Domestic Insurrection

Around me are the colors of defeat,
They drink with me and contemplate my wine,
I never thought that I with them would meet,
Yet bound am I in chains of crimson vine,
A streak of white erupts into the wind,
An iron heart sinks deeper in the ground,
A siren calls collecting those that sinned,
A drummer rolls without a single sound,
What I had thought was only but a dream,
Escaped me on a winter’s afternoon,
And just as things are never what they seem,
The frost will come and sink my air balloon,
A shame, it is, that finally when we meet,
Around me are the colors of defeat

In Guilt

In guilt, you say, is ridden crime,
An ache that stands the test of time,
Whose verse corrupts and bitters rhyme,
Of poetry that should be sweet,

In guilt, you say, there lies a kiss,
With ghosts of long lost happiness,
While never have I felt such bliss,
I sense your conscience incomplete,

As love embarks, does love return,
A lesson all romantics learn,
Leaves one in wealth, the other burned,
And simply nothing can be done,

I claim to live by no regrets,
But sometimes even I forget,
That rain, before it dries, is wet,
No matter how you love someone,

As far as repercussions go,
The Gods, they shout, “I told you so,”
But deep inside you ought to know,
That life is meant for those who live,

And while the pain is shared by two,
The other will find love anew,
And shimmering in the morning dew,
You’ll find that sunrise can forgive

Peru

From silken ropes and dusted stars,
A web of constellations glow,
And though they seem so very far,
A beach road craft for Pisco bars,
Each light I now admit to know,

The brightest north, assumes the crown,
Of velvet rush and crimson rise,
With golden stone reversing frown,
And hills that roll forever down,
A city brings its own demise,

And stowed away beneath some hill,
And nestled deep into the sky,
Awaits a flowered windowsill,
With mouths to feed and time to kill,
And a sun-baked stucco alibi,

I’ve come from land and open sea,
To find that, very much at home,
I’m blinded by a symphony,
That picks apart and swallows me,
Until I grant it’s right to roam