Dark Knight (+6)

Authenticity,

Does the word ring true

Does it call from the outside

Or the inside of you

 

Authenticity,

Your voice renewed

Zero-sum once committed

Zero-sum payment due

 

(Barnes & Noble: Plymouth Meeting Pa:  January, 2016)

 

 

Throne Of Pain

 

Broken feelings

My chest of gold

A ransom of torment

No trinkets sold

The treasure bounteous

Walls lined with blood

Its hurt and pain

I have withstood

The jewels lack sparkle

But shimmer deep

Their cut and clarity

My soul to keep

And words if cheapened

Must leave this throne

As the lid reopens

 —on the pain I own

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

 

To Guide Me Within

 

Dreams carry me across

  a mysterious land

 

Where the voice of my fathers

  so gently commands

 

It echoes now softly,

  in words only sung

 

A joyous recital,

  rewoven and spun

 

I never can stay there,

  I’ve begged till I weep

 

And with barely a whisper,

  I’m roused from my sleep

 

But when darkness befalls

  on my world once again

 

A new dream will come calling

  —to guide me within

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2016)

 

 

 

The Torch

 

Not cute or in genre,

  in tune or in tone

 

The message drives forward,

  the muse casting stones

 

Untimely, eternal,

  a voice speaking fast

 

My pen now a torch

  —the darkness is past

 

(Barnes & Noble Plymouth Meeting Pa: January, 2016)

 

 

Where Your Soul Can Congeal

 

Do you have that place,

  that place where you hide

 

So tranquil and peaceful,

  and hidden from eyes

 

Do you have that place,

  looming close but concealed

 

Where your essence rests freely

  —where your soul can congeal

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

 

Another Spring

 

The string is broken,

  the past is lost

 

A road forgotten

 —fresh winter’s frost

 

All memory erases,

 new thoughts to spin

 

The distance thawing

 —another Spring

 

(Court At K.O.P: February, 2016)

 

 

And She, My Breath Becomes

 

The Muse continues to punish me,

  whenever I write prose

 

Her slaps severe with pain heartfelt

  —no fury 'hell hath known'

 

She sentences me to endless nights,

  and days when words won't come

 

Until I succumb to writing verse

 —and she, my breath becomes

 

(The Court at K.O.P: February, 2016)