The Mourning Hour Excerpt

I’ve seen Darkness,

worn on the faces of -

friends, family, and strangers

Smeared as war paint,

Their actions carved into flesh.

I’ve seen every possible lashing of verbality.

Physical, emotional, and unconditional in vengeance,

through observant eyes, upon me, and upon the world

From the same fleshwe were created from in disgust.

Most believe their lives are right,

and all is wrong,

but they're the ones

with the most devious intent.

The most selfish absorbents

of their own personal vanity, aggression, and greed.

Most of us live in glass houses: throwing objects,

or hang ourselves from lighthouses, to finish what others started. 

Sending up smoke signals in distress.

Throwing the most obligatory vocabulary at people.

Because of what we’ve been through, what we know, 

and what we continue to take with us,

without ever dropping our guard, nor changing our monster.

I’ve seen the darkest slums, the dangerous travels.

Walked the violent streets of major cities.

And witnessed first hand the

raunchiest tenures of living

in this land, while endangering myself

getting dragged by friends into another Scooby-Doo Mystery of,

if we’ll wake up tomorrow being surrounded by foreign faces? 

I’ve met broken people, thus, more broken than I.

The Sick; the Afflicted.

The ones, who wear masks of deceit and darkness upon them, 

for the world spat them out, without a chance.

Transforming the monsters pushed unto them throughout Life.

I’ve seen bloody floors, bloody flesh, and bloody fights.

Screams that can travel throughout the days

with hate and discrepancy in complete strangers

within our own personal circle,

as doors slam and the loved ones we know, storm away.

I’ve seen comradery, companionship. Good within common people,

along with the gift of giving.

While still struggling with common law,

which makes me second guess my thoughts at times,

or delivers more hardened fact to their basis.

I’ve felt the pain,

the sadness of the ones I love most, even strangers.

Always pondering my mind on them daily

worrying with love and devotion.

I continue through struggle to dream you all up beside me.

Visioning myself dead

just for the chance to watch over you all with protection,

since I cannot be with you in constance you imagine.

Even in that vast unknown of darkness and depression...

My protection for you is debatable after the journey of living.

“So as stale leaves lay frozen; trees crack in age 

and as the hard ground beats against our feet. 

One must see, it all ends within an instant,

and we must evolve a wretched mind into the becoming of knowledge.

To light within ourselves a vigil of grace.

The Earth's peace lasts, only before we're lost in our Might.”

Lawns damp and vacant with distant screamers,

chatter of dogs badgering late night sleepers in backyards.

I could hear the train engine calling me,

its carts egging me onto them 

to jump in and ride to wherever it takes me.

And to never look back upon the city that stayed steady 

bustling about in its own agenda 

and its people who lay sleeping under rain-weathered roofs,

its patrons in bars slurring over this week’s stories

or some predisposition of some sort of verbal quarrel with another hapless chap..

While screaming for refills,

and eyeballing the door to the piss-covered floor 

of the chipped-painted bathroom.

A place where no one flushes a toilet, 

the sink water runs.

The paper towels alway's out, and the soap, always empty.

Sharpies stenciled in gratuitous remarks on the walls, 

and these people never leave.

It’s like a time capsule 

wrapping its arms around the animal in its natural habitat.

Vermin who never escape the confines of neon beer commercials

constantly flickering,

and sports glairing on the old TV’s in a daze too heavy to loot.

The toilet paper always wet with some foreign liquid,

too vile to even question its chemical property.

The seats condensed in urine puddles like a congregation of disease.

Welcome to Louisville!

where homes have walls punched in, bricks go missing outside,

and bullet holes riddle the fucking window panes

as doors are jammed, and doorknobs are fucking faulty.

If you listen carefully in the silent mornings...

You can hear the sound of the earth slightly rumble, 

as though all of the electrical generators the earth has, are humming,

with the drags of air from busy streets that stretch by.

The sound hums and rumbles in a light buzz,

powering up air conditioners

as the morning birds chirp and fly 

and you hear the echoes of tracked tires roll across the city 

about a half mile away.

I guess the feeling is peace...

But I don’t know what the fuck I’m getting into anymore.