Purpose of Life

The purpose of life was lost to knowledge--And forgot the human condition
For I, still in youth, have seen my death--
But knowing is not what makes me better--It’s my journey of how I get there

-I-
I cannot say why I hunt a man I do not know
Or know what he did
But the pursuit is the first of three…

A tower rises above the trees in a deep wood
It’s here where he escapes

To the highest tier I followed him
And out the window
Where he fell to his freedom

-II-
I cannot say why I elude a man I do not know
Or know what I did
But the flight is the second of three…

A cave opens between the trees in a deep wood
It’s here where I escape

To the deepest cavern I led him
And into the darkness
Where I descend to my freedom

-III-
I cannot say who neither of us knew
Or knew what we did
But both our deaths were number three…

A river cut through the trees in a deep wood
It’s here where we were caught

Through rocky rapids the current led us
And down to the waterfall
Where our bodies float to freedom

But knowing is not what makes me better--
For when you see the way you die--There is no escape
And the third time--When the river takes me--
I overcome my obsession with death--As the water slaloms toward its tomb
And pours into the chasm--Of infinite slumber and regret
Where I dreamed--Beneath shadows cast by tall pines

To the Old Man

Maybe the eighty-fifth day you will be lucky
When you set out to see
If your old body remembers what it used to be
Maybe three days of struggling will bring “your brother” in
And the journey back won’t devour him

Maybe you won’t have to carry your cross
And tourists will see
That the bones were once considered family
Maybe the boy will wake you to hear where you have been
And one day relay the story you told him

One day I will give you a reason to boast
So dream, my friend, of the African coast

Here's to you
To the Old Man
Who never thought your bad luck would be
What finally brings home a prize in 1953

Papa POW

Too much for only five senses…

Seeing the clouds form in shapes that remind you of the animals
from the Aesop’s Fables you read as a child—
Smelling the air that once dried a desert before it fell
into the valley from where it now blows—
Hearing the thunder pound once, more powerful
than the many lighting strikes that preceded—
Feeling the earth shake, the ’89 earthquake
is a small aftershock compared to this hell—
And Tasting the ash that lingers in the air long after the explosion
—Papa witnessed on August 6, 1945

Orion

Everything seems in place
But too many lights are out
In this imperfect silent space
Where happed murder’d shout:

“Too long I hunted Zodiac beast
Only to become Scorpio’s feast!”
For Taurus is protected by
Hera, Artemis, and Gemini

My sins my fatal fate did spawn:
I am victim of my own crimes
And now in debt to Charon
I circle Hades nine times.

But now only bones can show
Through mirrors and a lens
The body laying far and glow
On points where his belt bends.

…Too many eyes have seen
The horror in the skies
For an “execution” has been
Committed where Orion lies

Bad Beat

A man I met deceived with guise
To trap a famed apache he planned
And city decriminalize

Beginner playing for a prize
Beating—out playing methods banned
Captures other players’ surprise

Final table he makes and buys
In the lead with a “Dead Man’s hand”
Staring straight with unblinking lies

First player checks with beady eyes
The second makes the pot expand
Then tells the third his plans devise

Man unwilling to compromise
Refused the Parisian demand
And unwound the dealer’s demise

The killers loss, the hand despise
And the members display their brand
Others stand and a pistol cries
Money, commotion, then he dies

The Cost

-I-
To the One who led His people from captivity
I have always believed You—
“Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh¹”
Even for the man who disbelieved, You parted the sea
How has he seen Your glory and not I?

To the One who interpreted the dreams of a king
“And the stone cut out of the mountain without hands
Crushed the iron, the brass, the clay, the silver, and the gold²”
Even for a servant to the king, You gave great power
How has he seen Your glory and not I?

