The Storm

On and off again,
the rainstorm so intense,
the passion of her flood
so powerful and immense,
she cries for her suffering
to be shared by all
in the giant drops of agony
to connect in its fall.
The scattered storms
are never known for sure
when they will come
banging on the door
with howls and whistles of
the wind that occasionally accompanies
and basks in the same glory
of the same brutal furies.
When the storm disappears
the skies clear to beauty
like never before dreamed
yet with that feeling so quickly fleeting
to make way for the ultimate
storm that will be told of
as fable and myth for generations,
the storm that took and tore from bottom above.
She bears down without warning
and crashes, demolishes without hesitation,
no regret in her actions to the people,
no second chances given to the nation,
but rather her eternal wrath to be spread
to those she deems deserving
as she holds none of it back,
needing nothing left for reserving.
Instead she simply crushes
the ones below her reign
and leaves the corpses lay
in the ashes of their final felt pain.

Bitter World of Nothingness

I'm losing myself here
in the bitter world of nothingness
with only regret and mistakes
to show for my selfishness.
I turn to run from the trend
I have set to be the standard
only to brutally solidify
the truths set with mild manners.
A youth that has disappeared
and an innocence no more,
there is only lifelessness remaining
on this cold, hardwood floor.
Deep breaths help momentarily
to fill the dead soul with life
but the same breaths escape too quickly
to do the good that combats the strife.
The emptiness fills the room around
and throws my soul into the well
that is as close as I can handle
being to the pits of hell.
Understanding is escaping
even quicker now than before
with jokes made of men once
thought to be, by all, adored.
Lives torn down quicker than
the laughable meteoric rise,
the deaths now innumerable,
a cruel joke come as no surprise,
and the ending that was foreseen
but so foolishly prepared for by none
consumes me and all around
in a fitting finish required of more than some.

To the Others Who Create Shade for Me

The others who create shade for me,
the sacrificial beings,
the ones who work until hands bleed
to spare my comfort and feelings,
the ones who worked for years
to give me better than they had,
who worked the worst of the jobs
that most times drove them mad,
the ones who wore the bruises
their dedication earned them
to fight for the life I was gifted
and could never repay them for this gem,
the ones whose hands cannot
any longer bend fingers to grab
with strength the years have robbed
leaving them weak, nothing left of what they had,
the ones whose callous hands scream
for a respite from the torturous grind,
that prison that allows the opportunity
for freedom for my mind
and the freedom to embrace the realization
that if it weren't for their slaving, their wrought
none of this would have ever happened
with all of my dreams being for not.

The New Same

The signs put up
to convince others to your point
fall so quickly after
the gatherings disjoint.
The passion that overflew
for weeks at a time
disappears in seconds
as quiet as a mime.
The message to go through
meant to get across
is lost in the static
of the lines that cross
that now are cut
and done away with
without another sign from,
without even a blip.
Now that the booths close
and debates conclude
with a limiting of
the obnoxious and rude
a new day shines,
a new dawn to come
to bring evermore of
the same beating drum.

Fallen but Encouraged

We come together
almost every week
with nothing but honesty
in admission we speak.
Flaws falling out
in words and action,
souls ashamed,
hiding in contraction,
all the fallen
and sinful together
encouraging each other
with reminders of forever.
Bouts with sin
shared by all,
we pick up each other
and together we call
on our Savior's name
who will always listen,
who amidst the dirt
allows the promise to glisten.
He guides us on
the path that's right
and points us back
to each other's sides
as we come together
here yet again
as fallen but encouraged
women and men.

Depths of the Worst

Here we go again
from the depths of the worst,
from the mouths of deceivers
to the ears of the firsts.
Staring at further
down than thought possible,
a fate just a week past
thought to be implausible.
Lying on this back
fatigued from carrying the load,
shoving more down
this throat that's forced to choke.
Now there's no choice
but to stare up,
staring up at rock bottom,
sipping from this nearly empty cup.

Look

Look at the happy,
the ever-so wealthy,
the facade that's their lives
in a world so empty.

Look at the fools
who see the gold and drool,
who chase the dreams
of the overreaching, ill-tooled.

Look at the clowns,
the ones sitting down,
the ones who in their own
oceans of misery drown.

Look at the liars,
the ones with despicable desires,
the ones trying to drag
us down in their fires.

And look at the ones listening
to all the dull glistening
to all the lies we can't believe
that we are quickly believing.

