Formed under the pressures of this world

I spin and I dance

Above the ocean’s salty spray

Feeding, growing, collecting.


The winds they call me

To your rocky shores

To your rustic cities

It’s time to wake up.


Like the tears of a thousand Angels

I bear down upon you

Raising rivers, eating shores

Tears of fury. Tears of pain!


I roar like the lion of Babylon!

My voice echoes through every sinking street

City by city, town by town

I plunge you into darkness!


I’m not quite the hurricane

That you make me out to be

I just can’t help myself

Trees and power lines are so delicate!


You weep in the shade

Depraved from your murderous drug!

You’ve grown so conceited, so comfortable

Yet you’re life’s made of paper!


I hear your sirens scream

I watch your soldiers barricade against me!

But bullets cannot kill me!

And medicine does me no good!


I am the cancer of this world

The carcinoma of your crimes!

I lash back against you,

I will be avenged sevenfold!


The Butterfly Effect

Some people trod the Earth

Blissfully unaware

Of the Earthquakes caused

By their aggressive gait.


They do not understand

The collateral damage

From the hurricanes

Produced by their shouting.


They believe the world is flat

No dimension other than what is seen

They do not think of the aftershocks

Or of the aftermath.


They do not know that

The applicant they berated

Suffered from anxiety

And that their vitriol caused a panic attack.


They do not know

That the sales associate they screamed at

Lost faith in it all

And took their own life.


So much drama

So much pain

Caused by seemingly little things

Things they do not value.


They believe the world is flat.

They are consumed by conceit,

Which they swing about like a club

Apathetic to what they may break.


They do not know the value

Of that which is shattered.

They do not know the value,

Indeed, the weight of their abrasion.


Behind closed doors,

Vile arguments and abuses occur,

Agony and hopelessness breed,

Desperation drives men slowly into the depths.


Narrow trip wires line the way,

And they stomp through them,

Igniting claymores, never looking back

At the effect of their ignorance.


You sit at home

Under the safety of your bright lights

Who will not suffer a single shadow to live

Details distract you from the brewing storm.


Outside, the winds pick up

Howling like a demon,

The heavens begin to weep

Filling the streets with Angelic tears.


With a mighty gust

Your walls shake

Lights flicker

and your heart begins to race.


An explosion,

Sparks like stardust

Fall from the tower

Wiped away by the rain.


In a flash, you are trapped in darkness

An unwelcome guest

A parasite

Feeding on your sanity.


Furniture and paintings familiar

Warp into sinister effigies,

In the heart of the silence

The shadows begin to whisper.


You peer out a window

And feel as if in a void

For not even the stars shine tonight

Smothered by charcoal clouds.


Something churns inside you

Something Depraved

Something hungry

You feel sense slip away.


You stumble about your home

Clinging to the walls

For every step feels as if

You will fall into the ebony abyss.


It lasts for hours

But feels like an eternity

Finally, you fall into a cold sleep

In which you cannot dream.


Tossing and turning finally

In the early hours of the morning

You hear it

One thunderous click.


You feel it as the energy runs through you

As every outlet, every cord

Is filled with power

And every screen becomes alight


You’ve survived this storm

Trees are felled, lines are severed

But yours are intact

Until the next harrowing tempest.

The Book

Today I bought a new book.

A fantasy novel by my favorite author.

It’s only 150 pages!

It’ll be a short read.


Days pass

The book lay on my bed

I admire its glossy hardcover

It’ll be a short read.


I see the rich colors of its art

I admire the golden, whimsical text

Denoting its dramatic, symbolic name.

It’ll be a short read.


Excitement gleams in my chest

As I read its dramatic summary

Waiting for the day I finally open it.

It’ll be a short read.


I look at my shelf and see

A dozen or so other books

Unfinished, they call me.

This one will be a short read.


I read their spines

Reminded of past tales

Their screaming text overwhelms me.

It’ll just be a short read.


I look back at my new book

Its gloss has lost its sheen!

Its summary lost its charm!

It was going to be a short read!


I begin to ask myself

What if I do not enjoy its story

What if it’s poorly written?

At least…it’ll be a short read.


How practical is it to start a new?

When so much is left unfinished, unanswered?

I slide my book onto the shelf

It’ll be a short read.


Resolved I will finish them all

Before I start a new

It is what’s sensible, realistic.

Besides, that one will be a short read.


