Reflections clash with reflections
clashing with reality,
No way to tell what is real
or meant to be,
Through this confusion
I must chart my course,
Following in the natural current
of my life and not using force.

I can not tell you what is right or wrong,

I can only point out these reflections
are here, then gone,
No way to pick
the right or wrong one,
You make a choice
and then you’re done,
So go with your feelings
and choose the best-feeling one.

The Goatpen Is Silent

The goatpen is silent.

It could be because of the rain
its residents have taken shelter inside,
It could be because two are gone
the black one’s son and the lonely mother.

Whatever the reason only two remain,
the others sold off, now living in a new home
along with the two long-gone little kids.

The carefree summer I remember is gone,
there are no more games of headbutt and tag,
and I must leave my parents
like these two remaining goats.

I am grieving, but I have no tears,
the rain shall be my tears
with its constant falling.

The goatpen rests under a heavy,
somber cloak of silence
and it is still raining.


This body
is too old,
this life,
is too long

for this young spirit.

My soul
may be old,
my heart
is lined with scars,

but my spirit is young.

It belongs to a man
who never really enjoyed
his childhood
and the process

of growing older.

I want to carve into
this aging flesh,
let the life-blood flow out
into the ancient earth,

releasing my young spirit.

I want to teach
my soul a lesson,
that pain should never
be inevitable,

that suffering should never
be prolonged,
that by the time the flesh,
has reached its middle years,

some happiness
must have been found,
some enjoyment of life
must have been experienced.

You can not scare me
with threats of hell,
I am in hell,
with every breath I take.

I yearn to be happy,
I yearn to be free.

If i can release this pain
with something sharp,
a blade, a piece of glass,
draining it from me…

when it is finished,
I shall finally find
happiness and freedom.

Hope is dream
of the pitiful,
the dirt a starving man eats
to fill his empty belly.

To dream
is to be delusional.
Better to accept
your awful fate

then to fight it.


After many hours enclosed,
studying, I step outside
into the cool, evening air,
to find myself expanded,
filled with awareness,
almost even happy.

Everything is so much
bigger now, bigger than
the narrow confines
of my overworked,
exhausted mind.

The light of the setting sun,
these peaceful, floating clouds,
recharging batteries long seeming
dead, and empty.

Washing away the darkness
of the past hellish days
and cleaning some of
their stain from
my heart.

Unexpectedly, I feel peace.


In the wake of death’s passing, all is still.
Things will move slower for a while.

Colors are faded, sounds are muted,
silence falls heavy like snow.
It drapes over everything like a thick,
suffocating blanket.

All the noise of living has moved
respectfully to the side.
It waits for life to resumeĀ its usual
cadence and song.

Death has walked here. Tread carefully,
those who are mortal.

This Unspoken Thing…

Why is it so hard
for you to see,
How your Christian religion
separates you and me?

It is divisive by nature
the opposite of love,
Yet you deign to tell me
About God above?

What can you know of Him
when you don’t know yourself?
How can you accept Him,
when you can’t accept everyone else?

I don’t know how
to say these words to you,
But I hope I show it
in everything I do.