Every Evil...

Every evil has an army
While every hero stands alone
The devils are infinitely smarmy
While decency takes another tone

Every evil has a predecessor
While each hero's tale is unique
The irreverence of each predator 
Can swallow whole the meek
Devouring nearly every ancestor
That lacks a strong mystique

Every evil has a ruler
While a hero seeks no throne
Evil is decorated by the jeweler
A hero's prize is tempered bone

Every evil is unfulfilled
Needing more than there exists
They destroy and never build
With hands of strangled fists

Every evil is of desperation
Devoid of all content
Comprised of pure negation
Ending only in lament

The hero's life is rigorous
One long struggle to survive
Perpetually vigorous
and perpetually alive

Every evil dies in vain
With curses toward the skies

While some hero will remain
To face the next emprise

The Title Last...

The waves come first
The title last
This flow into precession
Light shifts as shadows cast

Winds gust within a storm
Clouds fade from rain that pours
Conditions of this norm
These beats arranged in fours

The calming effect
of cataclysmic completions
The ever indirect-
continual _______ deletions

The shores that sooth
as waves recede
The accepted youth
from what elders concede

Sand and tides go back
to where they weren't before
It seems they have a knack
for washing-off the core

As waves return
their titles wish they'd last
but as the world will turn
the flow presents its past
and titles as their waves
resend and never last

Something About Today...

What are you about today
Do you know
Does it show
What will you do today
Will you do it
or wait for it
What is it that's in your way
It's always something
that amounts to nothing
What makes you stay or stray
Is it greater than your intent
or are you just maligned to lament
What will it be today
or is there nothing now
or is there truly no how

The days themselves don't care
they'll come and go all the same
they've nothing but themselves to claim
The nights will go on unaware
of whatever you've achieved
and all who've disbelieved

If there is something about today
that means anything to you
what else would you do
If there is anything inside the day
what more can there be
who else needs to see
Is there something about today
or is it just passing time
with nothing sublime

I'm afraid this is all I can write for now
as there is plenty left to do
So I bid a good day to you
or something in it- ciao

Face Melting...

I decided to make jalapeno poppers. My hands went to cutting the peppers in half, pulling out the seedy cores, and rinsing them clean. Inside my mind were thoughts of other things. It was all just happening the way most things do throughout most days.

Then a fly began buzzing around my head. It kept pseudo-appearing out of nothing, as a spec of black streaking in front of me or as a pesky Doppler effect buzzing in my proximity. My mind only registered the annoyance and presence of this fly with the same lack of affect generated from all the other non-eventful happenings.

The fly became more invasive, and landed on my nose. I shook it off, but it just circled and came back to the same spot. Each successive time it landed I had to shake harder to get it to circle away. Eventually it just stayed on my nose as I tried futilely to shake it off.

Without much thought I tried to slap at the fly. It got away before my hand reached the skin of my nose, and I felt the dull impact on my surrounding skin. The fly hovered around in wandering proximity, and then perched itself across the room. I disregarded the seemingly watchful fly and nudged my glasses back into place. Then I stopped to go blow my nose, and wash my hands before returning to the peppers.

As I began to apply the filling to the peppers my face started to tingle with a subtle burning irritation. I gradually felt the burning sensation become more intense and wide-spread over my face. Then my eyes involuntarily began to water in response to the fiery feeling. These involuntary liquids only agitated the affected areas of my face.

I rushed to rinse my face with cold water, but this too only intensified the problem. With no other solutions known I just stood over the sink as my face burned. My faulty organic plumbing leaked away like a busted water-main.My face felt as if it was melting away in all the dripping liquids. As minutes past I suddenly broke into maniacal laughter from abstract thoughts that failed to distract me from the persistent sensation of my burning face.

This was how things went all over the world, I'd thought. You go about the hapless tasks of arbitrary days with no sense of anything but the meanderings of your own mind. Then something comes along to disturb you in the midst of your dispassionate involvements. When you try to oppose the source of such a disturbance, it just retreats far enough to watch tauntingly as negative results appear. As you move to deal with the intensifying after-effects they only spread out and become more disastrous. In the end all you can do is wait for it all to pass with time. And all the while the only real threat, the only real danger, the real source of all this burning agony and befuddlement isn't some damned fly, or a nose and eyes that impulsively water when skin burns from irritation. The real culprit from beginning to end is the lack of discipline and attentive purpose being applied to your own hands.

