Welcome loneliness my old friend,
to mark the hours emptiness sends
In the middle of the cold and dark,
the vanishing call of a last meadowlark
leaving me stranded,
deep in the well
Counting the minutes where time has conspired,
lusting for something whose clock has expired
This silence a chorus of Angels on mute,
promising nothing, all vows to refute
left and abandoned
—deserted in hell
(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2020)
In Sheep\'s Clothing
Morons and liars,
all facts to mislead
Their wool to disguise
—the truth unperceived
(The Mainstream Media: November, 2020)