Kurt Philip Behm

Sunday Sound Bites

On The Wind

 

Never feeling

more alone

I could taste

the remoteness

As it lingered

on my tongue

Teasing hunger

most tart

 

Never being

more unknown

The detachment

left my senses

As I drifted

on the wind

Like an echo

— in the dark

 

**

 

Ancient Bodies

 

Fixing

what wasn’t broken

My crusade

soldiered on

Past bodies

killed ancient

On battlefields

— long won

 

**

 

Taking My Hand

 

Where does the moon

try to lead me

that orb of reflection

and light

 

Taking my hand

its will to command

time ...

 — the servant of night

 

**

 

New Truth

 

Skirting the line

of wrong and right

Scaling the cliffs

of darkness and light

Climbing upward

not one look down

Perched and waiting

  the truth — unfound

 

**