Rotting Legacy

Preach to me his rotting legacy

His crumbling fortress on wobbly stilts

His home amongst a fantastic image

Still laid amidst a canopy of leaves.

Pity a soul who has never loved

Abandoned to invent his own stimulation

To fantasize over things that can never be

There is no contempt in this vessel

No malevolence, or fulfillment

But there is a groan for contentment

It can never be.

Ostracized

He plays with the idea

Of living comfortably, humbly

While still making a change

Chiseling his story into the harbor stone

Overlapped by aquatic growth

Draped in the feces of the gulls

But the tale winds through every one.

The irony of the favored ones

The blessed are invited to dine

The servants are fed the crumbs

But he is not fed at all

And he has the greatest story.

A heart to offer.

A sacrifice to make.

His is a sweet passing scent

A wisp without a trail

A life, a love, but mere luxury

In light of others' suffering

And do the quakes shake him violently?

Does the mist depress his soul?

For the sake of this mission

He has rightfully served

Be it a whisper or a shout

Be it a breeze or a gale

His spirit shall find him rest

And leave his rotting legacy for his home.

Dreamer

Sing in my heart a tale of wonder

Majestic mountains and meadows under

With vibrant lands and climbing cities

A world at peace where no one pities.

Live a life that lasts so long

Where nature thrives and sings this song

Where sorrow ends and love is found

Where none, by fear, are ever bound.

A paradise

A land so free

A peaceful place

Amidst the trees

I see glistening groves growing amongst

The showers of summer’s swallowing sun

And the land below blessed beholds

The story of life, impeccably told:

As the clouds are washed; the land is hush

The creator gives the finishing touch

A beam of red, yellow, and blue

Admire the details in brilliant hues

Blending together; binding and set

Creator and creation brilliantly met.

Yet after this Eve of creation’s beset

The serpent bit man and left him for dead.

But on hallowed ground one vessel resides

Hidden away from critical eyes

Seeking no ardor or agreement with men

It works with its hands, no action condemned.

It nurtures its talents on stone, sand, and sea

Peaks on its toes so that it may see

Wonders and wishes; it will never grow old

And hopes to find this dream come unfold.

Will it venture beyond what is known to all

To see the grandeur of life and grains so small?

To drift away from the sea of doubt

And traverse the land untouched by drought?

Famine and turmoil

Death and disease

Has no influence upon what it sees.

The visible construct of one person’s dreams

Wishful thinking, or so it may seem

How distant in sight, and hard to achieve

Maybe not so far off for that one who still dreams.