Of Life in the Deep Blue

Yesterday, my son had no heart.
His languid philosophy left his lips limp
without ever learning
how to care. How can love fix that?

I saw the same stars, once,
through the hole in my once-apathetic core.
But instead of dwelling, I reached deep
and tore out a reason to keep living. And this filled my hole
with bliss.

My son never held a heart in his hands.
And I never gave him the wisdom to
free himself from feeding on a morbid world.
A good father would have been waiting
to stop and stir the truth in life in his son
without watching him cast out of the deep blue.

I only hope the gods of the tide
on the other side of the surface
can father him better than a broken man.

As the Tree Sings Timber

I stood eyeless among life’s endlessness, absorbing vastness;
Growing old; growing mighty; growing wise, and patient for death
I watched as humankind began its cancerous tread across the world.
Tears, if a growth could grieve, might have deluged down my trunk
If I were human. While nature swallowed the gorgeous plague that is civilization,
Karma, a force godly among gods, laughed with its Seven Deadly Weapons.
Though we who hold nature were placed aside, as we always are,
Credit for a fresh earth sleeps still, buried in the dead stumps and swelling pits
We are the entity who lives forever. We are the elders – the mouths
Who watch over you, breathing every cell a better life. We grow tall
And never tired. Never will nature be put to rest, and nothing will change
In a world where cabins and sculptures are structured of bone and steel.

Relativity

Who's to claim their life is honest
When, relatively, we are all?
Black, white, yellow, green.
Point and case. Try and think.
Bee-hives: swarms of death or life?
Apropic storms defending life with strife.
Or is it strife? I believe the thorns
They wield for greater good and bad; yes, and.
Watch your mouth, son. We're all doomed ends
To portray honesty to the dishonest
and dishonesty to the honest.

The Ripper

Her coarse skin sailed across my chest
And soaked my harborous lips.
Cold, quivering fingers, craving
Pastries of their own,
Crawl over my body, screaming
Yearning for a second death.

With my honest stare I pierced
Her sugar-coated eyes,
Grasped from deep within my shroud
A redeemer of the lost.
Then played Demeter on her crust
And made a waterfall of Sin.

I loosed the candy apples from
Beneath her tangled veins,
And savored sliced confections
Of her rich ambrosial skin.
Giggling, all while whispering:
You are free, my dear;
You are free in me.