Eris Quod Sum, I am what you will be

Pen to Paper

If I was
not so compelled,
Never again
would I
pick up this pen
and put on
unforgiving paper
that which
stays best
in my heart
and in my head,
but instead
aches to be released.
Though it be
not worthy
of even
lesser men,
It is
in the end,
all I have
that is
truly me.

victory

I have
a mind to,
and a way
of being
likened
by few,
and so admired
by still fewer.

In life,
as in love,
you hold the field
till the end
of the day,
and hope
that victory
is sweetly still
after the loss
of all that would flower.

One such as I
is not meant
to know love,
though
I have known her.

So victory
is for
the morning air,
and she lingers
with me
only in my dreams,
of which
dawn
has cast oddly
a shadow.

So distant
from me
is she now,
that my heart
surrenders.
All this
have I lost
this bright day.

rise

Late in the evening,
long after
the moon rises,
I walk through my home
and all my many things
speak to me,
in a voice
not always bad
though not
always good.
And then I kneel
and pray.
God really never
speaks to me,
though sometimes
he does hear me,
and he always knows
I am hear.