i’ve taken to my bed…

 

doctor says
it’s
all in my head
but
i’m still
having
difficulty breathing
it’s as if
all
that
i’ve believed in
has been drained away
from
my body
so
i’ve taken  
to
my bed
each day
when
i try to rise
i find
that
each
breath
that defines
freedom
has been
taken away
so
i crawl back
to
my bed
wondering
how can it be
that
this nation
once
a symbol
of
freedom
and
justice
has become
a cesspool
of
personal greed
and
arrogance
that’s why
i’ve
taken
to my bed
but
the doctor says
it’s
all
in my head

 

eye floaters…

 

as
the years
went by
he
swore
that
he could see
the strings
that
tied
him
to this earth
pass
by
his eyes
fibers
of
his
fading memories
translucent
ties
to yesterday
that
no one else
could
see
sometimes
full
fragments
of
time
would float
into
the ether
as
he stood
helpless
as
all
aging observers
of
death’s arrival
those
were the times
when
well-meaning practitioners
of
the healing arts
would
say
he was
despondent
tho
he heard them
he
chose not
to
explain
the nearness
of
death
to those
with
the light
of
hope
in their eyes

 

when the wheels come off…

 

i cannot sleep
i hear
the night drums
pounding
within
my head
waking me
a
cold sweat
envelopes my body
in a shroud
of
fear
a civil war
is
coming
history
is about
to
be
repeated
once again
brother
against
brother
blood soaked
passions
will fill the gutters
of
hate and intolerance
a nation
poised
to
self-destruct
fulfilling
ancient prophecies
but
the dead
will not rise
nor
will the meek
inherit
the ravaged earth
they shall be
as
all shall be
the roadkill
of
man’s accelerated
greed

 

touch…

 

one would have
rightly
assumed
that
by now
science
could provide
a more
refined definition
than
some
proprioceptive
mumble jumble
for
that current
that
flows
through our bodies
when
we’re
in
each other’s arms
some
scientific term
to
capture
when two souls
merge
into
a single energy
celestial fusion
perhaps
but
even that
fails
for one
has no reference
for
true rapture
just
a series
of
words
written
by
poets

 

powerless to stop it…

 

there’s always
an antiseptic smell
before
death
as if
we truly
believe
we might
cleanse death
from
our being
it’s
a fragrance
of
age
we know it
all
too well
from
nursing homes
and
hospital halls
but
sense it
even as
we walk
along a city street
it makes us
most sad
when
a passing child
has whiffs
of
death
we wonder
why
and
where is
god
but are
soon distracted
by
armani
arden,
or
fresh-baked goods
until
when naked
in
the shower
we
find
that
fragrance

 

ah students of pangloss…

you’ve chose to fight fair
honor before victory
sell that to the dead
or newly orphaned children
caged within your ignorance