Beams alight from broken sky
Hallowed ether to the ground
A vacant plot of reclaimed land
A moment’s pause it doth demand
Breaking free from worlds on high
To pierce the gloom without a sound.
I hate winter.
–Simon
Ode to that Tiny Fleck of Debris That Won’t Dislodge from my Eyeglasses
Static cling or Van der Waals?
You grasp eternally
Upon the lens, you won’t let go
A force of air
I breathe upon
The tiny speck–a mighty foe
Calm turns into fury.
I’m huffing, puffing, wheezing
Tenacity, I think
I will not touch the lens, to smear
And so I blow
Until at last
Expectorate, my greatest fear
I wash now in the sink.
Misplaced
The hate
Prerequisites substantiate
The method to
What those feel now
Is out of place
And just passed down
By those who suffered
And now gone
Without a trace.
The blame
Misdirected without shame
Beliefs today
Are out of place
And those who knew
Feel no disgrace
Are now the victims
But remain
And are not few
Yet oft eschewed.
Late
The night encroaches, bringing dark
Leaving one to ponder life
For when He comes to bring the knife
One might stop to ponder, yes
For when the light cannot be seen
People think what could have been.
And in the end, repentance, yes
Always easy in the end
Yet life is taxing to defend
For when the time has caught the Man
Man stares up into the sky
Yet always fails to grasp the why.