The Goal

On a vacation from the norm,
the trip brings the memory
of a man just one year ago
with a dream set in a mind so vividly.
It was fresh and it was fun,
it was both exciting and new
as it was an idea he never before thought
and one he could proudly ride through.
He wanted to do something organized
that he never before could do,
something for which the outline was laid
and the inspiration for which was true.
The idea was there
with the drive seemingly following
with only his lack of confidence
being the factor that was slowing.
Nevertheless the man went on,
pushing forward with that unobtainable
in a time no completion seemed imminent
let alone even possible.
Fast forward to today
in the present time and circumstances
and the tables have mightily turned,
an outcome which, from the beginning, had slim chances,
but now all is nearly done
with hopes and dreams both reached and exceeded
with a long, daunting task of a goal
now the one that is so proudly completed.

Our Age of Pluralism

It doesn't matter.
They're all the same.
There's none at fault,
no one to blame.
None are wrong
as we're all right,
this their battle cry
in this, eternity's fight.
The lies so nice,
pushing acceptance
for all to be
welcome, even those restless.
It's good to feel
they can make all
feel so good
about their collective fall.
The peace does last
as long as we agree
until oppositions arise
and enter different pleas.
Then the truth comes,
the inner becoming outer
with "accepting" one's screams
of intolerance becoming louder.
The fear mongering flows
from the mouths of liars,
condemning the preaching
and damning the fires.
Eyes get wide
as pupils become red
with their pushed peace
replaced with war instead.
The thought some people
would tell others they're wrong
is unfathomable to the arrogant
who claim the odds too long
but in this age or pluralism
where the beggars are choosers
there have to be
both winners and losers
and the ones to reject
the truths the hateful condemn
are soon to find the falling
in these black hearts of men
as that claimed to be
a scare tactic of the fear-mongering pious
is the one ultimate truth
that will rightfully divide all of us.

The Blood Pool

The beat that comes,
the beat that rules,
it overcomes
in the blood pool.
It pulls me down
as it tears it out
to bring the pain
it brings about.
The stress here
overwhelming and so
powerful in
its come and go,
the pressure rises
and boils over
to burn the hot
and cold shoulders.
The breaking here,
the bond forgotten
as falling down
all good made rotten.

No Model

No shadow to be in,
no lead to follow,
no mentor to advise,
no fill for the hollow,
no voice of reason,
no given advice,
no one to warn of
the upcoming surprise.

The little girl so sweet
may soon turn to bitter,
the child with no food
to eat with her dinner.
Her mother she loves,
the one who ignores,
yells to be quiet
as she slams the door.
A phone glued to an ear,
a sad excuse for
the matriarch she supposedly
could be, and more.
No model to show
how to live or love
and yet a small child
is asked to rise above
yet with the shackles
and the weights pulling down
there is no escaping
the despicability that surrounds.

Another Fallen

Another fallen,
another corrupted,
the world's perversion
again erupted,
the innocent down,
the ears to bleed
with a mouth to follow,
no good left to speak,
a tongue to once
lift up and encourage
now falls into dirt,
the filth in an overage.
The mind was filled
with only purity
until the outside world
sucked dry, drained empty.
The words once positive
now turned to poison
are on the verge
of causing complete ruin
as one cancer spreads
itself to another
until the bodies dead
can only topple over each other.

The Constant Letdown

There for me,
but not I for them,
offering assistance
only to receive none.
Blessing me with
their faithfulness
but receiving an empty
feeling of hopelessness.
They come back
to give even more
as they are left
at the foot of the door.
The caring for
a soul that's selfish
only to receive another
wound in need of a stitch.
They deserve something else
other than what's given,
yet they receive it
and count it forgiven.
Never to turn a back
or so much as a cheek
they take it all in stride
and take it most meek.
Victims of the constant letdown,
they get up again
and accept every grain
of imperfection that I am
only to accept me back
with all of my flaws,
the forever friend dedicated for eternity,
to give me their all.

The Uncoil

I'm tangled up
in the weeds and the shrubbery
with the situation getting
more sticky and rubbery.
I'm bouncing back and forth
from faith to doubt
pretending at times
that You have no clout.
My soul is wrapped around itself
confused by its own actions
and by its friend, the heart,
whose hopes mismatch its transactions.
My insides are aflame
with an inner battle that ensues
and a war that, against many wishes,
knows nothing but how to continue.
The screams are heard on both sides
but there is only one side that can be seen
as the one that will win the struggle
but only one through which hope may gleam.
The soul's struggle may go on indefinitely,
but before it's done, it must uncoil,
at the end of which I will discover
whether the evil will thrive or be foiled.