A Few Shorts

It has always been there, in plain sight,
in the hiding place.
The painter painted it there,
in negative space.


I’m tired of all the anger.
It feels so inescapable.
All of you. Just you. Me.
Time seems so infinite
Between now and the manger.
Our gods appear quite incapable
Of taming the beast
That demands to be.


A Grey Knight’s Prayer

I can no longer endure this slow demise.
I can no longer defend the line.
I can no longer don the delusive disguise.
I can no longer proffer my time.
I grow weary. I am tired,
My shield is chipped and cracked,
My armor is weakened with rust.
Lead me beside the still water, my Lord.
Restore my soul before I am dust.


Gunners Lament

There’s a rider in the distance,
A silhouette in the sun.
On a pale horse he sits,
And tallies what I’ve done.
The horizon is in flames.
Time is melting down.
The others have all fled.
I stand here on my own.
Down to my last round.
Religion can not help me.
I must face my fate alone.
As the rider slowly approaches,
I am down to my last round.

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