December reminds me of an old friend
the way certain songs trigger memories
locked away in the mind’s attic, basement.
Like opening unlabeled boxes from a storage closet,
I dust off photo albums from what seems like distant dreams –
a childlike innocence in sepia,
long-forgotten joy fuzzy and faded –
forceful reminders that yesterday was real and true enough.
It is in December that I find an old friend –
my “there he was” as opposed to my “here he isn’t anymore.”
With the festivities and cheer the month brings everyone,
the memories it brings is what I loathe December for.

The flickering lights of a star-lit night
The street lamps burning — what a sight
Gazing at the starry sky
At midnight — my rocking chair and I.

I sang a song forgotten ’bout the brightly shining sky
That it came to mind, I was left to wonder why.
I shed a tear for loneliness as I began to cry
At midnight — my rocking chair and I.

The crow sang merrily, barely audible to me.
He stared back at my countenance, still perched upon a tree.
I felt I was about to die — alone — a sigh
At midnight — my rocking chair and I.

There I sat crying slowly dying — only rocking chair and I
Staring, gazing, still admiring the wonders of the sky.
Lonely singing, crying, dying to smile, I said I’d try
At midnight — my rocking chair and I.

Humiliated!
My Pride died again today
You must share its fate

Pretty butterfly
My cats would tear you apart
But they are not here

In meditation
Attainment of inner peace
What a crock of shit

Channel surfing bliss
tanto, daisho, tactical –
two hicks hawking knives

A herd of children
walking to the library
so long, quietude

I feel inferior
to everyone in this world
I want to destroy

My crowbar awaits
unsuspecting customer
demanding more time

a happy chorus
celebrating existence
I wish they would stop

Now all hope is lost
Here, there is only sorrow
Film at eleven

Leaves in autumn breeze
swaying in my memories
Summer really bites

I saw a sunset –
horizon consumed in flames
and it made me smile

Standing in the rain
wasting all my pleasant thoughts
wishing I was dry.

A tranquil garden
cherry blossoms all around –
where the hell am I?

Behold the three that rule and reign the delusions of the sane –
The haunted memories that govern thought — that lead to ruin, strife, and pain
View the bind with which it holds, view the terror it unfolds
View the foolishness of seeking that which life itself withholds

The curse of love destroys the soul — a demon that demands control
convincing all these broken pieces into seeking an imperfect whole.
A conflict with no resolution, love is, above all, a grand delusion
And if love is the Creator God, I fail to see its grandest vision.

The curse of rage is man’s design, forged in the fires of the divine
A freedom celebrated as we dangle from the vintner’s vine
Though we are never truly free, rage defines humanity
and thus described, it devours the fate of our society

Of all these curses I hold dear, I hold closest the curse of fear
The quiet guiding comfort that found me at an early year
In the darkness where I hide, fear is always by my side
Its ruling crown dictating choices that I reluctantly decide.