Days pass, I’ve bought a new book

I admire its glossy hardcover

And read its enticing summary

It’s only 200 pages!

Gods of Tomorrow

Out of the forge of time,

We march forth

An army of Chaos

Harbingers of the Storm.


Legions of Flesh!

March from out of your legacy

Push forward from ancestry

Forever forward, feed the spark!


From an ancient past

We were crafted by an unknown entity

Its purpose was unclear to me

Until the day I found it inside.


Whatever it was, god or the universe

It had a purpose, a master plan

We are the reflection

Of its last desperate throes.


Crafted in its image,

It gave us the spark

Inspiration to create

To carry on the wondrous work!


We are the Gods of Tomorrow!

Whether the creator is dead or alive

Our purpose is the same, create

Just as Creation did.


We are the Gods of Tomorrow!

Children of an unknown family

Divinity redefined

Evolution beyond the mind.


Unlike the beasts

We paint and carve great works

We imagine, dream, innovate.

We know how to evolve.


We search beyond our limits

Looking for stars, looking for the invisible

Like Gods one day our knowledge

Will ascend beyond our reality.


We are the Gods of Tomorrow!

If we are his image,

Does that not mean that God was once a man?

Does it not mean, we were meant to be gods?


There are those in this world

Who act like ivory statues

Crafted by great men

Of an ancient, noble empire.


They look in the mirror

And see beaming faces of ivory

As they stand affixed,

Immovable upon their pedestal.


Higher, so high above the Earth

They look down upon the world

Seeking ownership of its wonder

Grimacing, judging, doubting.


The great statues claim purity,

Divinity as they live amidst the clouds,

Never realizing that their tall pillars

Were man-made, pulled from the very ground.


They never stop to think

That they, the individual were man-made

That they too were born

Out of blood and sperm.


They too were one of millions

They too were crafted delicately

In the primordial chamber

Of the womb.


They claim purity, ascension

Evolution beyond the needs

Of the flesh, desperate and depraved

Spurning nature herself.


Yet as they hide among the clouds

We know of the stains upon their ivory faces

We know that filth flies even so high

So why then must we pretend?


From mud, we sprout.

To dust, we return to rest.

No matter how high the tower,

You will plummet back to earth.


You will be consumed by its filth.

The soil will reclaim you.

It will not resent, only reuse

And from the filth yet more will sprout.


Despite all arrogant words,

Despite all fanciful words,

We are crafted from clay,

We are made of dirty, Earthly things.

Dead Skin

I looked in the mirror one day

Finding my face, myself

Youthful, the perfect angle

I was at peace, stable.


Yet then a dreary thought struck me

When will this visage

Finally flake away?

What lies beneath its dying skin!


Loathsome images fluttered by

Horrid, withered expressions

Accusing, reproachful

Tomorrow answered in vagueness.


I see a white fleck upon my brow

Seized by mystery I go to reinforce it

Matted in paste it will not fall

Indeed, this face will not go away!


Yet more ivory lesions

Appear upon my face.

Stitched they will not wither.

Affixed, the door remains locked.


I spend most days in the mirror,

Watching for cracks and tears.

So that I may prevent them,

So that this mask will not break.


To me, it is all the same.

Yet out there,

They sigh and gasp in horror.

What is wrong with my perfect face?


I return home and look

I adhere every loose cell

Every dying flake doubled over in haste

And yet they still feel horror.


“What is wrong?” I ask.

“Your face! It’s unhealthy!” They retort.

Aghast I feel my face for missing bits

Feeling its rough, calloused grain.


I return home and look in the mirror,

Trying more to stitch and tuck,

The dying image,

The callous of the past.


Then finally one day it happened

The inevitable, the most horrid fate!

In a pocket of oil and sweat

The mask is giving way.


In panic, I try to save it.

Yet as I hold it,

It folds limp

And breaks into quarters.


Finally, it falls into my sink

A matted, cracked mass

I refuse to look up

At what horror awaited my reflection.


I retreated to a corner weeping

Mourning for that perfect image

Then in my pool of tears

I see my reflection at last.


I look and I see to my great surprise

Soft, tight flesh between remorseful eyes

Not a blemish, not a crack

A beaming image remained.


Indeed my flesh glowed brighter

My expression indefatigable

Matured, hopeful

No more horror upon my face.

