Thank you to Editor Mark Antony Rossi for publishing my three poems in the January Ariel Chart. 

Evil As An End In Itself

 

I imagine a terrible machine,

thrown out of balance,

that will end the world.

 

I cringe while hearing

tarnished truths,

on account of glittering lies

meant to produce hysteria.

 

We plain folk seek refuge

from instant horror, 

from the might of legions.

 

But not kings not dictators,

nor scholars of tyranny,

nor those who wax or wane in power,

will heed the oracle’s alarm.

 

I am too tired

to try to absorb

all that the hours wrestle with

in the great race for peace.

 

All I can clearly discern

is that if evil’s definition

is that which causes silence,

the world will be still soon enough.

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Secrets in the Dark

 

Tell me what you dreamt,

while you were unable to speak in the dark.

 

I carry the insomnia of martyrs.

I hear sounds heralded,

lost in chaos.

I heed them against 

the quiet march of dead sons 

in the hallway.

 

What were your impressions carved

within the sound sleep

of your high road?

 

I’ve asked you to tell me as best you can,

asked you to unveil,

what must be remembered.

 

What did you dream in the dark,

that puts you at ease

upon your foggy shelf?

Perhaps that’s a question

for another conversation.

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New Bronzes

 

Arched hooves of demons,

skin as silk or leather

wearing constraining vesture.

 

Worshipping black crosses,

a series of other vulgar effigies.

A bowing intoxication to pitch,

unsaintly indifference to anger burning.

 

Contemporary statuaries,

dark with the stain of blood,

their legacy carved on corrupt hearts.

 

Their deception exists in their own psyche

and de-evolves beyond.

It’s easy to pinpoint their fallacies.

 

Thieves at work,

found in the latitudes of torments drawn down.

All seasons thick 

with the suicide of broken hearts,

terrified with shock.

 

The crude quarantine of salvation,

nothing but distaste for the councils of heaven.

Occult power desired,

and a new age with new bronzes stands,

where that once beatified is dead.

 

New Bronzes will stand 

until man finds new mettle

and a more dauntless spirit.