your blind strength

burning faces of the weak and weary,
the drugged up and drunk,
the chronically alone and wandering,
the homeless, the poor, the luckless,
the vagrants and reprobates,
the twisted and insane,
are laced with frozen shit, ice and dirt,
chucked by the miserable wind,
but your blind strength gets you through,
your genetic gift to the human race,
your mind is a machine,
your body a vessel of beautiful form,
lean muscle and boundless energy,
your motivating speeches,
an underhanded and undermining criticism of the weak, the failed, the frightened,
who flock to you for guidance and protection,
and take shelter at your feet,
you lucky duck,
an eternal birthday party just for you,
every day is your day,
as you watch ignorantly from the tower of your confidence,

but woe unto the shifting wind,
the rumbling storm,
nature's movements about to change your destiny,
and twist your proud song out of tune,
feel your slipping hope,
the fast bleeding of your success,
and sycophantic grandeur,
the unraveling of your contingent legacy,
the universe will knock your smiling ass in the dirt,
and you will feel the limiting chains of the weak who have lived mostly under your feet,
but who have adapted to the steady pain,
and who now will be the guide of your crumpled, pathetic soul.

black timber

forever night,
it seems, 
the icy wind turns the city into a timber,
blowing mercilessly,
through concrete trees,
out here,
peace is an illusion,
a commodity,
sold to the highest bidder,
a costumed prank,
a politician's promise,
a pastor's assurance,
behind the busy faces,
a despair,
lies deep,
frozen in the ground,
a darkness unearthed,
a cave unexplored,
shit encrusted piles of street snow,
stacked in garbage dumps,
parking lots,
alley ways,
an ache,
in waiting,
feels like the universe wants to let go,
but it won't,
stress builds,
like tension on a chain,
I step out into the chaos,
as we know it will be,

someone down the street,
someone in the shadows,
the gentle voice of night,
I look to the sky for morning,

someone sits and waits,
someone bleeds through the fight,
no gentle voice of morning,
so I open the door to the night.