Pattern Maker

We measure out materials to make what we desire
oblivious that all our plans begin with someone higher
who spins the thread that binds the fabric bolt by wondrous bolt
and sometimes hurls the other kind when scoundrels need a jolt.

Endgame

Rituals of death are grim
is our existence but a whim?
No one living knows for fact
if they'll rue their foulest act
or cease to be when day grows dim.

We leave behind an empty husk
departing in the daunting dusk
removed from plans that failed to gel
and praying if there be a hell
the stay is brusque.

Head Trip

In my mind I see a road
disappearing through the trees
that leads to an abode
far away from the disease
that threatens to corrode

the ailing structure seen
as the only way to live
a merciless machine
that will take all you can give
and make you mean

as average as the next
that blankly stands in line
just waiting to be vexxed
by the new improved design
allowing one to text

away their share of guilt
for purchasing the lie
I've watched my toleration wilt
and bid the world goodbye
from the sanctum I have built.

Future Relic

I tried to express my want
but couldn't find a true font
that redefined my greed
as instances of need

so I gouged out a glyph
that let me play a new riff
which someone millennia hence
may see as a symbol of sense.

blip

I've never stopped dreaming
though at times I cease believing
then tears start streaming
and I get goofy grieving
unsettled by my seeming
defeat, thus deceiving
myself before redeeming
the faith that's so relieving
which helps inspire beaming.

Chops

An axe can swing
and really ring
if you sling it with some zing
so whack away
in E or A
and never fret - just play play play!

Eighty-Sixed

It's crystal clear
that no one here
is fond of banks
or thermal gear

this winter ranks
in the blankety-blanks
the lowest tier
beneath the tanks.

Toppled

A bullet grazed
upon the lush
demesnes I used to roam
she looked amazed
until the rush
of agony hit home

we once ruled
the open streets
two urchins running wild
but passion cooled
and our retreats
were hastily defiled

a killing spree
we can't defend
is bound to bring us pain
now I see
the coming end
of our uncertain reign.

Rehabilitated

Solitude is key
to solace in the pen
just leave the population be
and focus on your yen
becoming truly free
if you stop demanding When?
and scrawl away within your hole
until the board decrees parole.

Supplicant

When those pipes burst
he knew he was cursed
to dream of the best
but live with the worst

to never know rest
or feather his nest
unless (of course) first
he could somehow be blessed.

Input

Every little jingle leaves
a trace of bittersweet
upon the silver surface of my tongue
I'm just a strand that's incomplete
the craftsman deftly weaves
into the cloth that has yet to be hung.

Changing

Mothering the brood
can put one in a mood
if you let it

wiping asses stinks
but only takes a couple blinks
then forget it.

Reciprocal

The wind knocks some snow from the trees
the coldness creeps in by degrees
when glistening whiteness is fierce
wherever it happens to pierce

but the sun is returning the warmth
we've felt for it all these years
and if we're still here in a month
we'll cheer when the chill disappears.

Indicative

The breadth of the web
depends on the strength
of the ploy (which can ebb)
reducing the length

The depth of the den
is designated by
the need for a pen
or wide open sky

The bloom of a berth
is no measure of
the occupant's worth
compared to their love.

Resonance

You can hear the churchbells ringing down redemption for the throng
promising to pardon those undone by doing wrong
and though it seems salvation's been a longshot all along
I feel my faith reverberate within me loud and strong.