The Face of War

I see your eyes, far and lost.

A face frozen in time,

caked in dust and blood.

Dazed and shocked,

There are no tears, no cries.

I see your face so close,

yet so far away.

A picture says a thousand words;

But what words could we say?

The World’s eggshell heart

Breaks every single day,

For the pain, we cannot bear.

How many tears must be shed?

How many bombs must be dropped?

How many people must we destroy

Before we see our own destruction

In the eyes of a little boy?


The Nightwalker

Leaves crunch and crackle beneath my careless step

As the trees sway bare in the wintry breeze.

The streets littered with abandoned cars,

Like long forgotten tombs of yore.

Who drove these mechanical beasts?

What smells linger? Old Chinese?

Cigarette ash? or cheap cologne?

Where are their masters resting their weary heads now?

Leaves crunch and crackle beneath my careless step

And in the heart of Night, my only guiding light;

The stolid comfort of the chilling moon goddess, Artemis.

Her pale light bathing the streets and structures

in a sickly pallor.  I walk the night in an

abandoned city laid to waste, to claim it all my own!

A king of the dead, basking in all its skeletal beauty!

A place to call my own!  A palace for the gods to gather;

to shine once more in all their resplendent glory!

Leaves crunch and crackle behind me and the dreams of

the night slip back into the shadows from whence they came,

waiting for me to bring them back once again.



Peace in Death

The bullet shoots straight and true,

As he watches her fall to the ground.

His love, his land, his people.

He sees the enmity that gives these evil

Men their hellish wings.  He can smell

The sulfurous winds that allows these beasts to take flight.

He sees the azure sky blacken before his eyes;

The verdant land painted red with his people’s blood.

His black hair furiously whips about his face;

The spirits vying for his attention.

Telling him of the horrors that will follow once the buffalo are gone.

He watches the carnage unfold before him;

His dark eyes, like slits in the blazing sun.

He sees with a heavy heart,

His home raped

And his people ravaged.

He hears Great Father weep upon the

Breast of Earth Mother.  And he feels

The hot stream of tears run down his ancient face.

What have we done to deserve this?

Why, when I ask for peace, am I only answered with death?

As he saw the white man charge upon his horse,

The chief crossed his arms over his broad chest,

And began to sing the Death song.

O Great Father, asetanétóváne.

Through the Eyes of a Poet

I see the shadows cast about your troubled face;

The many dark lines of many sleepless nights.

The grey-lit eyes that try so desperately to reach the surface,

From the dreary depths of madness.

They are the eyes of a dead man;

Flat, dull, and listless.

You wander between the worlds of sleep and wakefulness.

Trying to rid the demons that throttle you at night;

Your throat forever parched.

You hear the damned scream;

Spectral figures that come through the mist;

Calling to you.  Pleading for you to join them.

Creatures crawling towards you; feverishly tugging

At your waistcoat. Their abject faces inches from your own.

Their malodorous breath violating your nose.

Their jaws unhinged. Their mouths wide open in an empty scream.

And in the grip of fear, you assent to their cries

As they pull you into the gaping maw of Madness.

(An Ode to Poe)

Killing Time

I’ve seen him too many times to count.

This modern day vampire, feeding off

Of the life of man. I’ve seen him drain

The life of the young and old.  Seen their

lustrous hair, turn grey and melt into snow.

Flawless faces, now riddled with lines. I saw

Him pull a blade out and carve into

Their flesh, like that of a pumpkin.

He hops on top of a mother’s back,

And watches as she struggles under

His weight.  Within minutes, she’s hobbling

Along like a venerable crone.

He doesn’t know I’ve been waiting for

Him all these interminable years

Waiting for him.  Waiting to kill him.

As he ravages a young child;

Nothing but clothes and bones crumple

She falls into a pile of dust.

As he turns his eyes on me, his grin

Slithers across his face.  He lurches

Toward me, and I brace myself for what

Will come. I raise the dagger to meet

His savage heart; but then he stopped.

“I’m everything and nothing.” Time said.

“You can not kill me with what I was

Born from. I am the fabric that makes

This web we call the “Universe”.  I

Am the great equalizer.  Without

Me nothing could exist.  Not even you.”

“So why do you feed upon us like

Locusts devouring many crops?”

I asked.  “Death isn’t the great evil;

You are. Death is just a gatekeeper.

You are nothing more than a plague put

Upon this earth.” He stared at me

With those slits for eyes. “You see more than

most do in a lifetime.  I will let

You enjoy this moment for now, but

I will be back, because change cannot

Happen without Time.  And to stay the

Same is to die.”


I stumble into an empty room,

Riddled with artifacts from young past.

A sanctuary for a lover’s heart to rest,

Lies beating upon the floor

In a plaintive rhythmic drone.

Your perfume still lingers here;

Like deadly nightshade, it dulls my senses.

And in a somnolent state, I see your spectral form appear.

Your auburn hair strewn about the pillow,

Like a brilliant sunburst, cradling your comely face.

I hear the joyous song of your laughter

echo in my mind, like the flutters of a butterfly’s wing.

And in the mourning light, I wake to no goddess by my side;

Just the ghostly fragments of a dream.

And as I begin to weep upon your pillow,

All I can smell is the sickly sweet scent of loss,

Forever paralyzed in your memory.

The Magician


His countenance betrays nothing.

His eyes focused and unyielding.

His hands flutter, like wings of a bird.

Disappearing and reappearing with languid precision.

His hair leonine; wild and untamed.

He takes a goblet, turning water into wine.

He takes his staff and tosses it into the air.

And at its zenith, transforms it into a mighty sword.

With a deft hand, the Magician

Tears it from its impending descent.

He takes the blade and cuts through the air

In a big arc around him.  Encircling himself.

His eyes now ablaze with fervent vigor;

Propelled by some cosmic force.

He sweeps the blade faster and faster

Around him, until it almost appears

As though he cut through the very fabric of time.

And a circle of white light surrounds him.

Vitruvian in all his splendor, he spreads

His limbs out as if he were spokes in a wheel.

Slowly he begins to turn inside the circle of light,

Spinning faster and faster with hellish speed,

Until a radiant flash bursts into a million stars.

As above, so below.

As it is on earth, so it is in heaven.