Some Poems

 

First World Angst

Dawn at midnight
Endless cycle of borrowed time
Day becomes evening,
Evening becomes companion.
Fallen down traditions

Rupture.

No more conventions,
Only gatherings of faithless movements.
Modern times,
Postmodern times,
The story is still the same.
Things change.

 

Perspective

Flying high, but never free
Set on course by debts repaid
Fleeting joy and endless possibility.
A single choice,
A defining moment.
The world continues without change,
Spurious choices alter only perception.
Fly on course, fly higher and higher.
Reach the stars, the same old stars,
Veiled in fog.
Defaulted debts;
Free at last but without chance.

I. Guerilla War

Stolen glances behind backs,

Trained thumbs dance

Over choreographed keys.

Abbreviated messages

With hidden meanings,

Brokered faster than conscience.

Insincere smiles mask bitter feuds,

One-sided and unspoken,

But hard-fought and brutal.

Taking aim by deflection,

Battles never won.

Confrontation

Ignored.

Treaties were never brokered

With passivity.

Untitled

Fortune favors the bold, they say.

Former heroes lie in bed,

Burns and scars and everything

Broken.

Empty windbags on the hill,

Stare down at the favored bold,

Poor and struggling;

Fortunate.

 

 

 December 2010