Anxiety

Anxiety pry at me with your hands demand it was all planned and now its gone to shit ship shape to only fear escapes imprisoned by my mind confined and derived from within the sin of sloth filled with dust and moths my skull is empty of meaning cleaning it out and starting anew shrewd glue that holds my synapses together tethers my consciousness light as a feather to the ground confound around and round I've lost my mind my foresight is blind my world is caving inward the word that creates my dualistic existence is tomorrow persistence in its pesterence brakes and rakes yet this obsession is my only possession this confession keeps me alive derives some meaning from this mess

Sunday Morning

The dandelions have gone to seed,
And the neighborhood has gone to hell,
Broken twigs litter the yard,
The post box is filled up to the brim with cards
The old man from down the street,
Lost his wife and thus his ride to church,
And our car still drives just fine,
But Sunday morning is our "sleep in" time,

College

Adventurous archetypes aligned in an arduous assemblage.

A bastion of bemoaned bedraggled yet becoming beatniks.

College

A deluge of desultory dalliances I dare not deign to disclose

Blue Skies

I went to the wild,

But it had been tamed,

I returned to my city,

But it's buildings were maimed,

I prayed to run fast,

But my left leg turned lame,

I waited for praise,

But I got all the blame,

I met a beautiful girl,
And I was never the same,
I thought I was the hunter,
But I was the game,
I searched the whole world,
But all the places were named.
I drempt of blue skies,

But they never came,

The Rain Fell Soft

She looked me dead in the eyes.
“I’ve always loved you,” she said.
The rain fell soft on the ground.
“No,” I said, “you never knew me,
And I’ll always regret you.”
She looked away.

A Psalm

You let me stand alone,
Like tall grass in the wind You let me blow about.
I am let to the whims of the wicked,
Victim of the judgments of they who would call themselves righteous.
Tell me again how You came to save me,
Save me from this plague that You let me into the world with.
This body is a cage,
And my wretched essence is no soul.
You have left me here to die,
You have left me to rot for the sins of my father’s father.
The men who claim to be Your sons,
Have given themselves to wickedness and hate.
You say that You will give me grace,
But I struggle to see Your gift as justice.
You are above all things,
But I have seen few things it is glorious to be above.
You say that You are love,
But I have not seen it displayed.
You have left me alone on a rock with a book,
That men tell me to read, and by men was writ.  

Chicken Soup

The truck rattles my house, the buckling sound as the bounce down the street crashes like thunder.  And I lie sick in bed thinking, "Chicken soup actually sounds pretty good right about now".