Sunday, February 21, 2016

Sub six

Back on track
Be en awhile
Sinc I he trapped inside
Going for a ride
Face down 
 Silent ride

In the city 
Spring facade on a winter day
A taste of
A world away, 
Feet tread out at another stop
Realized a better life
Miles away.

All the sufferable pains of convenience 
Missing the chauffeured life
Mass transit 
Remembering names of stations, tied to memories that
With the closing doors

Stations that pass and I remain seated, awaiting a destination.
Stations that crumble a little more with every passing, more fragmented, yet strangely visceral dreams of skipping madly down underground corridors. 


Friday, February 19, 2016

The Granted

I make no allusion to your struggles, I merely stated you had opportunity's that can't be worked for, you're a Canadian white boy with a loving family who has never faced the ravages of war, never known the devastation of poverty, never lived with confusions of sexuality (presumably). I'm in the same boat, yes, we've had to work hard to carve a niche in society, to become the men we are today, but we haven't carried the weight of a turban on our head or seen our family demolished by war, never had to fear the catcalls or the footfall of police or had the government break down our doors. All this bs about the teachings of one prophet or another, have been used, misconstrued and demonstrably exercised as truths to excise as excuses for uses of violence against a fellow man. Implying and stating may stand in a trial, or on a stage, but on a page, the written word is scribed to imbibe imagery, don't think that the difference between what you said and I read is imaginary. When any person wakes up in the morning, they are expected to behave, why enslave the ideal of western or eastern culture to be superior. I can look at the attacks, but you have to look at the facts that that is a small percent of the population, that seems to grow generation to generation as the warm machine churns out disenfranchised orphans who will buy into credos of hate because it's the only way they feel they can relate to the madness around them. To love is to know God, whether he exists or not.

Sunday, February 7, 2016

dreamscape 1

Four of us go in, but only two of us make it out.
But before we were spared, we had to give him back the two relics he had stole. One offer offered sight, and the other protection. A box, hundreds of years old with a cross engraved with the touch of worn lead paint.
Why he let us go?
I don't know, but it was as if he was watching us.
Maybe the first sought treasure had drove him mad.
As we were carefully making our way out, his legion of men slowly encircled us.
With one command, his men had drawn out knives of all sorts. Pointing deep into our souls.
Closer and closer.
We make a break for the door.
With the sound of the manic mob behind us. Those bloody hounds of hell. Barking, raving mad.
We take flight.

everything bleeds

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

To my Wife

The loneliness of solitude
Is no one here to share
My food with.
Every night.

Getting up alone
Only to fall asleep alone
Every pillow 
Stacked beside me in a row.

Biding the time till
You come home.

Singing to myself
Only for the echo.

Starting to feel what
Lonely hearts know
Over the course of time
Will my discourse grow.
Living a shade of former glory
You will return eventually.