The Withering Poet

Walking along the hot desert sands. Day turns to dusk, and I look at my hands.  Up ahead a blue light, a stairway to space, My breath starts to quicken, my heart starts to race.  But then I’m consoled by a canvas so fetching. A cosmic miracle, a scene that goes stretching.  Animals of earth, mirrored in the Read more

I can’t function without my morning nectar. Productivity halts, my smile a specter.  Dark roast, or some other powerful brew, Post consumption I’m feeling new.  I must beware to not drink my fill,For my heart will race and I won’t sit still.  Maybe I’ll have one, or maybe two. Then I reach six and chaos ensues. Read more

What does it mean to be a good communicator? Active listener or lively participator? What if I can’t get a word in edgeways? All of my phrases lead to irrelevant segues. Always talked over, like I’m not even there. Say something about it? I wouldn’t dare.  The curse of the nice guy seals my fate. There’s nothing I can Read more

Why in the morning does it get so loud? What about daybreak draws the foggy cloud?  The dark rolling grey shouts and screams. Breaking on my mind, infecting my dreams. It infiltrates my chest and begins to constrict. My heart rate rises with the stress it inflicts.  All this happening while the sun shines. It’s time to wake up Read more

Every day I must wage war.To balance the sheet, to settle the score. Thrusting iron, pushing steel,In a dungeon arena, I bring myself to heel.  My body and mind may well tire, Only to fuel my heart’s desire. To build a structure worthy of song?To assume this is why would be wrong.  The reason you see, Read more

Cometh the men, ready to sinIn their droves, shouldered by kin  Consuming all, forsaken of culture Displacing the many, who were left to vulture Days to months, cemented in historyBut talk of retribution remains a mystery  What of their art, their heirlooms and crafts?That felt salt spray aboard creaking rafts Shipped to new lands, foreign to Read more

As my thoughts go running wild I look to console my inner child  He cries out in fear, and shouts out in pain He’s standing alone in the stormy rain Yet this scene only exists within my head A vice-like grip forms an unwelcome dread  It tightens around a heart so pure And makes the child so very unsure  Read more

In me is a tension that keeps me up at night, Preventing restful sleep and pleasant dreams.It eases when I move and write.Left alone? It bursts at the seams.  It cannot go unchecked, it cannot be ignored,Because the gripping tension looks to spread. So I fight with shield, and sword,Because I need peace instead. What if you Read more

What does it mean to be a writer?To use one’s words to make days brighter. Why do I need to drive people to action? What if this road gives me no satisfaction? What of the stories, the tales, and myths? Now it’s click here or read this, so stiff. I don’t want to have to Read more