Disease Thought to Be Dead

All may have skeletons in closets
but mine are overflowing,
coming out from the cracks
more and more obviously showing,
me trying to hide it,
keeping others from knowing,
while the witnesses within
are at the point of crowing.

All the voices inside
this head ready to explode
are threatening to boisterously
and with a scene implode.
In order to stop it
I must exit this mode
but my heart won't tell
my head what is the code.

The time has already come,
the disease thought to be dead
is now back with a vengeance
as it all comes to a head.
The moment thought to be
a turn around instead
is the very one to destroy,
the destruction of a soul put to bed.

Evident Destruction

You bring it on yourself,
you sick human being,
disgruntled in your ways,
you're too disgusting.
You can't stand to be
around what you created
with memories of the good
becoming more and more outdated.
Painting yourself into
the corner you swore against
with such fearsome ferocity
that you momentarily meant,
now that it's to brass tacks
you can't dig yourself out
of the death you've doomed
your life to with every doubt.
Gifts given squandered
and goodwill bridges burned,
a soul more burdened than ever
has nowhere left to turn
but only itself to blame
for the destruction evident
from the miles away that
in a clear rear view is too prevalent.

Nightmare Wished Fictional

So many doors closed,
just waiting for one to open,
he waits for the answers
he needs someone to show him.
Laying back and relaxing
and basking in his passivity,
he's too relaxed to see
the world passing quickly.
He waits for the doors to
expose themselves whenever
he is ready for them to do so,
whenever he says forever
but he lacks the courage to even
push the door he needs
to pass through when opportunity
comes to nourish and feed.
The door will ne'er open
for this sad individual
who lacks every inkling of courage
in this life he's created but wishes was fictional.

The Final Jersey Throw

The final jersey throw,
the final toss into the middle,
the time thought to last
forever has now dwindled.
The glory days once
thought to be invincible
now memories in the rear view
soon to be invisible.
The shirt worn with pride
as if it was owned by that
individual who wore it
is now gone off his back.
The colors fade into black,
into obscurity goes the names
that once lived in glory
and basked in all the fame
but now the jersey is gone
and so the status with it
with nothing to show for it
except the memory of the one hit.

Dear God,

please don't allow me to go,
to have always fell.
Please don't allow me to fall
into the forever well.
Please don't allow me
to, for eternity, in sin dwell.
Please save this
soul from hell.
Thank you and Amen.

Return to Normalcy

A return to normalcy,
the highs no more
and the lack of lows
what I adore,
the even keel,
the comeback to
the simpler times,
what I once knew,
the hills flattened
and excitement gone
from the ecstasy
that couldn't last long,
the depression downed,
a limiting of sadness,
the limiting to bring
an unlimited gladness,
the special days once
controlling every second
now in a rear view
making no mess of it,
the balancing act,
the tight rope trick
ready for me to
complete and stick
and welcomed with
open and hospitable arms
ready for the bland
and most boring of no charms.

The Crack

Tilt your head a bit
to see the crack
that goes down your head
and down your back,
that rips you in half
with every step
that causes more pain
as you continue to schlep.
It's the journey that drains
your every fiber
with every circumstance
becoming ever more dire.
It's the moment you realize
how dead you are
and that your hopes
are just that far.
It's that very second
you see fate's face
that puts you back
into your too real place,
that instant where you
see no further escape
only to realize it is
because it's starting to cave
and it's at that point
in that fleeting flash
that you see it all come
down to the epic crash
and it is only in the face
of that moment in time
that you realize only
your breathing is a crime.

It Blinks

Stagnant,
it blinks.
Resting,
it thinks.
Pausing,
it stays.
Quickly,
it strays.
Distracting,
it goes.
Contracting,
it glows.
Continually,
it lights.
Repeating,
it's bright.
Forever,
it shows.
Never,
it slows.

The Sneaking Suspicion

There it is again,
that sneaking suspicion
coming under
the same condition,
quiet mouths
speaking volumes
louder than
headline news.
The feeling that
says I made
another misstep
that won't fade.
It screams louder
and resonates
worse today
than past dates
as control is seized
over again,
no turning back,
no way to mend.

Fateful Math

The immaturity
that reigns supreme,
necessary, by the childish,
it is deemed.
More important
to prove the point
than care that
the point's disjoint,
he tells others
why it's done,
held by "principle,"
he holds a tongue.
He walks around
with misplaced pride,
the arrogance
that should have died,
but until he
falls on his face
his spirit will
reside in this place
that leads down
the winding path
until it adds up,
the fateful math.

