Tempus Cessat

Tempus Cessat

Time is syrup,                   
Neither sweet nor inviting,      
Rather nudgingly grazing,
Soft and prickly,
Rough and tickly,
Never once been amazing.

Time is oil,
Neither slick nor once gripping,
As Rough as liquid gravel,
Charge thee gladly,
Treatment badly,
Swinging a bloody gavel.

Time is fire,
Neither so warm nor healing,
Its lapping tongues do flicker,
Its grins shimmer,
Glass eyes glimmer,
With shivers growing thicker.

Invino Veritas
9/25/13
EOF

Spare Twigs and Leaves

Invino Veritas
9/19/13
EOF

Green

Green

My dear, try as you may,                             
And dear, strive though you might,               
You'll never know it all,                               
Before the dying light,                                 
Never having answers,                                
To queries yet unknown,                             
Universal questions,                                    
To counter every plight.                            

Know that something greater,                   
Is always out of reach,                              
Beyond each horizon,                               
Just beyond every beach,                         
In the vast expanses,                                 
On planets far away,                                
Whispering of battles,                   
For castles we can't breach.



Invino Veritas
9/17/13
EOF

Cloudburst

Before the cloudburst,
Those aromas of earth in the air,
Are my memories,
Of my mother and father,
Of my brothers and sisters,
And my own mortality.
Those odors of dirt are the flowers,
That spring from the seeds,
Buried within the amniotic glaze,
Of my cloudy, misshapen mind.

Before the cloudburst,
The fragrance of you lingers in the air,
Your spirit persists on the breeze,
And your voice seeps,
Through from the rumbles in the sky,
Like the blood of soldiers,
Having discovered their own sins.
It is this resistence to change,
This essence of my beings,
That keep me grounded,
Never to fly where the winds,
Bring in new smells,
And forever losing the old ones.

After the cloudburst,
The stench of newness and sparkles,
Do not mask the tragedy of forget,
Nor does it obscure pain of rememberance,
But the piney whiffs of insolence,
Snap the mind like twigs on a trail,
And cradle me in their arms,
For it is their earthy arms,
That are my crib,
My womb, warm and soft,
Sweet and prickly.

Invino Veritas
9/11/13
EOF