Quiet Practice Of Language

Photo by Poppy Thomas Hill on Pexels.com

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

Locked Behind The Chauffeur’s Key

Photo by Simon Berger on Pexels.com

Locked behind the chauffeur’s key
I know you love me, but can’t admit
Thoughts trampled itinerant words
You’re unfocused & ashamed by it

I don’t have any sex that sells
That’s not an option for guys like me
The car’s musty & you’ve lost the scent
& you’re looking for a way to break free