We are never
so afraid
As when frightening
ourselves
That face in the mirror,
the one that won’t leave
A shadow looming over
—eternity’s sleeve
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
The Rebel
Was there ever a rebel
on the inside looking out
By definition he’s outside
—his legend to shout
The insurgent, his tactic
playing Russian Roulette
Holding the status quo hostage
—with fear and regret
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Forever On Hold
A literary sociopath…
Hemingway wrote
Both gifted and tortured,
his words they provoke
A verbal combatant
with battles foretold
His last the most fatal
—all memory on hold
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Prisoner Of Disguise
The words flock together
and stretch on the frame
Their meaning runs over
still wet from the pain
The canvas is porous
the easel maligned
The curtains blow outward
faces calling in mime
The streets all a-chatter,
it was Paris in spring
And striving to look busy
the most important of things
Looking back at my window
above the tannery so high
A shadow stares back
—and I flee in disguise
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
The True Cost
The answer never welcome…
‘The Price Of Joy Is Pain’
A question forever mired
—in perpetual disdain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Words Of Hope
Left on their own,
my words turn to prayer
Renewing my faith
—confirming You’re there
Spoken aloud,
they lodge in my soul
Warming my heart
—and keeping me whole
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)