I awaken to the dew of nothingness;
Beyond the seas of tragedy,
I enter the plane of refuge;
No longer chased by the steads of chaos,
I am still as I ride onto the carpet of the winds;
Currents subdued by chance,
I dive in solitude,
But not from a movement of aloneness,
But of gratitude.
Photo credit: Photo by Jp Valery on Unsplash
Support my work: Buy Me A Coffee
My heart broke in New Mexico,
But I made love in the San Juans,
Forgave you in the Tetons,
And washed you away in the Colorado.
Help support my work by buying me a coffee: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/warpoems
Photo by Corey Collins on Unsplash
I yearn for the freedom of the road,
Where the Airstream pumps the beat of my heart,
The shadows of the landscape,
Lights the caverns of serendipity,
Rolling through its divine,
I feel it’s allure,
Taunting and insightful,
Its lips pursed stealing a kiss from my obedience.
Love is in the details,
Hidden and coy,
But intense like the breath of God.
The sun serenades through the summit,
As the dusky sky calls to the nocturnal,
Boots cozied by the fire,
Releasing the stories it holds,
From the rambunctious of asphalt,
To the headiness of backwoods dirt,
Forgiveness drifts to where only the stars can see,
Loitering in contemplation,
The moons winks in revival.
Support my writing here: BUY ME A COFFEE
I’ve spent months in daydreams,
Where the mountain brooks flow through timbers,
I longed for the briars to pierce my skin,
To know that I am alive with cadence,
Lullabied by the breath of morning,
Stirred by the reflective sighing dawn,
I came to know,
Men were made to be wild,
With heightened senses,
Erasing the hue of artificial smells,
As dew washes away the contempt of solitude,
I am free where only the eagles can see me,
Laid bare by winter’s afternoon,
Drifts of capes dances in the background of fire,
The wood burns as deep as my soul,
As my breath labors for a full moon,
I swear at daybreak,
For I wasn’t done drifting in dunes,
I search for gratitude in the tension of remembrance,
As the new day incubates, the cauldron of memories.
Photo by Catalin Dragu on Unsplash
The hills have eyes,
And I am taunted by the buzzing of insects,
Who are nature’s daredevils.
I brush away the serene annoyance
Of a summer’s day;
A woodpecker selects his dinner,
Through bangs and scrapings,
Of a warm breeze that engulfs me
Like a warm blanket under a winter’s tree,
I ride like a cowboy,
Chewspit and all,
Gunslinging through the hills before night falls,
I ask the same questions,
Questions that have no answers,
The blood of thorns that drips down my legs,
Tells me that Earth feels my pain,
Like a dunkard I am born again,
Trees become my pews in which I repent against,
The hills have eyes,
As I mutter through its rich sublime,
I am at my most freest,
When my heart is blind.
How many men did he see,
Come beaten down after a tussle with insanity,
Who took refuge from love coming undone,
And the unwebbing of tightly coiled ego,
Frayed and twisted in a such a way,
That a prayer to God couldn’t save his fate,
Such a day laid in wait,
Where blues and golds sprung to stifle his gait,
An assault of conscience,
A ruse of pain,
A bitter sword
Left to strike its bane,
Streams whispering of currents anew,
As the battered soul trudges on with a betrayal
Of taunt and sinew,
And there he laughs glee as the spring’s morn;
The stillness as it quakes under the light’s dawn,
Grooves encroaches his brow,
Sweat nourishes his belly of solitude,
Leaves that have fallen a long time ago,
Brings warmth to concessions only he knows,
As one goes many will come,
To be held by the noon’s sun,
Before coming undone.
Support Me
Yellow,
A sweet hello,
To a spring noon,
Dressed in sunlight,
As bugs whispers love,
Of their bites.
War Poems 