The Bastard's Feast

When they started their journey they had not wanted for anything

For years everything they had needed had been available

When they want arrived they simply called and they were waited on

hand and foot

But now as the summer season drew to a close there was nothing but to want

As provisions failed to meet demand

A supply line dried up like the desert after a momentary rain

So that they were not only thirsty but starving

And as they prayed to the stars for something to be done

It was ultimately their choice to start eating eachother

When once their clothes were neat and clean

They were now wrinkled, tattered and blood spattered

And only one man came out on top

He would stand their watching what was not edible

Fade into rot, as he carried it forth with the luggage

This sole survivor, oppresor, predator

Alive and smiling though he'd just devoured his kin

For the hearts of the basic man set him no room aside for feeling

His survival is the only excuse he needed to cause strife

To kill and torment those he swore to protect

For this man is a coward,

Hacking away at the defenseless

Knowing full well they were so

For he never showed them what to do

When love turned on the loved

When they came the hated

They were never taut to strike back at the hand that fed them

Not even when those hands fed him

Ratios

If by chance the rain does not fall
Then by chance your flowers will not grow
but if by chance the rain doth fall
Then by chance your flowers will still not grow
Meager people manage impossible missions
but beyond the hour they do not know if they will last
Maybe tomorrow many times over they will fail
And beyond their hours they will not know if they can last
Drifting by in dream ways
Floating on the thoughts of the sleep
Taking a way out that no one saw coming
Its the side exit back to their life
If by chance the snow comes too soon
Then by chance you should just give up the roses.

On the Other Side

She played in the flower garden
Where once she was forbid
But now observing eyes were averted
She pranced through pathways
And danced among the feverish lilies
That she did not care about the thorns
She felt the pains as she trampled the roses
Already scratches that emitted red
But she was too carefree to ponder then
What a few cuts could mean
She emerged eventually to the open grass
Feeling just fine and carefree
But the scratches told another story
Yet her eyes remained on the trees

passage across the styx

If but for a moment I felt the love of the spaces between my toes

Taking the minute to gaze and wonder about what isn't there anymore

A dying bed of grass upon a lawn of desert

And the feeble mind cannot comprehend

As sunshine burns more than it nourishes

As hearts fail to beat in rhythm

Each step off my a smallest of seconds

It is not enough that I have loved it all

It is not enough to try

One has to fall and fail in the most numerous of cases

Until the bottom most rung is reached

Where nooses and guitar strings waver

Dangling in mid-air in mid-sentence

As the baked out discussion are left unfinished

As the final nail is placed in the plastic coffin

Like leftovers that nobody ate

All those things left unsaid

All that feeling left faded in the back

Wasted

Half-eatin

Half-desired

and thus

Half-deserved.

The Cycle of our MisConduct

Human history
a convoluted contraption
perpetually pitied my contradictions
Misunderstandings of hubris
that pester grown men into throwing tantrums
beheading wives for the sake of ego
The mistakes of a few
paid by the mutiny of the masses
who can't tell one from two
nor know nothing else than prayers
Disputes based on crimes
disguised as social justices
as the misguided worship dismembers
all that the rest of them held dear
Families trying in vain to gain
their false footholds torn out of the walls
far before they could even begin to dream
All the while the handlers
let loose all of the wild cats
who seek out like carnivorous predators
all the deer and wild fowl that are too slow to move
And in this Darwinism we slumber
hoping that tomorrow our walls will still be around us
daring to build up new ones
As cannon fire rips and roars among us
tearing the paper thin security
sliding straight down the cerebral cortex
toppling governments and corporations
as we sit upon the cinders as the screams echo
closing our eyes,
taking a breath,
repeating our steps,
Until the fable years we were promised may perchance,
Just maybe,
Come like wide eyed children around the corner
Excited and innocent of the history
of the crimes we have committed.

Pious Pitiful Pissants

Preposterous musings that fickle the intellectual

As the sun drops for the moons rise

and the simpletons waltz through brooding streets

in search of a little sustenance

Claiming the faithful for a few extra quarters

And squandering the goals of the fierce

Depositing the corpses at the back of the line

Where the smell will be less foul

And in limited time the prophetic fiends

will frequent the places of worship

Granting ill will in prayers for the damned

Who drown with the sinking stones

but be it not for me to judge

those that drudge the bottom of the pond

in search of a few extra dollars

for the four horsemen

For they beset upon the few

Who control the buttons

that can obliterate the oblivious fools

Geniuses in turns 

Mostly in blows

With sharpened pencils not unlike daggers

firmly held and then firmly planted

Waiting for the midnight howl.

Some Sort of Epiphany

When the man came home his wife asked him what was wrong, and he only replied that he did not know.   It wasn't so long ago that he would have compiled a laundry list of grievances to thrust upon her question, but at that moment he was left speechless.  It was accentuated by the sound of the kitchen faucet - that the wife had running for her many dirty dishes.   The water ran into water, and he pictured in his minds eye the suds building into a small bubble bath for the various plates and drinking glasses inside.   The food would loosen and then with the help of a rag in the hand of his frail wife they would be wiped clean.  He thought of all this rather than his irritation that the dog had pissed on the throw rug again.  In truth he could see the stain still their behind his eyes, a wide round yellow stain on the off white shag of that carpet that lay in the center of the living room.  It was a definite eye sore, but he had no defining words to give his irritable feeling.   His mind was at a loss, even for the way his wife stopped shaving her legs one day.  He had felt them brush against his own and voiced that she mine as well have been a man.   The man had not truly meant it, he did not think that his wife's hairy legs made her less of a woman but her refusal to keep her role bothered something guttural in his beliefs. 

She then briefly removed herself from his view, and he rocked - as he had been - in his black chewed on leather chair and he stroked at the stubble on his chin.   When once he had been so angry at the incessant noise of the neighboring children he was now finding it peaceful their obnoxious laughing and screaming.  He stopped rocking and placed the soles of his feet flatly on the wooden floor and he kept his fingers on his stubble.  "What are you making for dinner?"  He hollered to the next room.  Perhaps this newfound respect for the things he found disrespectful could be quenched with a taste of a good home cooked meal.

"I ordered out, chinese.  Hope that's alright."  She responded, their was a simple fear in her voice.  That bothered him, but not in an angry way, it was that gut feeling again, that vomit inducing queasiness.  It was in fact okay that they eat take out, it was in fact not a problem.  But he heard in her voice a fear that it would be.  He was hurt.  Had he really been that petty, that picky, that grumpy?   So much so that his wife would be worried he'd retaliate in some way for her choices.  

"That is fine."  He said.