•May 10, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Give me one more shell
to crawl out of; I can prove
that it’s not a dud.


•May 4, 2015 • Leave a Comment

being an asshole
is exactly the same as
being a hero


•April 29, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Infuriate a heart of hate
with nothing but a smile

Reject regret and love will let
your heart rest all the while

Excuse the ruse when others choose
to cut your place in line

Cause we can see clear past the ‘me’
and the spot we’ve got’s just fine.


•May 28, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Little by little
The anthill became a shrine
And all the work stopped


•May 13, 2014 • Leave a Comment

In the worst parts of ourselves,
where even our own name dares not tread –
in the final chamber of our hearts,
and in the deepest recesses of our soul,

a voice – the nymph – Echo
calls out to all the beauty it sees –
ashamed in spite of itself,
but too full of wonder and desire
to ignore the urge to try
just one more time,
and ask,
“Who are you?”

The Pen!

•February 28, 2014 • Leave a Comment

‘Tis mightier than the sword, indeed –
but t’would be in err to presume it superlative –
for as the hubris of Kings,
though noble and true they may be,
doth attract far more undesired audiences
than originally intended,
so it is so in the meta-realm of this medium.

-verily, allow the veil to lift-

By my mind’s eye, dost thou
pursue such discourse sans mastery of the same?

-these scars of sheet, pray, do not cause them wantonly-

For true as I sheath this pen,
my mind causes it to be so.

Falling Leaves of Autumn

•October 31, 2013 • 2 Comments

What can we do to save the falling leaves of Autumn?

Do we mourn? Do we honor their memory by doing such? Are we healing, or are we festering, in our painful excision of their memory?

Is there a memory to remove, or purify? Is it a memory, or is it part of ourselves? Is that part of us old and stale, or has it simply yet to realize its potential?

What can we do to save the falling leaves of Autumn?

If we are tested in this reflection, is there a solution to identify, or is there a perspective to resolve? Must we discard such troubling, seemingly impossible questions for their lack of guaranteed conclusion, or is the pursuit itself where our heart should exert all of its strength?

And what of passion? What of the faith in ourselves that must be tested when that passion, our soul’s fuel, must sleep outside in the cold so that we may hold vacancy for the needs of our loved ones?

Does this selflessness change us, or does it define us? Is the answer even relevant past our own desire? Are we ever, truly, anyone other than who we want to be?

Who are we to save the falling leaves of Autumn?


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