-II-
We have survived a tribulation no people should face
And You, “Palet³” have not delivered
We are leaving now still as captives
And we see no sign of a Savior

-III-
Notimetothinknotimetotalkonlytimetorun
Breatherunrun

Finally I drop to the dust that bore me and will take me where I want⁴
To the finale, where my weak bones finally rest
I crumple into a pile
A man runs behind shouting and when I do not stand, he fires
A blast that burns my flesh and breaks bone
My sternum looks as though I am trying to hide a dagger beneath my skin
I bleed into my left lung, gargling with every heaving breath
Then my muscles relax

Only a few memories flash before me
Moving to Warsaw to be with family
The Yellow Badge
Then the camps

The rest have gone on running and breathing and dying
While the others follow with obedient motivation
Fingers pull triggers and the Red Sea parts
For bodies of my brothers
As I lie here I wonder what it would be like to see the end
To see the faces when freedom arrives
If it arrives
As I stare at the sky, the black blanket that blocks us from His view
I drift further away from faith
And slowly die


__________________________________________________

1. “Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh” – (Exodus 3:14) “I am that I am” (God)
2. Nebuchadnezzar’s dream (Daniel 2)
3. Palet – (Psalm 18:2) Deliverer (God)
4. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust (Genesis 3:19)

** “Seven hundred prisoners were killed during one ten-day march of 8,000 Jews, including 6,000 women, who were being moved from camps in the Danzig region, which is bordered on the north by the Baltic Sea. Those still alive when the marchers reached the coast were forced into the sea and shot.”

-United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

The Diner

There is this Diner that I frequent where the waitresses are always friendly.
The food always comes slow but I don’t mind.

I don’t wait to be seated anymore,
They know what time I come in and my booth is always empty.
The silverware wrapped tightly in the paper napkin sits on the table, next to the menu.

When I sit down, I always tighten the salt and pepper caps.
There must be a family with children who frequent like me,
but the children will never know that I always ruin their trap
and no one at this booth will ever dump the entire shakers contents.

My Wednesday waitress quietly slips from the kitchen and over to my booth;
and no matter how many times I order “the usual,” she always asks.

I try to ignore the couple in the corner booth,
but they are speaking loud so I listen to their conversation
while I pretend to read the menu, even though I’ve already ordered.

By the time their conversation turns to politics, I am already distracted;
and my cross-eyed stare at the door to the kitchen
and my half-sipped ice-water leaving wet rings on the table
seem to be hints at the hundreds of thoughts in my head.

My Wednesday finally brings my food, and a smile.
And in that moment I can’t help but think—
She is the only reason I come to the Diner
And I might be the only reason she works here.

The Weapons of Winter

The clouds shoot rain—machine guns
driving ants from their kingdoms—into kitchens.
Bullets overflow gutters—leaving shells
no one can pick up—only catch.

Puddles shy from high ground—landmines
poorly hidden and placed—harmless.
Explosions from potholes— like cannon balls
in swimming pools—and soaked pant legs.

Creeks run quickly—soldiers retreating
to fight another day—but never return.
Reservoirs full then empty—the belly
of an alcoholic veteran—sober.

Ammunition pumped to our faucets—
and weapons in our homes—
Weapons children can play with—spilling
water instead of blood—

Lady Promiscuity

I was told to stop living in the past,
but the memory of the day
when the Time was just right
holds a certain significance to who I have become.

Your smell, your touch, your beauty—
a collage unequaled even by nature.
I choose to remember the you I knew,
not the you I know

because my memories are sweeter
than your now sour kiss, but my mind
still blames you for my loneliness.

Oh I remember the day
when the Time was just right.
I remember that day you hinted now haunt.
Now you display your sexual flaunt
to the man with no soul,
no heart—
the both of you.

There once was a hero

You used to whisper stories
Each new one continued the old
And I was the hero in every adventure
Of the endless journey you told

I traveled to distant planets
Fighting new villains each time
And even through their evil powers
You still made victory mine

I enjoyed each adventure you imagined
And remembered each tale I heard
But now that I’ve grown up I’ve become
A hero not remembered

There once was a hero who fought across space
And one who cared about a kid
Now you’re gone and I’m too busy for stories
And there are no more heroes