the wishing well

It was yesterday that i
stumbled upon a wishing well.
it was a cool, tempestual
murmur of a grey,
and the darkness which it bore
had a large belly
and an eye for detail.
it was in this wishing well
that I was able to gaze for the very
first time into my future.
there was an obdurate silence,
and then a loud clap of thunder
tore away at my ears,
denying my defenses,
snickering at me like a man in a dream
i had very long ago.

i saw beneath strokes of deep and voluptuous
purples and reds a nation
which was dying,
where the colors so vibrant
and the voices so loud
and the liquor fermented to the point of
exhaustion
made the heart and the mind sick.

but then I remember I was a poet
so I looked into the well once more

and I saw a man standing tall on a hill reciting
lyrics from the ancient balladeers,
pretending to be the fabled fool
who stood on a hill
and saw the world spinning round.
but the man was a regression,
a simple repetition of the
chords and the signals
relayed again and again and again
and I became frustrated and stepped back.

and looked into the well for a final time.

and I saw a canvass signed
with my very own mark, but the canvass
was blank.
at first this upset me until I realized something fairly important.
i was wasting my time looking into the future
instead of making it

My bayonet is made of steel

My bayonet is made of steel,
She glitters in the morning light,
I wonder now how it would feel,
To rendezvous with her at night,

My musket barrel sings of oak,
Her voice is sharp and bittersweet,
Through crimson-violet clouds of smoke,
A passerby can taste her treat,

My uniform is cotton-born,
She smells of blood and sugar cane,
Corrupted, drenched and weather-worn,
Her lips are wet from morning rain,

My enemy is o’er that hill,
With tearing eyes and bleeding heart,
For soon it will be time to kill,
I’d thought it different at the start…

Captain Victorious

The stage lights grew dim and the crowd ceremonious,
Trumpets erupted, the snare hit a trill,
The sun nestled deep and the moon was symphonious,
Curtains flew open, all hearts shuddered still,
I can’t say the spectacle wasn’t but glorious,
Silver-gold ruby and emerald light,
‘Twas all in the honor of Captain Victorious,
Hero of wartime and patron of night