The Forgotten Promise

Buried within the depths of wisdom Sacred words were all but—whispered Bound together in—a rhythm Leaving nothing left unanswered   Pages turned and by mine hand One before another As my heart did now understand Exactly what you sought to answer   Loudly did I…

Wide Awake

Deep sleep is where I laid Even while awake For it was when I obeyed That serpent, wise—old snake   When my thoughts returned to me From where they once had gone That I began to stop and see The path to which they fasten—…

Second Sight

For mysteries did hide from me As blind I was before But then reborn that I might see And faith— they then restore   Tears did drench mine eyes Baptized through my pain Yet— it’s then I could realize The strength I did contain  …

Cloak—and—Dagger

Concealed mysteries yet blatantly disclosed Entities— among us— in skins, disguised Yet holding sight, essence— itself composed Of things— we here, at best—only theorize!   Perception is vital— from whose eyes, we see As our decisions are formed by what we perceive Transformed into our…

Hour Twenty Four: Drug

a poem can be your drug of choice     Source: an erasure culled out from P.308 from the novel ‘ A million little pieces by James Frey

Hour 24: Villanelle – When I Am Far From Home

Villanelle – When I Am Far From Home I get guilty thinking of home, not being within these walls somewhere, that I don’t belong. Sometimes it feels right; sometimes wrong walking up and down the same halls and I get guilty thinking of home. Music…

Homeward Bound – Hour Twenty-Four

As I cross the bridge over the river, I know I’m almost home The changing leaves, their colors bright as if to welcome me back The two lane roads, the Amish buggies, the fields that span for miles The air so crisp and clean, I’m…

Hour 24: Home is Where Books are

Home is where books surround me, Where people who love books as I do Inhabit this paradise.   Independent Bookstores – Without coffee shops. Narrow aisles to make room for more books. Old and new books Shoved willy-nilly into place But the clerks who work…

Home #thepoetrymarathon #prompttwentyfour

The house is in need of paint, father, plaster peels off the walls. The verandah stares vacant and blank, no life within its halls. It’s just a house, I said to myself as I passed down that road, just a house, abandoned and dark that…

Hour Twenty Three: Speak to me, my love.

  speak to me, my love. I know you are playing peek-a-boo again. to them, you are gone. to me, you are still my muse, picture-perfect like your green-colored abode.   speak to me, my love. I know you get quite the buzz to keep…