being benign

everyone's looking for something from you—
a pound of your flesh for a piece of your soul
it's not any wonder faith knows so few
for we're all so gaunt from some forgot toll

wishing & waiting for days that don't come—
all this while defying some setting in numb

strangers seem like they said: strange faces
like wraiths who see past this virtue & vice

you're delaying, not halting fate's embraces
already, she's seen in you & taken her price

it's futile; this war is long lost
you paid with your blood to cover the cost

you walk all along these straight lines
though being means you're being benign
& you know we couldn't be nearly fine

staring up

you're always seeing in the clouds.
you're dazed from so much staring up
into a portrait growing up.

a child-like faith:
in the motives & monsters under a bed;
in pretending that praying is bowing a head.

your world's got a veil all 'round it
meant to cleanse & keep it-

like:
a something far away & faint—
some chalk-drawn lines dividing restraint.
-like a something wild with primary paint
to keep away the futility taint.

what wholly truths
do not still have some pores?
grazed knees scar though they mend
& a fire within is of a kind can burn cold.

the prose in your plea

through a looking glass is:
resolve staring back-like
clarity & crystal — clear & then not.

resolve is like the motives you bought.

spinning & winding through in & out
like veins of fear-soiled faith tainting the air...
these pieces of puzzles like the journeys we wear.

your resolve is as strong as the faith that you doubt
& you must know somehow that you're playing devout.

you've known for some time
'bout the disease that you've caught
& you've not said a word,
but i see that you can't be the same.

listen just to the rhyme
& to what you know 'bout the beautiful shame.

reality & resolve are just the same word
echoing back like beat after blow
of the steps that you tread born of hard-earned woe.

the prose in your plea will one day be heard
& you'll know then, the way you were spurned.

this passion you are cannot be bought
& cannot be burnt.

all the braver men

inside & a part of me
there's a tattered, pale flag
i carry it 'round wherever i flee

it's worn from neglect & so much abuse
hasn't flown since ever, just drags 'round about
like my scarlet soul — a voice that cannot shout
i watch as all the braver men stand before a noose

my flag & i — we writhe it out without
it's just a bit of cloth all soaked in doubt
why should it matter that i have always known
how to give up, but not to atone?

all the braver men have run into the heat—
of a fierce, waged battle borne of defeat
some have known & some have not
but each fought with heart, no matter what his lot

i watch atop a faraway here
with envy lusting inside of revere
that men were strong amid their fear
would that i could run like they, with heart sincere

a scarlet scrape

lessons learned & all of that
proof of purchase; i swore i said it in my plea
sitting silent still & laying flat
behind the shadows praying at a gnat
shh— the world may see:
see me seeing all the high-gloss shrapnel & debris

yes, i see the blood & bent
i see the way it's leaning with intent
fingers & motives and ploys & taboos
it's just how they say every night on the news

there's nowhere that's far away
it's all next door to where we pray
the running's only gonna get you caught
'cause then they'll know that you have fought

someday you'll fall & they'll know you by a scarlet scrape
'cause you're all the same you know; you're that kind of shape