So far from where I started,
I wrote my final words
And found a stream to fill the well,
with verses left unheard
My last line most important,
leading back toward the first
The circle left unbroken
—all doubt now quenched of thirst
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
I Charge Within
I put a saddle on the wind,
and rode it through the storm
The bridle placed, the buckle cinched,
the reins, my horse reborn
Inside each stirrup passion spurs,
the present now in hand
Behind whose mane I charge within
—in search of who I am
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
A Gray Dawn
The gray dawn slaughters
the promise of Spring,
Winter’s desperate last goodbye
Its poisonous haze mocks
a sky forsaken,
the sun again denied
Its blanket lowers
in a shroud of judgment,
its verdict darkly stained
To deluge its exit
in torrents of thunder
—as light reflects in vain
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Visceralis
Writing doesn’t become immortal,
until you leave the words behind
Feelings left to light the way
—in moments undefined
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)