Poems 2

ANGELS AND GHOSTS
A spirit
A specter
A vision
A ghost
An angel
The Host

In a blinding flash of fiery glory
The religious tell a Holy story
And pagans charge a crooked staff
They bow to the Lord
Or give praise to a sward
The Blood of the Cross
Is the blood of a head
With innocence lost
It gives life to the dead
There, in the starry night
Of eerie twilight
An angel or a ghost
But which, no one knows

And as the wailing wisps of whipping wings
Define this night of mortal sin
A dance in the darkness
A waltz with the wind
Ancient cracks vining down the mausoleum
Reflections of dew on the lawn
In a silent whisper, it fades away
Like a galleon astray
That disappears in the bay
There, amidst midnight's moonlit haze
Beyond the backlit grave
A spirit or a specter
A vision or The Host
An angel or a ghost
And which, no one knows

***

THE WINTER BUTTERFLY
A midnight ballet in darkened silence
Of dancing spirits in a peaceful violence
The chill of December yields a night to remember
As shimmering snow, from moonlight's aglow
Conceals mysterious secrets of murder and death
The waltz of the colors, one last desperate breath
Of spirits on the night
The angels' Holy fight
The sacramental rite
The Butterfly's last flight

A lazy  drift from October's sky
Of fluttering leaves failing to fly
Like a dragonfly astray among a hectic highway
They blow all around, as sailboats in a stormy sound
The chaos ensued, so beautiful, so black
Like spirits in the night
The angels' Holy fight
The sacramental rite
The Butterfly's last flight

A twilight hail by the moonlit mist
The Angel of Death mourning a clipper alist
Into a sea of regret; a night to forget
Yielding a ghost-ship to roam, forever alone
Its sails eternally flapping, awind in the calm
A curse, and enigma, and incessant ethereal song
With spirits in the night
And the angels' Holy fight
The sacrificial rite
And the Butterfly's last flight

***

BED OF ROSES
I see them hiding in the shadows
Attempting to foreshadow
The Armageddon of men
Who end hypocrisy with "Amen"

There's a Gideon's Bible in the City of Sin
That nobody knows is there
And like the Cardinals who loose their rings
It lives in nonexistent prayer

I see them high up in their pulpits
Preaching to the culprits
But their Cross made of gold that shines so bold
Rusts even in the Gilded Age

And that clergy who begins to sin
May sleep all too well in their bed of roses
But that black veil around them still closes
For even a bed of roses will stab you in a back

I see Him crying to the Father
Blood running with rain water
Stained ties binding them together
Then confine them there forever

And still they wonder why it thunders
Why skies cry and good men die
Even angels fall, and the Devil stands tall
When the chorus forgets to sing to the congregation's silent hymns

But as the belfry tolls
For virtue untold
He cowers in fright
A child in the night
By the righteous he's entombed
As on fire, he's consumed

***

BROKEN DANCER
Flashing lightning
Pattering rain
This darkened room expands the pain
He shivers slightly
Pounds the wall
His emotion, his body, his spirit mauled

Broken mirrors
Broken passion
A broken dancer on the floor
Her broken dreams
Her silent screams
Her haunting music haunts no more

Booming thunder
Slashing gale
His tears splash off her face
Her deadly grace
her bloodied lace
The memories stained the same as her veil

Ethereal moon
Eerie quiescence
The dew on the grass washes the blood from the night
The mist from the lake
The shadowed full moon
He's remembering steps in his dance throughout life

Broken fog
Over mirrored water
A broken dancer is no more
Broken dreams
And silent screams
As his body slips below

***

WALTZ WITH THE WIND
The world, it keeps on turning
It turns around the moon
And through the universe's midst
Around the stars, around the sun
Creating waves of fiery sand upon the blood red dunes

These dunes, they keep on forming
Despite the summer blaze
The winter snow, the autumn breeze
They endure forever's gaze

That incessant stare from the twilight sky
Fires golden lances that pierce my eyes
The purple horizon overlooking the sea
Throw shadows that creep and lurk all about me

The shadow on the sand, it will waltz with the wind
With its spectral spirit sprawled
But when midnight's aura casts a moonlit mist
It doesn't exist at all

And so while I think the world of myself
And know the world isn't complete without me
I guess the world doesn't think much of me
And I don't complete the world

And the world, it keeps on turning
Through the universe's midst
As another spirit waltzes
In midnight's moonlit mist

***

ABOVE THE HORIZON
A whisper in the darkness
A soldier in the moonlight
A hero that could almost exist
In the abyss of an unmarked grave

Basra looming on the horizon
A mirage rising
Shimmering through the blazing sun
Like warriors bygone
From the Battles of Bull Run,
Yorktown, Vera Cruz, Cambrai, and Bastogne
Between unseen scars
And bloodied hearts
Broken dreams and desires
For Duty, Honor, Country
With Courage and Commitment,
Integrity, Service, and Excellence
They'll dance in the twilight
Break the silence of the night
Wake the spirits in the Northern Lights
For their valiant sacrificial rite

And when Einstein dreams of worlds afar
He stands in Flanders' Fields
Where poppies blow through rows of Crosses
Amidst heroes ascended through tears