The Holy War

we are born cradling our knees

as closely as a guitarist plucks his strings

holding onto the spark

buried deep into the tissue

subconsciously, we expose our torsos

only

to those who make us feel vulnerable

i’m bound from heavens doors by these blankets

false advocates reach for my stomach

ao while i lay and pray

the devil dances on this mattress

i’m breathing heavy

and curl up

rocking between heaven and hell

there’s no more left of my spark to sell

but i hear the bidding for my organ’s 

are going quite well

that’s when sleep swoops in and

saves me

when everything fades

thoughts begin to fall like dominoes 

the battle follows, a shadow

i can’t feel my knees like a wounded soldier

my war’s peace

is somewhere between death and defeat

Past The Moons

he dreamed of a place
past the moons
and cuckolds of his heart
where he and his lady could bask
in the warped rhapsody of their love
a story told an untold times
mounted against him
So he waited
strangled by principle
he waited for the revolution
to scream aloud with his bloody fist
in the air, in the name of all he held dear
for the sins to be unearthed
to labor for his children
and die a warrior
He waited for danger
to kill and spite his country
a gladiator in another time with another her
If only she were aware of the way he’d
bare knuckled three armed guards outside
her bedroom window
or how he stayed up all night
tending the fires so that she’d never know cold
or loneliness
but it never came
It passed him over in every century
a philosopher a teacher an artist
a woman an apprentice a poet
a lawyer a father a nurse
a dancer a devil a leader and a criminal
all couldn’t break character
not even for an instant did he
dispel a silent oath for anarchy
He perished unfulfilled and unsung
for generations
wondering what he had done
why visions of valor never came to be
why he needed the fight
why he dreamed of this
lady’s beauty
every night