Category: Poems
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Mountain Guardian
A shadow of a legend crier, Storied oak perched atop a swirling mountain. His sword and armor shine alone, Hamlet need not wallow in the despairing fountain. Danger calls by wailing siren, Atop the mountain, a lonely tree spire, Solitary once again–allocated for fear, Hungering rescue through smoke and fire. The symbol of support, The…
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Expression of a Dying Heart
Under iron banner of destitution Across stormy plains of fear–long forecast, Of inclement warfare–of pen’s blood, Courage lost and strength renewed. Mighty Mountains with menacing smoke, The breath of a weapon discharged with abandon. Soldiers may always be soldiers, With the intent to kill and harm, they serve. One combatant–on paralyzed ground, In the heaviness…
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The Nashes Saga
Puzzle-Man-Keep Broken bust, this field of rust, the Arrow of the Dust. Shuddering doors, hallways with velvet brown sashes Flickering lights, burning candles, the Manor Just. The mask atop the chandelier; the old butler Edwin Wayne Nashes. The poet’s resort, this lofted cabinet of novelties Puzzle-Man-Keep. Harsh upon the window still; these few curiosities. Room…
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The Treasure Room
From the Well of Fortune On the Island Impass. The Treasure Room lies bloodied and burgeon. Its vine-draped walls derelict, bold, and crass. Its gold beckoning to the soul’s desire. Shimmering by daylight, through the cracks of the room’s steely husk. The ground is dusted by the bones of the past, by those within Hell’s…
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A Midnight Train Through Charles Town
From the night, treks the flash and the fury Solitary is the heart—Silence is a stranger in the dark. And the rains dampen the midnight train. A booming crackle and a resounding quiet, eerie. Wavering through the storm, rolls the whistling train. Powered by its resolute spark. Bookish and nostalgic is the world out among…
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Words
Words are only as powerful as those who wield them. Empty paper are only shackles if we think them so. Because words are the backbone of imagination. The suture of mayhem. Because empty paper is daunting to nothing but our inner author; the victim of a greater blow. Empty paper is a menacing foe. Its…
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