Even as my pain subsides and these words become known there is no saving face. It likely won't be long before the next episode of event-less living results in another blooper, and leaves my face melting. With the current burning sensation nearly gone, I see the fly and the peppers still resting as I'd left them. I try not to wonder if the fly has somehow managed to burn its own face in all of this. Instead I just notice that I've become incredibly hungry, and I try to focus on dinner. Hopefully it won't turn out to be too hot.

I Wanted To Wake The World...

I wanted to wake the world
from its silly stupid slumber
So I spoke like thunder
and I raged like a human-storm
but the world kept sleeping
completely unmoved

I wanted to wake the world
from its contemptibly confounded coma
So I concocted a cure
and I administered an antidote
but the world was unresponsive
its condition unimproved

I wanted to wake the world
from its death and decay
So I summoned a savior
and it came right away
but no martyr was made
Just another spirit entombed

I wanted to wake the world
from its eternal damnation
So I gave it my soul
after much contemplation
but the world only festered
and my soul was removed

Now I just want to sleep in
forever or longer
I just wish it was in my own dreams
and not in this world's somber slumber
but I can neither sleep nor wake
and my life is unused

The world is ever sleeping
as death is ever creeping
Making nightmares of dreams
and a silence from screams
So I suppose it is best
to relax like the rest
or to wake on your own
and dream all alone 
though I claim this confused
and only slightly amused

...but The Fire Still Burns...

He was stranded out in the deep and desperate cold of nowhere. All he had was a set of rags that used to be clothes and a letter he'd received before the crash. The letter was from the only woman he'd ever professed those three magic words. When he said them the train began to leave the station. In his mind he couldn't be sure if she had heard him, but he told himself it didn't matter.

The letter was still sealed inside the envelope. After the crash he'd promised himself not to open it until he'd been rescued. He thought of this as the fuel to keep his fire burning. In his mind this was all he needed to stay alive. Every time he found doubts of his survival creeping into his mind he would look at the letter. Then he would imagine being moments away from rescue. To be rescued, to survive was the only way for him to become worthy of opening the letter.

After the crash he could find no other survivor. All he could find in the frozen wasteland was a death-scape that offered nothing but the promise of a place for him to join in this grim tableau. His legs would not respond to his will to move, and he had to crawl out of the wreckage. As he crawled away he carried a torch made from the flaming remnants of the plane. Dragging along his elbows and forearms he gathered firewood in the crooks of his arms as he slugged along the snow-stained wasteland.

His body alternated between periods of bitter numbness and horridly frigid pain. The pain came when he stopped to warm himself over a fire. As he felt the agony of warmth he would calm his mind by imagining the letter magically radiating healing energy over him. When he resumed struggling to move forward the numbness would wash back over him. He didn't know which was worse. Three days went by as he struggled to stay warm and slither along this way.

Without food he became too weak to continue moving. He made one last fire, and curled his heap of tortured flesh next to it. As he writhed in pain his hands shook while reaching for the letter inside his rags. It was still dry by some miracle of his efforts. This gave his mind a sense of tragic pride as he stared at the letter with his strained consciousness fading.

As he felt his own death being cast over him like the shadow of a dying sun, a gust of wind rushed past him, stealing the letter from his hands. He watched helplessly as it landed in his still blazing fire; dying to reach-out and save it from the flames. It burned away in only an instant, and he could only stare at the place within the fire where he had last seen it. His lips moved in blue shivers with words escaping in the last breath of fog he could produce. "I can't feel the warmth, but the fire still burns..."

A rescue team spotted the smoke from his fire only moments later. They rushed to try and save him, but it was no use. One of the members of the rescue team noticed his face was marked with a single frozen tear. As she pointed it out to the others they all fell silent, and a long moment passed before any of them would even dare to move. Then one of the others asked how it was possible for this frozen tear to mark its place. With perplexity someone tried to explain how the cold winds had done this. Even after the rational explanation had been given, the failed rescuer murmured softly. "...but the fire still burns..."

Musical Musings...

Music is
life and death
disguised as sound
It is the harmonic functioning
of purest truths
It is the sonorous spirit
of human essence exposed
It is the universe
resonating in omnipotent oscillations

Music is everything
sound can speak to
It is infinity
inside the air of ears
It is the beating heart
of time eternal
It is the existential exclamation
It is the echos of the empyrean

Music is what gives light it's luster
Music is what gives shade it's color
Music gives depth to dimension
Music gives shape to form
Music gives place to purpose
Music gives ears to listening
Music gives setting plot
Music is everything

Hear the music
of winds singing
the song of all the earth
moved by the heavens stirred

Hear the music
of the flowing rivers
that carry the tune of mountains
through the valleys and delta's below

Hear the music
of the whole earth spinning
like one great spherical record
that you can never hear enough

Hear the music
of mere human musings
that can somehow surmount
the silence that surrounds it all

Hear the music
of everything and everywhere
It is everything and everywhere
Listen closely to the music
and life will sing for you there
Listen closely...
Do you hear it?
It can hear you

The Future...

