New Age

While this society was a direct opposite of a younger society that stood from its strength not shook from it’s fragility and indecision, there are proponents that argue that this generation is the second beginning of creation. Information is readily assessable via various handheld devices, curiosity is aplenty and the youth find intrigue with the aberrant course. I believe it is on this path that creation is found and revolutionary phenomena is discovered along the unscathed roads of nascent enlightenment. I believe the complexity of this pursuit almost always ensues peril and is unbecoming of the frail seekers searching for only recognition with discovery. I believe passion is married with any true monumental discovery and one’s desire to aid others by advancing the world. We fail in social interactions and falter under the pressure of frivolous discourse but capitalize on the access that we’ve been blessed with. A question no longer lingers for decades, ignorance no longer has refuge, and finally the origin of facts can be pronounced on any basis of any honorable argument. What a time to be alive.



       I can trust that, when searching for the heralds of decency my quest will be long. Eventually the pursuit will seem frivolous and the causes abolished, but I will continue. I know that the evidence will not bode well for the quality of the current generation of youth. I mustn’t follow those who spread hate by perpetually associating color with action, color with crime, or color with anything other than a description of the subject at hand. I mustn’t follow the eternally self-victimized; the ones pointing the blame of hatred at the “white man” and not noticing the hatred that they feel in their very hearts. I will not look toward those who cannot see the problem that they’re crafted into something immortal. When searching for this decency I must look not only with mind but with heart, for my knowledge fails where my heart does not. 

        I fear the dogma of nobility has been desecrated and only holds true with our blessed elders. The hatred of mankind for mankind is nothing short that despicable. We have caches where we store our arsenal of blame to fire whenever questioned. We oppress ourselves by believing wholeheartedly that we are oppressed. We cannot step outside our safe havens of history because reality is just as bleak. I fear the possibility of peace…has never existed.

Face of God

Inconstancy chipping at my perfect portrait of the face of God,
A menacing mixture of acted love and emoted hate,
Darkness befalling the silver lights,
Taking the rivers joyous into ocean’s lakes,
Now night,
I cannot see my God.

Meanings dilute by wicked waters casting validity into murky bayous,
I watch them eaten by snipes from heretical tongues,
Sharp comments from dumb,
The dammed, the none,
The ones which wane with contact by the sun,
The one’s that run,
I cannot see my God.

I cannot see my God beyond the cloud of humid arrogance,
Dragging the stench amongst the nature,
Loose and freely polluting water vapors,
Inhale and beget…
The will to forget,
That we have not the power, nor passion,
To whip good from Earth,
Over shuddered screams,
The mother speaks softly in the trees,
Jogging what memory left,
That no form of inhumane theft can snatch away the light,
While in night,
While in bayous,
While in scorn,
There are us who strive adorn,
The ugly blackness of what man has left,
I see my God,
In actions,
In inaction,
In space,
In peace,
In hate,
I hear her in leaves,
Over lakes,
And in fate,
Ol’ mother Earth.

What We

Oh whoa we,

We as a whole,

The conviction of interests and closely knit goals,

The reach of something more beyond stained silver and blemished gold.

Oh whoa we,

We as a group,

The affliction of what combined drive could offer to truth,

The essence of time, presence and involvement in youth.

Oh whoa we,

We together,

In harmony, a gift for forever,

To make shortcomings no longer an endeavor.

Oh whoa us,

We, built on trust,

We grabbed winds and tug gusts,

Of passing prosperity,

We knowingly joined the popularity,

To be warned of the dangers of clarity,

In times of other’s clouded judgement,

We became, created, when others could make nothing of it,

We saw a forecast of rainy days and rewrote,

When silence chilled clouded chapped rooms, we spoke,

We made possible of from which those joked,

We removed the generational cloak-

That presented us as a selfish folk that choked,

On the words of our ancestors and old,

We know that success was not a product to be sold,

We lovingly adopted what we were told,

And put it flames,

We know that we are only to blame,

For our inability to change,

The very foundations that left our demons free and untamed,

That we are to blame,

For our chains,

We will, by our eternal domain,

Be glorified,

Oh whoa we.

A Simple Game Of Creation

Craft me please,

As the ocean does the soft breeze,

Against the rigid earth,

Please stand still, find the worth—

In the chilling cold,

Choose to be created from no mold,

But boon,

The boon that burst from his mother’s womb.


With the tips of your fingers and my guidance…build,

I’ll speak explicit of the pressure your fingers wield,

You fingers will,

Be my beginning,

You fingers will,

Do my trimming, skimming, bending, thinning –

Of the last, brass, crassly brash past…

That holds in my memory,

The enemy…the enemy to my future and creator of my present,

A simple game of creation, you must be eternal, you must be incessant,

For my past…is good at what it does; create.