Long Before You Grow to Hate

Her footsteps: a cascade of echos,
Down the halls, unearthly bellows.
Others flee in terror from an unknown fear.
One waits for her motives to be quite clear.
From under the door light betrays,
Where she stops to softly say,
“Come out to play my little one,
The day is over but the night is young.
Think not on the coming days,
Where I’ve to show you where your mind strays.”
She tries the lock, but I’ve planned it
To keep safe from such bandits.
She tries and tries and tries and tries again.
Lights return to normal it seems,
She leaves to find another it seems,
All too late I find I’ve made a grave mistake.
For as I planned and locked my door tightly,
There was a crack open just so slightly,
There to permit a small draft of cold air to enter my room.
As she had so many times before,
Ridden a cold draft beneath my bedroom door,
I swore to myself next time I’d not make the same mistake.
A cruel, cold laughter filled the air
And I, just sat frozen there as each other time she’d come and sing herself softly into my thoughts.
My ego death is nigh and I,
Feel my mind slipping by,
She takes hold of and steps into my mind one final time.
Her footsteps do not seem so painful
As my memory would have been able to remind me so and instill in me this fear.
She walks about and then sits down
She takes for herself a crown,
A crown that once belonged to me and says: “You’ll see, the night will pass and suns will rise
I may become something you dispise,
But long before you grow to hate
You’ll close your eyes and accept your fate.”

Dogs Do Not Weep

She stares into the distance
At nothing. At something.
Expecting sight to be rewarded with newness.
Queens have risen and died, kings have fallen,
In the time she took to realize
Her place was small.
Dogs do not look upon the fallen and weep.
She stood, to eternally be.
Just that, to be.
What did she stand to do?
She reached down,
And helped her neighbor to his feet.

Fades Like the Rest

The wandering of soul
When found in want of a home.
Who knows what this one did
To find the face so dimly hid.
Out of the shadows we soon won’t see,
Where the soul has ought to be.
And one more passing by a moment
What was here, the soul has shown it.
Its actions louder than words could express,
It falls into darkness, and fades like the rest.

There Will Be Wolves

There will be wolves,
And blood will follow.
The sheep may judge and graze and crawl,
The wolf will be the reckoning for them all.
The shepard protects and herds them close,
But still one may choose to stray.
A wolf pays no heed to the opinion of sheep,
That they shouldn’t hunt and kill and eat.
The shepard knows there will be wolves,
And for those who stray,
Blood will follow.

Ode to Time

Hours and hours, a timeless flow.
Where does all our spent time go?
Is it not a currency that we spend?
What location do our transactions send
These dollars and coins, these units of time,
Intoxicate us just like wine.
Everything in moderation; we must not waste.
Everything has a time, every thing has a place.
And as for the question: “Where does time go?”
It goes nowhere, for there is nowhere to go.

One More Sunset

Another sunrise, another day
Another chance to stay and say,
One more noon passes by
One more sunset to catch her eye.
She sees the road, the narrow path beyond,
It is just the same as any other dawn.
She wakes from sleep, though no rest found.
Most nights are spent dreaming
Of fears, of paralyzing past.
Memories through the years abound,
But not so many she would like to last.
The sun has set after a day of reviewing these,
She wonders if tonight is the night that she will find peace.

The Tree of Knowledge

Into the night that may swallow whole
What fear we have and render silent the voices that may protest.
On deaf ears our crys fall,
An uncaring void, unwelcoming, and unable to
See how we fall, motionless,
Into the apathy of entropy that holds the universe in check.
What pride, what arrogance would grow rampant
Had not the tree of knowledge bestowed the gift of mortality.