Late at night
alone.
No company but thoughts
and memories.

Which lead to doubts
in old men.
Could I have done better?
Can I do better?

It is during these times
that the long knives
slowly peel our souls
and test the metttle
of our beliefs.

Do you ever wonder,
as I did in my youth,
why old men never seem
to sleep?

SEPTIC TANK

He staggers blindly down the street, thick , grey fog swirls round.
The silence cheats him of his sense of hearing , not a sound .
He knows that if he uses the old walking stick he'd found
Then, like a blind man he could make his way

The bridge had washed away, now how to reach the other bank
He comes to the decision to cross by the septic tank
Knows he is near when all around him rises smell so rank
That he can feel his nose start to decay.

Kinesthetic/ First flower.

See how snow edged woods
display such white array of dazzling carpets,
wide, beneath the taller bare twigged trees
they spread their happy bells,
full dresses for the ball,
the grand explosive dance of spring
revolving in a waltz,
to turn the minds of birds and beasts
upside down, downside up,
round and round the round about of growth,
that rises, slowly rises up to light.

A tribute to trinity
as the moon seems to wane
how is one so demented
meant to even remain sane

a tribute to trinity
as the sun sees his early rise
so to does the light of day
show to humanity their slow demise

the killing of the trinity
no more in fear do mere men dwell
for in this new millenium
we have brought home the fires of hell

ancients of trinity long forgotten
buried in downtrodden ruins
no more wisdom to be handed down
all old ways renounced by the moderns