Dignity Surrendered

Each in turn is required to surrender his dignity at the entrance to her parlor, gladly did her previous suitors release their burden. She will allow none to influence her resplendency. The endless assortment of bewildered men do but love the scent of her taintless body. In her attribute stars do retreat to more welcoming skies.

He holds tightly to the belief that he can better her frightful and trembling veil, but alas her shadow will devour the sun. So tranquil doth he step with the appearance of a juggler's feat. He will afford his open heart to quiet the myriad of unpleasantness which grows beneath her eyes.

He exits, invigoration and love denied, leaping past the mean-roof trees before distain belies his robust spirit. Onward past her grey winged path he strolls, regarding her wishing well of hate, unafraid to throw a penny.

Germs of Misery

The icy water breaks upon the bow of the crab filled hauls. The old men laugh at the young boys, who complain and shiver. For they, unlike their erstwhile companions are not straight with such an unforgiving chill. The dingy blue wilderness of the sea cries, and tosses her white foam across the red faces of tiny men gripping to support.

                From his throne above the captain shouts to speed up, the day’s pay. For the ocean is not a gentle lover, but colder than a fish and deafer than a goat. The weak men lay hands on the robust and the brotherhood is complete. Within the soul of the ship strangeness dies perplexed, and only familiarity survives.

                A lonely few remain, dismayed as to why sickness has brought them hence. Joy is but a faint forgotten scar, fondness lost in the germs of misery. This track will dry the sap in the veins of men, but upon land allow the gifts that govern spoiled boys.

-Johnny V.

Joy

The wind sweeps thru the palms to and fro, the tide brings the sand fresh moisture.  God himself insists we notice his exploit. His grace and wisdom enhance the shine of each star. The flight of every bird is part of his compel and will not avoid his sight. The morning sun caresses your cool skin to convey welcome ye each new dawn given to you anew.

Defeated and Low Men

As rain washes away my defiled dreams, I hold fast to the mask of sadness leaving gravity to suspend its duty one last night. Time cuts thick into my yellow soul, hope having long ago left me dejected and begging for God's detition. The last instant I hope will be tranquil for God doth save his mundane tasks for the weakest men.

I am left to cull what is left of my defeated spirit. Empty are my arms, desperate for redemption, leaving my sin to fester on the vine. My Jaunt transcends my cognition, while peace is trapped outside my grasp. And  joy becomes ash drying upon the taste of my tongue.

My station is at last circumscribed, I repeat the prayer I spoke as a shaver. My savior's ears will curtail all sound save his most brave zealots.  I am alone in my pyrrhic victory over love, forever the general of defeated and low men, returning merely as conquerors stained with kindred blood.