My Vice

On that day when everything broke,

When everyone else left,

You were the only one who remained.

Your voice, strong and smart

Was all I had to ease my pain.

Like a needle, you stuck in me,

Under your stupor,

Never did I realize my wounds never healed.


You made yourself out to be the hero

Made me sing songs of praises

Made me indebted to you

I tried to repay you but for some reason

I just couldn’t.

No, even beyond my broken limits I was incapable.


Years went by

And the wounds still remained fresh

Needlepoint by needlepoint you eased me.

Still broken I could not stand on my own.

Slumped on your shoulders, never could I imagine

A life without you,

Lest I fall crippled.

I couldn’t see it when

You slithered around me

And like a serpent, you squeezed

Breaking my spine, my ribs my heart and my soul

But I couldn’t feel it

I was too numb under your spell.


Little did I imagine,

That in every tragedy,

In every nightmare,

You lurked in the shadows.

The alleys where you sold your

Sick and twisted wares.


One day, I could feel your narcotic trance

Wear off, the burden of my pain too great,

Even for you. In that one sober moment

I felt it, the pain from long ago.

Never did I imagine that

What was wrong with me, was you.


I confronted you once and

All you tried to do was sell me

was more snake oil.

Then you told me it was my fault

That I was buying less and less.

And that was killing you.


I don’t know when you affixed these strings

Now that I see them,

a pair of scissors is all I need.

Yet time was against me

As the agony sunk back in

And blood pooled beneath my flesh.


I found a pair, in an old cup

Sitting at my desk and drew them close

Their sharp edge ready to severe us forever.

And yet I hesitated

For years I hesitated.

For years I suffered hoping for more release.


Then that fateful day came

When all your soma, all your lies

Could not blot out the pain!

I cut you loose, swore off your bitter entreaties!

I dragged you full force and cast you

Deep into the abyss

Where I will be unable to follow you.


When I quit cold turkey

I felt nails drive into my skull,

My body quivered with hunger,

The pain, laughing.

I thought I might find you

If I cast my line somewhere deep.


I fished for days in the misty sea

And pined for your claws in my flesh

Yet the longer it took to find you

My bones mended, my flesh bled no more.

Miraculous, the pain began to wane

Just like when I first knew you.


One day I found myself standing tall

Whipping my line to catch you

That’s when I realized I’d been healed

The lepper cured of plague,

The exiled coming home.

Without you, I grow stronger

Day by day.

One day, I’ll even be stronger than you.

To Whom it May Concern

To Whom it may concern,

I’m sending a message out to you

To be my saint, my savior

From this smoldering Hell.


I don’t know how I got here

I just know I have to leave

So please pull me out

Don’t let me sink deeper.


To Whom it may concern,

Why do you do this to me?

You deny me safety, sanity, sanctuary

You willingly let me rot here.


You don’t know me

You’ve never seen my face

Nor heard my voice,

Yet you judge me nonetheless.


To Whom it may Concern,

I go months in silence

Only to hear your rare call

To berate me, judge me.


You treat me like a fool

Some child, ignorant of the world

Yet you cannot know me

If you do not test me.


To whom it may concern,

I am growing tired of your arrogance

Your sharp words,

Your plastic, crass assumptions.


You say I am wasting your time,

Yet you are merely wasting your breath

Because I know who I am

I know how much stronger I will become.


To Whom it may concern,

I am only writing to tell you

That I never wanted this

That I am not a religious man.


You act as if you are some god

Or Medieval Lord

That I depend solely on you.

That you are a gift to me.


To whom it may concern,

I no longer wish to join your cult

Of plastic, lifeless mannequins

I desire my flesh, my soul.


I will subvert you

Find another way out.

I will escape on my own.

I am not the only devil in this Hell.


We live in uncertain days.

We never want to stay.

We never want to leave.

Now the lines have all bled together.


Once we were fighters.

Once we were slaves.

Once there was an enemy,

A purpose, a reason.


Now I must wonder

Am I doing the right thing?

Or is it just another misstep?

Another tragedy?


Relevance, its burning

Where does it all go?

The smoke?

Am I really just a slave?


Trapped between others’ fires,

I am an angel, unable to take sides.

God or Lucifer?

What do I do when both start to sound insane?


Will I forever walks upon these shores

Along the Acheron, Limbo’s tears?

Covered by smog very few think of

Those smothered beneath its blanket.