he reminded me of lonely nights spent singing in the city lights,
sweet and naïve as i searched for an ounce, a single speck, of reprieve.
now i stand at belphegor's door, sluggish and staring at the blackened shore,
where i keep wasted years in the water stirring strongly against the shaky piers.
although the sloth says i'm a horrible thing, i silently wish for him as my king.
102123
from 2023
The Last RideHis fragile frame hoistsItself up into the saddle.Tired hands grab the reins.All but used up legs shiftTo the size of the saddle. "I'll make it." Was all he said to reassureAnyone that he could do it.His hands grip the reins,Causing the horse to look up. With the slightest shiftIn his weight, the horse moves.A wide smile on his face asHe pulls to the right. The horse rears up,His fragile frame twisting.A scream as he shifted to one side,In an instant the horse,Was without a rider. His fragile frame lay,Unmoving on the ground.A sad smile on his face,Pulling himself to stand. "I'll make it." He started to walk, thoughIn an instant the ground cameTo meet his body head on. Strong arms picked him up asA worried face met his. "Don't worry Dad, I'll get it." The fragile framed boy pushedHimself to stand on his own.A determined look on his face,His hands tightened as he walked. The horse whinnied as it pawedThe cracked ground.The boy nodded to the animal,Before he shifted his frame.He wasn't going to give in,Without a fight. "I told you, I'll make it." The horse reared up before comingAt the boy in a dead run.A scream was heard as the boy,Jumped and grabbed the saddle.He was going to make it this time. His fragile frame moved with easyThis time to sit in the saddle.The reins flying in the wind asHe grabbed at them.Soon holding them as he pulled back. The horse held no choice but to obey.In a dead run, soon to a dead stop.The fragile framed boy gave a cryIn surprise as a wide smile wasOnce more on his face. With the control once moreIn his hands, he looked backAnd waved wildly. "Come on! One more time!" Several figures kicked their horses.With whinnies the horses followedThe fragile framed boy and horse.The figures on the horses heldSad, soft smiles on their faces.They knew this was trulyThe last time. The fragile framed boyLooked back as a smileThat held no fear was there.The figures smiled with joy,But they knew better. "This will be the last time." The doctors had told them.The boy's fatherDropped to his knees asThe boy's friend couldOnly shake her head with dread. They knew it was going to beThe last time they ever sawThat smile again,That crazy wave, andThe last time they everHeard all thoseRoger Miller songs. The boy looked back to themAs he kicked his horse in the sides.The horse kicked to a gallop,Causing the figures to follow. "I'll get there!" That night as they laid outUnder the stars, he looked to her.A soft smile on his face asHe reached out and placed a strong hand,On her shoulder, soon gripping there. Her eyes cast to his with a sad look.He only shook his head as he smiled,Not wanting to see her or him upset.Soon he squeezed her shoulder,Rolling over then to sleep. "Don't worry, I'll be here when you wake." She nodded as she rolled overAnd dreamed a dreamless dream.All she was worried about wasThe fragile framed boy. Morning broke as she looked to him.He was still rolled over whereHe'd been the night before.She shook him only to findThat in the night,He'd passed away. Tears streamed down her faceAs she pulled him close.His father soon coming,And finding the despair there.Tears crawled from his eyes,As the boy was handed to him. "I told you not to worry." They had heard those words,So many times, and believed them.Now they had only wished,They had told him their own. "This was the last ride."trophyGarden Of RotTheir ceaseless hate burnedOur souls beyond recognition,Let us bewail and bury theseCharred chunks to the gardenWhere smothered hopesAnd broken dreams lay,Forever decaying. May our seeds of despairGrow into the flowersLike the ones standing there,Forgotten and withered,As we were never allowedTo bloom under this dead,Old frozen sun. The only thing left of usAre our ill-fated remains,Emaciated hands reachingFor a polluted sky they yearned,Here we shall stay and rot,Thrown away from the worldThat never wanted us.