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.

Echoes of Home

Sitting here in a robe
in this big red chair
enjoying my beverage
as hot as the room's air,
calling to no one
as I am here alone
with only my voice to
resonate in the echoes of home.
The big empty house,
this home at times
that currently only
houses this soul of mine,
every step I take
is one that creaks
as the windows allow air
to come in through the leaks.
There was formerly a family
that inhabited this place,
formerly an occasional
pleasant and happy face
as now the only face
to grace this place
is the one too bitter,
a bitterness too difficult to retrace.
Now that the holidays are here
and joy begins to surround
this house's Christmas spirit
is nowhere to be found.
There is only an embattled man
sitting in his comforts
of his loneliness solidified,
one that still stings and hurts.
Now as others can celebrate
and be thankful for family
he can only sit there and weep,
a choice he brought on himself,
a self-fulfilling prophecy.