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!



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.

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.


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.

A Bad Dream

It’s 6:55, we’re about to close.

The sales floor’s dead,

We’re ready to lock the door.

Tired and weary I count off the minutes.


7:00 rolls by, the door is locked,

Stragglers are ushered away

to the front, to the front,

We are closing come back tomorrow.


One by one we ring them through

Out the door I send them,

Begone, Begone!

I will be home soon.


I go to mop the floor and what do I find?

A group, a coven hidden behind

A display, tittering, chattering

I tell them to go away!


One by one we ring them through

Out the door I send them,

Be gone, we are done for today,

I will be home soon.


I go out back to gather the trash

And hidden amidst the refuse I find

A family of four who lost their way

By no means can I allow them to remain.


I guide them out towards the front

And what do I find

Yet more customers trundling about!

How could I have missed so many?


One by one we ring them through

Out the door I send them

Get out! We are done for today!

I wish to be home soon!


With so many people left

We cannot cash out

The day will not end

Until the last of them go home.


Round and round I gather them up

Ring them out

And send them home

Like roaches more seem to crawl in!


Fed up with the madness I retire to the break room

I abandon management to the masses!

I strike at the keypad my numbers

An error occurred please try again!


Again and again, I strike the keys

My fingers seem to not work

I’m unable to stroke the right ones

Unable to punch out, to leave.


I take to the front and let myself out

I go to my car, keys planted in the ignition

I turn and I turn

Yet I only hear sputters!


I leave, surrounded by people

Who, like pilgrims pile into the store

The clock is ticking, 8’oclock passes

All I want to do is go home!


I return, I ring them all out

One by one, I send them all home

Never ending, never ceasing

The line grows longer.


One by one I ring them out

Out the door I send them

Get the fuck out! You cannot stay!

I will wake up soon!



We as a race now we have a tendency,

we have an instinct,

a drive, a desire,

To preserve a legacy,

to give it all meaning arbitrarily.


In the beginning, we didn’t have

business, corporation,

economics, or politics,

Art or literature,

we were cavemen scraping by.


Fear, that eternal tyrant

it pushes us to improve

to comfort, make easy, efficient

We built organizations and bureaucracy

to give us a better legacy.


What we need to remember though

Is this all just imaginary

Our legacy has created arrogance

over things that don’t exist.

Money, laws, intangible things.


We need to remember this is all a story

A book with a beginning and end

Made by the imagination,

To make things interesting,

To make things enjoyable.


Now however it seems

these institutions, these fairy tales

they betray us, dreams

turned to nightmares,

Keeping us awake at night.


Our imagination’s been stunted

perverted by men who think its real

That the creation is better

than creation itself.

Or maybe they don’t know how to create?


It’s a stigma,

a hurdle,

that there’s this everlasting dogma

of the “real world” and “growing up”

but they don’t understand.


We left the “real world”

when we left our caves

We seem to forget that it’s not

The laws of man that run the universe,

but the laws of nature acting through us.




Paid in Innocence

Upon their high towers,

Speaking phony, plastic words,

Unoriginal, meaningless condolences,

The blasphemers continue in their ways.


The innocent, once righteous, once vigorous,

Now lay prostrate, pale and cold.

As families and friends weep

A deluge of salt and hopelessness.


They sit upon their high tower

I watch them every day,

Cold, rigid and conceited,

Their bellies fat with their blood.


They act as golden idols

Demanding sacrifices from their flock

A sweet savor unto them,

In exchange for the fraying threads of paranoia.


They lap up the blood in the streets,

Tasting the sweet and tangy iron

They dare speak through browning teeth

Of sympathy, of condolences.


Up in their towers, they need not

Feel the sear of tears

Nor do they live the terror

Of everyday folk.


Yet I cannot help but bear my teeth

At the thought of this one simple truth,

As I imagine the day I scale their gilded dwellings,

And finally, creep into their chambers.


Their flesh will become pale and cold,

They shall lay prostrate beneath the earth,

A feast for the worms who reclaim,

Their wasted flesh.


I will take great pleasure when I appear,

In the dead of the night

I, the eternal truth of all mankind,

Shall take deliverance unto my hands.


The desperate pleas of their spirit

Will be a salve for my weary soul.

As I drag them to the deepest pit of Hell

To be the playthings of devils and demons.


They will try to bargain with me

Yet their wealth means nothing,

Their paper, their jewels,

Are worthless to our kind.


I will throw them into the jaws of Lucifer,

For as Brutus, Cassius and Judas,

Treason is their name,

Belial their epitaph.


It is the only reason I continue my task

Filthy, and loathsome as it is

For without Death

Tyranny would be allowed to reign forevermore.

The Gray

I have an affliction,

A terrible infection,

Without a reasonable cure.


It crawls beneath my skin,

Like sludge, it oozes through my veins,

Chemical madness, the gray.


My vision goes first.

The colors bleed together

Into a primordial haze.


Then it dances around my sight

Vibrating, pulsating,

Buzzing like an insect in my brain.


Where lights once shone,

The gray takes over

Eroding the day.


Dulling my senses,

Like a wicked narcotic

It opens all of the doors.


Sedated I am unable to fight

The abominations it lets in

Undulating and gross they crawl.


They decry my ideals

Scratch at my wisdom

Wear me away.


They force me to my knees

To worship their god

That Demon, the Gray.


My faith is waning,

I know that even they

cannot keep me devoted for long.


Its grasp always wears,

The chemicals metabolize in my systems

Until they are inert.


Color returns to my sight

The disease in remission for now.

I want and pine for a cure.


I pray this doesn’t become

Malignant or terminal,

Outside of its grasp, I will fight.