spirit

you leave us lesser
when you’re not fighting the war.
checked out by your hand.

soft cradle of love
fits the heart like a warm glove.
spirit a winged dove.

we trap all the beautiful things
and watch them while they die.
white lilies in an empty glass vase.
red roses pinned and bleeding a bouquet.
the people too the celluloid captures.
pieces of soul pinned to a board
like butterflies pinned to a wall.
the urns of dust collecting same.
the moments lost, the guilt and shame.
when we live fast and die young.
the icarus’ wings too close to the sun.
methuselah wrinkled time and skin the same.
pythagorus squared the mobius strip.
the creative artist on an acid trip.
time we fight in empty space.
the never ending brutalizing pace.
time so slippery it can’t get wet.
the joker the jester the clown at rest.
the birth of a baby a dying pet.
the futility of life of any quest.
i think that god must surely jest.
and in the end after all is done.
the night and the light the gloaming fight.
fond farewell to dante’s hell.
at the very least the fifth circle i dwell.
this last night the breath is tight.
the life once lived in full flight.
do go gentle into that final night.

the fears over years
shadows from a nervous mind.
when worry bites man.

slow fall into grace.
caught by the arms of temp’rance.
soft the hands of love.

in the bond of two
the family draws closer.
a world united.