At The End

Inside my withered and
brittle bones, there stands
a man. 

A lonely man atop a hill,
watching quietly as the
world ends.

Fire turns the twilight sky
a deep shade of ashy crimson.
Oceans drown monuments of
stone and steel.

The sounds of death and decay,
flooding the man’s ears.
The sights of tragedy and torment
burning his retinas.

Across his face, his
lips curl into a
peaceful smile.

He knows that very soon,
all will finally be

It will be so quiet, and
the silence will be so beautiful.


Turning a key
half way,

A slow revolution
of rusty hinges,
screaming me a warning
upon thoughtless ears.

Slow and silent steps
along a cold hardwood floor,
as snow skitters inside.

The wooden chair on the floor,
the rope hanging from the ceiling.

And the tape rewinds.

I drift out with the winds
and meander up the dusted walkway.

I turn the key,

Peering inside I see the chair,
upright by the kitchen table.

In it I sit,
drinking my morning coffee.

Forgiveness Rarely Granted

Outside a cold and foggy window
the rain is pouring upside down.
On the wall sits the shadow of a willow,
like you sliding on your nightgown.
The floor creaks under bare feet,
and fire has become cinders.
Sweat has soaked through the sheet
with dreams  of a former winter.
My heart is full of holes
patched with poorly applied plaster.
My mind is full of lost souls
that can’t remember the sound of laughter.
I hope when I reach heaven’s gate
God will forgive me for showing up late.