There is oblivion
within these walls
cold and dark
hovering in the morning air

The mattress flattened
under the burden of weight
the blankets opposing the chill
of the winter inside and out

A hot coffee warms the chest
the milk lightening the dark liquid’s consistency
bread and butter for breakfast
the rumbling stomach’s desire satisfied

The countless books scattered in the corner
dog eared pages, old novels
await eager hands
to swallow the stories
strewn across the infinite pages

The little bedside lamp in the corner
forever emitting an orange glow
warm to the touch
illuminates the cold soul of the studio

Words are to be written
pages to be turned
food to be cooked
cleaning to be done

During the morning hours
the sunlight trickles through the blinds
the studio is simple like many others
this morning it’s one of a kind

Wingless birds

The wings upon my back
carry me no further than a step at a time
still I dream of flight into the bliss of the horizon
my feet firmly gripped to the ground in spite of trying

If I cannot escape the confines of gravity
at least I may have visions of freedom
my thoughts on course for departure
my body bearing so signs of torture

I wish and want
need and desire
to feed my inner strengths
upon my knees so worn and tired

Kneeling and standing
for days so demanding
Laying and sitting
contemplating the darkness forever emitting

In the depths of the night
my wings flutter without flight
the fury in my muscles without drive
I may yet dream that I’m alive

The test of time

I met a man once
his appearance laced with grime
he had all the answers to the world’s problems
but couldn’t pay his bills on time

I once saw a woman
she was as happy as a clam
wishing nothing more than to share her joy
but she could never find herself a man

I once petted a dog
who greeted every passing stranger
he was big and build for guarding
but could never sense a whiff of danger

I once touched a tree
running my hands over its bark
it was beautiful in its texture
but its roots were dying in the dark

I met many people
saw animals and nature at their best
each shining in their greatness
while suffering the burden of a test

I couldn’t always see it clearly
people do well to protect themselves
sometimes if we look closer
it’s easier to see past the outer shells


The wings of fervor
upon these lips
carry sounds of excitement
into infinite darkness

The touches of flight
within these bones
take sensation to new heights
away into the galaxies

The feelings of fortitude
at our fingertips
mold steel into softness
caressing hardship into perspective

The sights of serenity
in our vision
turn desolation into beauty
every entity an artwork of excellence

The senses surrender
to the demands of our days
all the wonders in our vicinity
the objects of our fascination


When the winners go home
and we are left to our own devices
the nicest of intentions
do little to console the depths of our sacrifices

Grace is wrought from raw iron
every silent moment is a penance for trying
rising with our breaths, ambitions are still endless
their pursuits without shame, infinite and lawless

If a crawl to reach glory would suffice the soul
many would be happy to pursue their goals
much can be said of chasing a dream
reality often has plans cutting down what they seem

I smash the pieces of my life to the ground without worry
knowing that I’ll pick them up soon without a hint of hurry
If a lapse in intention is the judgment for some
we would all be at the mercy of our being come undone


Tell me about the birds
about the clipped wings on some
about life at its most vulnerable
and desperation that is never overcome

Talk to me about the weakened
the ones who lose sleep over conscience
the ones whose breaths throb violently in their chest
the people who fail repeatedly despite doing their best

Confess to me your deepest regrets
thoughts of the possible hanging unfulfilled forever
the endless guilt in your bare bones
the words you could never spill or take home

Live with me through this life
maneuver the maze of the unfortunate
staring together into the gaze of the broken
without stopping to think about the words we’ve spoken

To feed the hungry

The wandering soul
seeks to swallow nurture
each morsel a slice of experience
a fitting meal
savored in portions to satisfy the heart

The pieces of man
upon the pathways of life
endure much in the face of his appetite
Enlightening experiences to enrich the tongue
and occurrences stealing taste from a growing pallet

As hunger grows inside
the grumbling stomach knows little of patience
A lifetime is a long way to feed a famished soul
The experiences on the way
made to be ingested in small pieces or whole
the dishes often served warm
and sometimes cold

The ghosts of standstill

Days numbered and lettered
passing from minute to moment
leave little on the lips of tomorrow
the breaths of today
wrapped in repeated reluctance
to overcome

From one day to the next
stuck upon the edges of endless hours
an impasse with time
keeps the clock still ticking
without moving
in a suitable direction

Life at a pause
at standstill
an injunction filed against progress
the order of the day
leaves tomorrow lingering heavy
trampled by today’s experience

The chains do not snap on command
the ropes and rage do not slip away
without resistance
words do not escape the living
and the silence does little justice
to those trapped in the arms of the eternal

Occult Oceans

Float endlessly
into the oceans
every wave
crashing against skin
beating away at the body
wearing down the vigor of virtue  

The deep waters of the seas
never an inch too shallow
ready to swallow
to inhale entire existences
with breaths against the hollow bones
holding up quivering flesh

Surrender to the seas
make peace with the waters
before being carried away
into the unknown
submerged forever
with the lost

The depths of these oceans
do not forgive the living
do not surrender the dead
simply surrounding those wading
waiting patiently to submerge
one head to the next

Weighted freedom

The freedom crushing
the strength in my veins
pulsates loud against my skin
there is no armor against the inner state
I am a man repressed by liberty

There is not a structure to hold me
nor routine to confine intention
neither a resistance or insistence of others
simply a persistent freedom
bent on destruction

The numbered days do not signal desperation
the crises of life
are empowered by the void of space and silence
my world knows of an eternal wait
even if all that is passing knows it cannot hold on forever