You never listen 

to what I have to say

You never listen

to words of mine that may

just be helpful advice 

for I feel

neither malice nor vice 

towards someone like you

who indeed I have 

opened my heart to 

And though your speech is bitter 

like black coffee 

I try to sweeten it 

so it tastes more like honey  

Won’t you look at me 

when I look at you

Please do not turn away 

from my gentle embrace 

Why is it you perceive not 

the love painted across   

my weathered face



Choice is the defining decision

that sets us apart

from those we fight,

for it is that which separates

right from wrong,

guided from unguided,

righteous from wicked.

He Who Walks A Desolate Path

He appeared, clothed in

billowing black robes,

robes as dark as night

to inspire fright

in those who dared

to shine their light.

He glided lifelessly

but snarled violently

at those who failed

to cower frightfully.

His face had the pallor

of alabaster,

or perhaps

a faded tomb stone,

for this is a man with countless foes,

for this is a man with infinite woes.


Pull all the right strings,

and everything falls into place.

Pull all the wrong ones,

and history falls out of place.

That’s why the puppeteer


tread these troubled times


for one cannot let the puppet take hold

of its own strings.

No, the puppeteer will move it

this way,

that way,

and that way again…

until its strings snap

of their own accord.

Tolerably Well

I am tolerably well,

that is to say, neither

good nor bad,

happy nor sad.

I put one foot forward

knowing the other

will soon follow.

I feel neither animated nor hollow,

and though life is a

hard pill to swallow,

I cannot wallow

in matters so shallow.