poetry

If life is meaningless, why bother with opinions?
If we don’t care about life, why worry about death?

Soaring through the sky, past the home
In the clouds, that I said would be sweeter
Than a fresh box of See’s chocolates
And warmer than a pine-filled stove.

Atheists laugh at the idea of sin
As they lie to their friends,
And steal to fuel their addictions:
Wolves plotting in the night;

Dark clouds before the rain
A chill creeps through the air
After the first drops fall,
A fresh scent follows

People tell me to write about hope.
“This isn’t the time for dark thoughts.”
Fine, so be it. I see the light everyday
And when I walk in the yard,—I smile:

If we don’t read deeply, our wits will wilt:
A pedal drops every day that pages lie in wait.

Atrophy is the apogee of all organic life
Run and flee, happily, from the doctor’s knife

I’m grateful for Nature’s beauty
But, when I dream, I create anew:
Flowers and trees unlike anything

Why won’t you die
For what you believe in?
Why won’t you lie—
Sores ripe from a beating?

Animals and plants don’t judge me. 
And when I talk to them, they listen.

The sky is gray
Kneel and pray
As ash darkens
The window sill.