The future stares at me
with red eyes glowing
with fanged teeth showing
with venom flowing

The future screams at me
its voice so shrill
its words to kill
with a bloody thrill

The future haunts me
from sins today
from past dismay
from refusal to pay

The future looms over me
in a haze of lies
in lethargic sighs
in the good that dies

The future hates me
with all the rest
so dispossessed
and faux-oppressed

The future awaits me
with the reaper ready
its blade held steady
as if I've died already

The future kills me
a little more each day
by promising dismay
to lead my steps astray

The future owns me
when I let it take my place
turning away from its face
and breaking from my pace

The future forgets me
before I've even gone
outgoing or withdrawn
as every king and pawn

Well Grounded...

The roof above me
is someone's floor
The ground beneath me
always wants more
The skies beyond this
are like a locked door
These walls that confine us
hold little in store

I'm well grounded
and insulated too
however dumbfounded
by anything new
I won't be confounded
but remain tried and true

Foundations are sturdy
having been built to last
and the grass is lush verde
fertilized by those past
their stories so wordy
for such subtle contrast

I'm well grounded
they would say
however well founded
Stagnant by day
at night self-impounded
they'd stay out of the way
of the life there surrounded

Skies are so shifty
and air is quite thin
heights may be nifty
but cost you your skin
so it's best to be thrifty
and avoid much chagrin

I'm well grounded
and safe from the sky
I'm also well rounded
and not built to fly
so I'll not be astounded
till the day I should die
and then so unfounded
I'll dare to ask why

Why would I die
with my feet on the ground
Why would I lie
my dead body aground
Why would I try
to believe death's profound

I'll be well grounded
from the death I'll have lived
I'll be well grounded
through a life left un-lived
I'll be well grounded
and so very shortlived

Walls Without Windows...

Walls without windows
built to keep minds in
built to keep lights out

Walls without windows
so occupants won't begin
so rooms are filled with doubt

Walls without windows
eyes without vision
ears that won't listen

Walls without windows
intent with indecision
intent without a mission

Walls without windows
for solipsistic slaves
for all the hollow craves

Walls without windows
for shallowest of graves
for sages made of knaves

Walls without windows
to keep the truth outside
to force all life to hide

Walls without windows
for nothing to confide
for nothing to reside

Walls without windows
or cause to venture out
Walls without windows
or conscription so devout

Blue Born...

With umbilical noose
around the neck
the new born blue
joins the wreck

The first breath
is like a marathon
to begin a death
worthy of a pantheon

The cord removed
and purple turns red
prognosis improved
or so it is said

The blue born cries
in desperate exhalation
before all the lies
of human veneration

When nursed to sleep
the blue born quiets
in a slumber as deep
as the hatred of riots

As the blue born wakes
the torment returns
in a sound that breaks
on a breath that burns

The blue born protests
the most minor irritation
with unyielding distress
and no sign of cessation

The blue born unknowing
of all the world surrounding
and the art of growing
in a world so confounding

When its color calms
then quietly it stirs 
despite its qualms
with all that still occurs

The blue born's silence
will make it more appealing
and following this guidance
the blues become concealing

Constricted from birth
the blue born's life is tense
devoid of a crimson mirth
condemned to stay condensed

The blue born's grief
is subtle, and more drab
than the typical motif
of those that tend to gab

Reticent and blue
the blue born gets along
inviting nothing new
and risking nothing wrong

The blue born will die
and turn from red to blue
as mourners merely sigh
with better things to do

and the grass will grow green
and the sun will burn red
and all through the mean
all will dream of some instead...

Drowning in an Empty Pool...

In the waters
Men can swim
In the hollows
It's all bottom
All drowning

It's rarely sink or swim
It's usually fester or fly

Drowning in an empty pool
Festering like a fool
Waiting for this hole to fill
Wanting for some will

In the ocean
Tides will flow
In the vacancies
Stagnation rules
Stranded or adrift

It's rarely fight or flight
It's usually wait and see

Drowning in an empty well
Below the depth of falling
Pray or try to coax a spell
Forever in here stalling

Swimming in the deeper end
Not just treading water
The option all would recommend
To every son or daughter

Drowning in an empty pool
Deprived of so much air
Fester as a falling fool
Never here nor there

In the river rapids run
In the streams a gentle flow
When all the water's work is done
Where else will you go