Not a student of Poetry,
more a student of life
The words fell before me,
stepping-stones of delight
Not a student of Verse,
but of musings inspired
My days withdrew inward,
the years stoked and fired
Not a student of prose,
but its lover the same
As words strung together,
and called out my name
Not a Poet or Novelist,
but a writer for sure
Verbal stepchild unnamed
—asking for nothing more
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
The Future Writhes
Once truth is judged delusion,
we choose the lesser of two lies
Abandoning that voice unheard,
stillborn—a baby cries
The ideal in dark remission,
all hope now cast in flames
Making bargains with the Devil
—as the future writhes in pain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)
Arcs & Angles
Is randomness designed,
can the dice roll more defined
Is entropy a map,
less complex as time adapts
Can ignorance be renamed,
as a home for knowledge gained
Can the circle then be squared
—arcs and angles still to share
(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: May, 2019)