So quickly do we all return
To that which plagues us thoroughly
Even when we source discern
We turn our hearts to misery
Calloused hands do butter churn
Yet churn we still in revelry
Digging through my archives, I'm fain to recollect
Upon the loneliness, angst, anger, ennui
By which I was beset
Amazing what the craft can do to tilt reality in favor
Or perhaps it grants insanity a different flavor
Peering at the snow-kissed mountains
I remember mother telling me they looked like frosted shredded wheat
I recall the rainy days, runoff making muddy fountains
Pondering if deluge, would still be capable of washing sin from streets
Writing annotations in the margins of mortality
Gathering the pages I deliver them as poetry
Proposing to my destiny as I sow seeds on bended knee
Look to my creations
Where my glee, grief, and revelry
Find their artful sublimation
Where the sharp edges of my philosophy
Fine chiseled by vicissitudes and edifying conversations
Meets the soft countenance of meter and rhyme
Through tears and versification
The price of prescience is pain in present
And trail tapers as the hours drain
I've the paper to pay the Publican
Watching, intrepid, the hourglass
Through a thick crystal pane
As grains drain through its thin glass vein
Skating in an ice rink
Cliff brink
Sea below
Life is but a long blink
Sweet stink
Pleasant bellow
What is will without time
And what is time without will
And what is anything without those ethereal dollar bills
My soul loves to deal with the currency empyrean
With craft-derived pleasure
Like a model epicurean
Wealthy, because my wants remain healthy
Un-lonely, although my inbox is empty
Making goals come to life like I play on Chelsea
Hungry, for sustenance you can't find in your panty
Come into planet so clean
But you are as clean as the towel that you dry with
Met an old friend during funeral keen
He told me to listen to what he adviseth
"Deep are the wrinkles and dark are the blots
Heat unrelenting and pendulum swings
Second hand will get you, with or with no shade spots
Knell of the bell, perspective, brings"
Intriguing how we speed, to the same stoplight
Sowing seeds, albeit we sense the imminent blight
I thanked that old friend, I'm always grateful for ken
Worth the fleas, caught by howling with prowling wolves in the night
If love finds me, I'll be ready
And seek more than my whim's decree
One's catharsis, is another's hell
I smell shadows lurking in dell
No padlock, upon my mind, to guard interiority
Open book, I am, the sole confusion's legibility
Still I do stay wary of the asker's credibility
Beware the serpent asking questions with sense of authority
If you wish to know my stance on one topic
Or the next
Look no further than my stanzas
They do evince
The many ideas I have
For either side of the Styx
In those verses, truth I've parsed
Through mortal game of pick-up sticks
Drunk on the sentiment
That is what I call it
Slitting throat of intuition
On the altar of a symbol
Like the story of the family
Cutting rear off of the turkey
As a critical part of their holiday ritual
What they found later is that predecessors
Did it to fit the bird in the bowl
A+ on your essay
Valentine's chocolate and rosé
It's not all the thorns in the bouquet
It's that precedence has the comfort, and the charm
To make us blind, to the toll
Mark 7:8 is a great delineation
Humans gravitate toward telluric fixations
Perhaps greatness doesn't lie solely in sea's exploration
But looking at the siren and resisting carnal temptation
I've lined my closet with skeletons
All upon respective coat hangers
There's blood and craft's the culprit
Pulpit told me life's a cliffhanger
I've felled the tree of memory without saying timber
While I remember when I was a summer rose in December