Poem-A-Day: Day 306

Darkness Rains

Darkness reigns over empty streets
silhouettes under dimly lit lights
lowly illuminating the streets
empty until cars pass over
one at a time passing over singular.
The reigning darkness gives no sign
aside from street signs
peering through dimly lit silhouettes
rain is coming to give faction to the reign.
Clouds race into the reigning darkness
slowly passing over single cars
creeping slowly over dimly lit streets
masking silhouettes of signs
sighing deeply under gentle illumination
and the clouds bring rain in tiny droplets
reflecting the scenery reversely.
Droplets reversely reflecting scenery
brings two dimly lit streets
and silhouettes of street signs
street lights dimly lit
crashing two worlds together
crashing slowly moving cars
creeping under reigning darkness
under rain the two worlds clash.
Clouds race from the reigning darkness
slowly moving over cars
creeping cars slowly moving under darkness
moving by silhouettes and dim lights
leaving nothing but the color of darkness.

Poem-A-Day: Day 305

Leave Nothing

The cream of the crop,
the esteemed and deemed necessary,
the unfaltering wealth
that stares down from up high,
stares down through glass ceilings,
gazes down causing fear,
petrifaction, a million Medusa gazes
stopping dreams like heart attacks,
leaving nothing but a flutter.

I take my coffee without cream,
and I deem nothing more necessary
than tenacity, and the will
to stare down the evils,
stare straight, unwavering,
able to hold the mirror in the face of evil
and behead the ideas that look to stop me,
eviscerate the reverse aim to stop me,
leaving nothing but my existence.

Poem-A-Day: Day 304

Watchman’s Call

There’s no adventure
More glorious than watching
The change of nature

Poem-A-Day: Day 303

Small Fires

Small fires soon grow if left unattended,
pulling in the air,
plucking it like flower petals
and letting it smolder under its own weight.
Small fires soon become monsters,
rampaging beasts bent on trampling,
and decimating what was what
that has become nothing but notations
in the margins
for the purpose of insuring well being.
Small fires soon take over,
if there are things left to conquer,
madly grabbing everything around,
in flailing childlike tantrums.
Small fires soon die
the same way that most die,
expiring, having lost interest,
or being smothered by some external force,
some omniscient presences judging,
examining the fire and its worth,
deciding when and how.

Poem-A-Day: Day 302

Subtle Love Under Scrutiny

Show me something beautiful,
and I’ll show you the person that hates it:
the warm saturated splendor spilling chills
of cool air dancing under the sun
reflecting off blinding snow,
the flower that pushed itself through
the oppressive weight and suffocation
of the drab slab of concrete jungle unaccustomed,
the fish mounted and deadpan
smiling for no reason as it’s perched on mantle,
warming itself over crackling fire,
quietly watching lovers battle over champagne,
the compliment that comes backhanded
from the smug coworker that’s managed nothing
but the mismanagement of toiletries
stuck presumptuously under shoe, on show,
the snake engorged on mice, eggs, birds,
fat and sassy stretched on a rock, warming,
waiting for the chance to strike again,
for the chance to go unnoticed,
to be the sinner in a world that’s cast judgment.
Show me something you hate,
and I’ll show you the person that loves it.

Poem-A-Day: Day 301

The Coming

The crisp smell of cold
And crackling browns under toe
Signaling sweet change

Poem-A-Day: Day 300

He Stood There

He stood there,
oafishly,
and I stared through him
with cold eyes gone obsidian
from the heat of stress,
blood vessel lava streaming
through what’s left of the whites.
He stood there,
waiting for an answer,
a response,
anything to satisfy his curious nature,
and I thought of the wreck that’s become.
The ships dashing bows to pieces
on fist shaped rocks jutting from air oceans,
filth cover landscapes barren,
gone uninhabitable except for humanity:
the last worst thing to have graced it,
and the remnants of one man in slacks,
waiting idly for some grim repose.
He stood there,
expecting acknowledgment,
and I turned and walked away,
quitting what was left of my past.