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What is the real world?
Now, where do we live?
Can't we forgive?
Do we ever learn?
Our minds like a sieve?

Some say, "We need war."
But all war is hell --
Yet peace we repel
The twisted with hatred
are under a spell.

The real world is we,
The real world is them--
Sharing, to free --
Diverse as we are,
Can't we disagree?

Now, it seems
fear is ruling our day.
"Might is ...

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O moon, why are you vain tonight?
inflated with yourself so bright
I walk this forest meadow lit
by your luminescent grin

You cause the trees to cast about
as giants stumble when they doubt
from shadow creatures thin and stout
the crickets make a din

I see a chanted castle grand
upon a misted hilltop stand
it’s stretching out a ghostly hand
that tempts me to come in

The visi...

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The aged book filled with leaves turns to unveil a man, Atlas-like – bowed, broken, & torture racked on a wooden frame. In the book, crushed down and up again.

Millions say the words live. Entertain, and watch stony hearts become flesh. Others blame. And this way, remain the same: habitations of corpses. Who, rather than listen, rage. Saying the book’s aim is insane. Thus, death’s reign is...

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All of life is poetry
a half-baked layered poem
my window is the picture frame
that calls my eye to roam

frozen silent evergreens
with dark serenity
they're preaching self-reliance
but hide mendacity

November leaves dead yellow-brown
swirl littered on the road
their song tells of an aging dream
that failed to unfold

a needled pine stares blackly down
unwilling to release
b...

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