Frozen Hands

The pain it is
of thawing these hands,
thawing these frozen
helper's of plans,
the pain fails
to subside,
to fall down,
unlike my pride.
It just steps
briefly from
freezing now,
but far from done.
Now the cold
turns to hot,
the burning too much
to be fought.
The heat is
more intense
than cold from
past tense
as temperature's
fierce intensity
points in my face
and laughs at me.
Time may take
this pain away
but it can't
in time to stay
so leave I must,
end this race,
to meet my eternal
resting place.

The Pressure Is All Mine

Bearing downwith the time
on these not-so-broad
shoulders of mine,
building, building,
temperature's rising,
the rush coming,
nothing surprising,
yet still forceful,
yet still fierce,
the high-pitched screams
for ears it does pierce.
Sweat dripping
until it's pouring
in moments never
construed as boring,
harsh terms reigning
supremely in the thick,
harsh terms staying
around to stick.
Moments unbearable
but asked to be bore
even when it's known
none can be taken, nothing more.
Pressures palpable,
air so thick
hearts become black,
smoking making them sick.
Knees buckling
to the ground
to be part
of a mound
but not before
a gross death,
the bloody beheading,
a fate met.

Giving Up

Giving up,
the writing's done,
I now quit,
though the sliding's just begun.
The fight to be
fought still here
is now useless,
the outcome I fear.
It is always
the same no matter
what I throw,
the problem getting fatter.
I want to
make it stop
but the focus lacks
at a pin's drop
as now I can't
push any more
to kick it
out the door.
The issue with
which is struggled
now is
the biggest trouble
and the tunnel
through which to escape
is unseen
in this treacherous landscape.
It's all over,
a loss at my hands,
a faltering to
all the demands
with the optimism
out the window
along with
a future to go.

Fuming

All the humor
with all the words,
none of the drive
and none of the urge,
just the right thing
to come from a mouth
that couldn't be more
useless nonsense if it'd shout,
a brain so wasted
on silly quips,
as encouraging as
chains and whips,
it is all for not
and all consuming
of a soul, a joke
that is now fuming.

Chaos

The self-inflicted affliction,
the glow of the growing,
the obviously obvious
that's quickly slowing,
breaking down the broken,
riding the crippled,
the problematic problems
that seem to have tripled,
the towering of towers,
the scaring fear mongers,
the preaching of the righteous
that could not be wronger,
the peace of the peacemakers
that brings war from the warriors,
the blood from the heartless
of the sacrificed couriers,
it all amounts to too much,
an amount unknown to the masses
with hopes of the hopeless
dashing from empty glasses,
empty pockets emptied out
in front of glossy eyes glossed over,
as useful as the useless idea
of the home of the eternal rover.

Abruptly

The tension's building,
the tension's rising,
nothing new
and nothing surprising.
It's too much,
it can't be handled,
it can only fall,
can only be dismantled.
The ledge approaches,
quickly draws near,
instilling the worries,
instilling the fear.
The push is felt,
it carries one over,
over the edge,
can't go further.
The thoughts race,
the words stumble,
the capacity,
it all fumbles,
but now the fall
is all too real,
nothing but fear
to still feel
with the crash,
the end that comes,
is here abruptly,
is here to stun.

The Feeling of Despair

The feeling in the stomach,
the feeling of despair,
the feeling of sickness,
the feeling that dares,
it all comes down
on a psyche split,
one that's broken
and one that's sick.
The spirit's done,
it's on the mat,
broken for good
and okay with that.
It knows the fight,
the energy it takes,
is no longer worth
the effort it fakes.
Instead its body
will remain on that mat,
lying there lifeless,
contently flat.

The Useless Whelp

Sitting in my pain,
wallowing in my sorrow
using up the time
that I've already borrowed,
the agony persists,
consistent in its needling,
crushing my weak ego,
one that needs feeding.
Tilting off the keel,
needing a straightening
to stop my falling,
to stop constant fading,
the screams within
my soul get louder
as the torment gains steam,
prouder and prouder.
It's all too much
to withstand without help,
me, my helpless self,
me, the useless whelp.

An Unfortunate Exchange

I can't remember
anything but flashes
with anger's throws
and throwing's crashes,
ice flew
and doors were slammed,
all cool heads gone,
self-control be damned.
Words were spewed
and actions out carried
with despicableness
and held tongues unmarried.
Reactions may have
warranted a response
but perhaps not the one
that was given on the spot.
The tempers flared
and emotions ran high
with voices raised
and fists to the sky.
Regrets are had
with guilt taking reign
all due to an
unfortunate exchange.