tarry a moment longer, wondering if time will turn them from green, to gold, to reddish-pink.
i look, i smile, i ponder.

is any container large enough to hold the wealth, the abundance, of which i barely have the capacity to sustain myself?
i mean, i'll try to catch these things- one by one if i have to- until my arms are too full, until i drop my solemn burden upon the metaphorical ground.
my keepsake is my own stake in the faith i have heretofore proclaimed exists once more within my mind.
i keep my own to keep my mind sane for a bit more time.
but the tree must shed it's leaves, because we live seasonable lives.
and to decide is to give rights to unknown spirits; supposed guides.

i'll keep my faith a minute longer.
i'll keep my faith just a bit longer.
the leaves are turning, but i'm stronger, now.
i'll keep my faith a little longer.
just to myself a little longer.
and when my mind's made up,
i'll put my burden down.
i'll keep my faith a little longer.

Corporate Warfare.

A red sun
and a dead son-
fathers' exemption
from the bombs that fall.

Blue carpet stained
with the life-blood
of the father:
a picture is clasped-
all that remains
of the mother:
now long gone.
The memory of
peace has collapsed,
like a poorly
built home that's
made of cards.

Silence without solace
is guidance without purpose.

Wars waged from home without just cause.
We are unjustly charged with the loss.
Wars fought from sofas sewn so soft.
We pull the trigger while they talk cost.

The Sky Aglow

It's a crying shame,
this crying game.
(We lie this way, we die the same.)

All of the color comprising the snow-
a planet of ice keeping the sky aglow.
Absence of color feeds our distress.
A void in the conscious; a void in our chests.

Cure the illness. (The mental sickness!)
Fight the option. (Develop conscience!)

By car, by plane, by boat- we drive.
On foot, on wings, on hopes- we strive.