Quiet Practice Of Language

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Quiet practice of language
Where saints lay desecrated
Discarded words & their meanings
Grizzled by dreams we’ve created

Continuing on is our only option
In spite of our demon’s desires
Internal resolve beats steadily
Rising once more; trial by fire

Disquieted Moments In The Afternoon

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Disquieted moments in the afternoon
These Springtime rays have a golden hour
Reflecting youth into my weary eyes
The reassuring notion of dreampower

Yet gone are the mornings we woke afresh
Our mortal flesh reeling down on Earth
Life; the thorn in the side of this existence
Internal fire requires our souls a wider berth

The slings & arrows shall never fully hinder
For love always eventually finds a way
Darkness cannot extinguish the sun
This truth discovered by the piercing light of day

I’m Seeking A Truth

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I’m seeking a truth within these fragmented words

My thoughts won’t cooperate with how my fingers move

Typing on this old handmedown machine to transform

My mundane existence into a magical, deliberate groove

I am not afraid to expose the flesh of a wilted soul

There are no heroes in these parts, just broken misanthropes

Internalizing the segmented society & all the villains

Returning to coffee so black the void regains precious hope

Guiding Honor Of The Fallen

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Guiding honor of the fallen
Valkyries of the night
With ragged & rugged wings
Taking to unheralded flight

They’ve had their wars
They returned, albeit broken
Surviving the tragic game
Internalizing words not spoken

Silenced trumpets by the side
Undying love of those who protect
Can’t fathom the burdens they carry
& for everything, you have my respect