Poem: Holier Than Thou

Holier than thou,

hide behind morality,

for the sake of likes and follows,

watching popularity rise,

as they cast stones from a safe distance,

diming the lights,

breaking the bulbs,

or at least attempting to do so,

in order to hide their own hypocrisy,

each day a new stone,

each day a new story,

the masses move as one,

one giant distraction,

a suffocating group,

strangling the individual voice,

the brave ones; the natures kin,

slowly burning away,

as the holy people wave around signs of peace,

quietly killing the man,

giving birth to second rate beings,

shielding and protecting them from reality,

in doing so,

teaching them how to be silent until they can blend their voice in the roar of the crowd,

screaming hate at the chosen few,

the couple who tried to be themselves,

they to get molded, eventually,

to become moralities cowards.

Poem: To Overcome The Self

Man is never alone,

Within him dwells another,

Someone who knows his desires, his weaknesses and dreams,

He sits with comfort,

Waiting to speak up,

The opportunity arises whenever a decision needs to be made,

Right or wrong,

The one who dwells always picks the wrong one,

And his choice rings in the head causing the limbs to obey,

Is that the devil?

Is that how religion came about?

To find a way to quiet this voice,

This resistance that devolves man from God to peasant,

Desire a doctrine to follow so it can drown this other voice,

So we can do good, be good, act good and become good,

Without such doctrine, the fight is lonely,

The worst realization is the everydayness of the struggle,

Each morning brings about the foe, renewed, energized, dangerous, without any hint of the previous day’s defeat,

If it was every defeated,

Each day the battle restarts and each day we must overcome that voice,

Otherwise, life is shortened,

The pleasure from the experience of life, the fulfillment of life, is lessened,

As if there was a cap on what you can get out of life,

As if the brilliance that life offers is only for those who resist,

As if the one that dwells in you is placed in you as an opportunity,

A ready-made obstacle for you to understand what life is about,

That is why the fight is important,

To resist and overcome, daily,

But some never win,

Others give in,

The rare few look forward to it,

Those few I seek,

To become like them, a warrior who resists his inner voice,

Who overcomes himself,

Who reclaims the Kingdom lost.



Poem: Nature’s Rebirth

Rebirth of nature every year,

the barren branches, refilled,

the yellowish grass, emerald,

from the frozen soil, springs knew life,

all for a moment,

willing to be alive until the next cycle which demands their change,

for the rebirth is cyclical,

but I’m too often blind to nature’s lesson,

stuck in my ways,

rooted to a singular path,

a path on which I was set on by others,

rarely do we decide where we walk,

little do we change,

rarely is there a new you,

for the trials of such a thing are filled with hardships,

for the branch to discover its leaves it must survive the harsh winter,

for the grass to gain its shine it must hold the blanket of snow,

the bud of spring must hold its breath under the hardened ground,

only though suffering is the renewal possible,

no wonder I stay rotted in comfort,

no wonder I stay the same,

no wonder I only live one life,

but if I had nature’s understanding,

what could I have been?

how many lives I could have lived?

reborn anew,

each year, each season, each month, each day, each moment,

instead of staying the same,

the same me tells myself the same advice,

another winter comes,

soon it’ll be gone,

with spring,

I shall to rise,

this time,


Poem: Broken People

Broken people,

smiling and waving,

“How do you do?”



Don’t know if it’s shame, guilt, pride or ego that keeps the smile wide,

as the cracks in the psyche widen but your thoughts distract you from that reality,

focuses you on the nonsense of life,

little pebbles that crack the windshields,

little words or lack of them crack the mind,

just as the glass needs tending to right away or else the crack will spread,

just like that, the breaking mind needs tenderness,

the soft touch, the pleasant voice, the caring embrace,

lacking all that,

the broken man suffers alone,

craving interaction,

getting a false sense of it on the internet,

chest swells with pride at a friend request or a like,

addicted to that feeling,

waiting for it more,

the morphine drip,

but it runs out quick,

before enough of it can make you numb to the loneliness,

left alone to suffer after that,

with the knowledge of that positive acceptance,

fiending for it anywhere,

as you walk among the strangers,

among other broken people,

among yourself,

seeking yourself,

finding no one.




Poem: The Swingset

The swingset swings in its lonesome

the creaking of the metal chains

the gentle push from the evening air

the absent sound of laughter

echoes in the mind

watching the empty seat

from an empty home

filled with emptiness.


Once it wasn’t like that

once it was like spring

the emergence of flowers

the child-like giggle

the warmth of the sun

the touch of my little girl, pulling me outside, towards the swingset

no creaking

rather “papa”, “papa”.


That once wasn’t long ago,

but in the middle of winter,

underneath the pile of snow as more flakes come down the eternally gray skies

the feeling of spring is so far removed

barely comprehensible that such a thing existed

but the thoughts still linger on that distant memory

on that spring day

when the swing didn’t creak

when the child laughed

and it filled the emptiness inside of me

now she’s gone, spring’s gone, the laugh is gone

yet I’m here

without hope

with thoughts only for what which isn’t here

and what is here is the lonely swing

groaning, moaning, crying.

Poem: Is Enough

The flickering light of the bulb is enough,

the tiny sparkle of the star in the infinite darkness of space is enough,

the attic light,

the hallway glow,

the nightlight for kids,

the cigarette lighter for adults,

the flame that burns inside,

flamed by thoughts of success,

surrounded by thoughts failure,

no matter how weak, how brittle, how beaten it gets,

if it can give you even the slightest of warmth,

it’s enough,

if it can keep another’s light going,

it’s enough,

if it can fuse with another’s and cast a long shadow,

it’s enough,

if it keeps the body moving forward,

it’s enough,

no matter how slow, how painful, how stubborn the movement is,

it’s enough on its own,

you’re enough on your own,

the attempt to keep it going,

is enough,

for the attempt is all we have.

Poem: Tired

Tired eyes, seeing the same things over and over,

tired thoughts, thinking about tomorrow or yesterday,

tired fake smile, pasted on to greet you,

tired of the noise, that everyone makes,

tired of agreeing, saying yes’ and right away’s and sorry’s,

tired neck, from looking away from life,

tired shoulders from carrying this tiresome head,

tired arms, picking and carrying, picking and carrying,

tired hands, from shaking yours and shaking others,

tired joints, distracting oneself from the thoughts,

tired from sitting, tired from standing, tired from slouching, tired lower back,

tired hips, at least that means I’m alive,

tired legs and tired feet from chasing the daylight, from chasing the nightlife, from running away, from running after,

tired embrace, us again,

tired conversations, the same again,

tired “I love you’s” and “You too’s” and “Goodnights”.


A moments rest,

before the next moment begins,

the sun also rises,

each day with tired sleep,

the next day,

back living the tired life,

once more,

once again,


and so it goes.