vox clamantis in deserto




My pale, wretched character
feeds off greatness;
sustained by an unreachable
ideal of who I could be,
but still the embodiment
of inadequate action.

I take a deep breath
and admire that greatness,
wondering if you see
what I see;
with inspiration,
I move towards the ideal –
but only a single step.

In these moments
when I become more than I am
by looking at you,
we are equal;
so quickly the illusion


Course of Dreams

I could never be the past me,
as of yesterday that ship sailed;
witnessable here are cracks, see –
once wondrous colors now have paled;
still, strength remains within the beams,
and atop the mast a flag flies true;
ever set on the course of dreams –
hard at work, this lonely crew;
seemingly endless exhausting toil,
held together by a single reason;
to finally set foot on heaven’s soil –
maybe I will arrive next season.

A Writer’s Soul

A writer’s soul is a blind battle cry
tempered minds attempt to quiet;
its blood burns with the sun
in depths of undiscovered strength,
dreaming private conquest;
extracting elegance from discord
to forge wings with it;
this is homage to the honing
of the destruction of silence;
witness if thou wilt,
our words echo of stars.

Black Sheep

Don’t wear his wool,
it won’t help against the cold;
mistakenly removed from a fool
who never listened to what was told;

defying myriad canines snarling,
shepherds hungry to box him in place;
guided only by purring starling,
searching for his own glowing grace;

repeating remarks in a tone of snide,
feeble attempts to carve at the core;
each insult quickly taken in stride,
aiding a journey towards something more;

still, misery resides beneath his coat,
cast it aside if found lying nearby;
unless determined to be worthy of note,
passing through darkness into clear sky.

Maiden of God

Beneath the shelter of your wing
was found a solace I once thought lost,
as if permanently forsaken;
longing for the light to touch me,
and to its glory I bowed my head;
watching the ribbon unfold,
and with it, I too unfolded;

revealing unique colors in a variance
of shade that stunned
the status quo;
transcending limitation,
but in the cacophony
temporarily torn asunder;

in your hymn the respite
from turmoil was brought;
a piece of me gathered,
the image inevitably coming forth.

Shrewdly So

An angel’s eyes met mine
for a moment clandestine;
from her gaze I surmised
that all the words of the wise,
or any answer worth it to find,
lie locked inside the divine mind.

Withering Roses

At the peak of my fatigue
I stole a glance in your direction;
the shining source of my intrigue
in which I see my own reflection;
twin tales that tell of truth,
but yet unseen where lips may lie;
in our eyes the burning youth,
a promise that passion will never die;
just for now is it ours to keep,
should either accept the gifted rose;
both unknowingly fated to weep
if nonchalantly a different road chose;
still uncertain what I can give,
if there is anything left at all;
show me what it is to truly live,
grab my hand before I fall.


Pain echoes,
so aptly this form chose;
entertaining the formless,
our misery adorns us;

Gracefully struggle grows
into bittersweet crescendos,
applauded in mourning
yet deceptively alluring;

Sticking into the fabric,
desperately we try to grab it;
effort falling on empty ears,
preoccupied with nonsensical fears;

Glistening wasteful behavior,
dissent becoming the savior;
beautiful sustained resistance,
working to balance the difference.


That ever elusive singular expression,
resting just beyond my line of sight;
I will claw to the bone to claim it,
my thoughts the embodiment of a tempest.

Even amid immense effort,
this resolve that drips ferocity,
meaning escapes like a bandit;
you may inherit this burden,
but in time my relief will come.

I will become the veil,
such that no gaze shall pierce
nor intellect conquer the enigma;
but its beauty will be known,
a testament to the dreams of a young man.

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