The Shut-in

The Shut-in

Peek through the peephole.

Behold the ghosts

Of childhood shadows.

<>

Hungry. Alone. Forever.

Forever hungry and alone.

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Malnourished

By a cold disregard

For the passage of time.

<>

The frozen branch breaks

From wind and weight,

And a burning desire

To escape the ice

And be consumed…

Renewed by the fire?

<>

Old and brittle,

Far removed

From roots

Planted firmly

In sour ground.

A sallow creature

Peers out from behind

The closed door

And wonders

In tranquil splendor

At the fading spirits

Wandering, wondering

At the wandering spirits

Fading, wondering

At the dance that dies

In the hallowed hearts

Of lonely, broken men.

***** * *****

Abortions of Consciousness

In attempting to avoid the pangs of self-realization, we destroy the self before it is born, and have the audacity to call this love.

***** * *****

What Mary Shelley Saw

At the end

Of her story

The monster

Shambles

Into the waste.

<>

It was not a fiend

But a blind

Force of nature

Unleashed

By an unwitting

Creator…

<>

She cannot see

The Good Doctor

Anymore,

Only the man

And his ambition.

<>

She understands

His failure

Because she shares

His good intentions.

<>

Let’s be Frank:

We don’t know

What we’re doing.

Let’s be Frank:

We’re making it up

As we go along.

Let’s be Frank:

I ain’t here

To sell you nothin’!

I’m just here

To sing my song

Until I’m gone…

My song! Get it while it's hot, or at least before the body gets cold...