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)