A (wise) man of two faces
Musings, commentary, and the occasional parade of novelty.

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Tough Love

Love is complex
it’s rarely simple;
it’s more than a reflex
to a flattering dimple.

It’s not a science,
no matter what they say.
When they’d predict compliance,
their subjects gainsay.

It is a feeling,
but that word falls short
of how love leaves you reeling
from its fierce retorts.

Perhaps love is a force:
unstoppable, immovable, and without remorse.

Wearied weather

Searching the sky,
looking for clues,
and wondering why
no one answers you.

You scream and you shout
but the clouds just don’t care;
they flutter about
and give bored gray stares.

So you turn away,
and retreat inside,
perhaps to pray,
or perhaps to hide.

But your problems don’t wait at the door,
they follow you in to trouble you more.


I can feel the spirit;
listen - can you hear it
singing in the breeze
and whistling through the trees?

The breath of life
untouched by strife,
a sunlight without shade,
a great sorrow unmade.

Resonating within my heart
bringing into tune each part
of the greater symphony
laying dormant within me.

Bringing forth at last the song
that’s dwelled within me all along.

Parched Pathos

I hate the color of your skin
and the contours of your face.
My God calls them a sin
and my pride, a disgrace.

You murdered my brother;
you’ll reap the whirlwinds.
I’ll take away your father,
your family, and friends.

I’ll find those you hold dear
and set them all ablaze
and the last thing they will heard
is me laughing through the haze.

And finally, for my own mirth,
I’ll even salt the very earth.

A memory of melody

I feel as though
I don’t belong
for long ago
I lost the song.

I used to hear
it blow through my soul;
I held it dear
and now there’s a hole.

The silence bears down
with the weight of an age
and I’m starting to drown
in the pain and the rage.

And now I’ve paid a heavy cost
in scars searching for salvation lost.


In the heart of the night
when things seem most stark,
don’t give up the fight,
and face down the dark.

I know you feel weak,
like you’ve already lost,
but standing there meek
carries too great a cost.

Courage doesn’t stand
in the absence of fear;
it’s what you hold in your hand
when your terrors are near.

So stand at the ready, prepared for war
and give all your nightmares a proper what for.

Wishing Well

If I had just one wish
to cast into the fountain
at the heart of the mountain,
I would ask for a kiss.
If I had just one chance
to have you in my life,
mayhaps as my wife,
I’d wish for romance.

But as I stand at the edge,
I’m troubled by a fear.
If it’s not your honest pledge,
will I really be your dear?
Sighingly, I choose to return
and spend that coin on love I’ve earned.

The road away from the shadow of the mountain

Can we redeem man
with the acres of stores
of his weapons of wars?
Do you think we can?
Can we wash out the red
that’s staining his hands
and staining his lands
and build something instead?

Can we build silver towers
with the strength of our minds?
Can we plant beds of flowers
and be gentle and kind?
I may not see the way
but I hope, and I pray.

Courageous courtship

How do I tell her
what I’m feeling inside;
what I’m trying to hide?
Honesty’s a lure
that promises a cure,
but that I’ve tried
and been denied.
Of truth I am unsure.

But if I hide my face
and run away…
if I so fear disgrace,
then why should they stay?
So I once again, with bravery,
face the consequences of my honesty.


Little black dress,
such a mess;
you reveal, yet deny,
and draw every wanton eye.

Gold hair,
down to her derriere;
but between her thighs?
Are her tresses lies?

Red lips,
tempting a kiss;
she’ll make you pay
and draw your soul away.

Pale demeanor,
contrary to the demon in her.


Summer ice
feels so nice,
melting and cooling me,
fighting the humidity.

Winter rain
is such a pain;
it freezes thin
into a slipper skin.

The Fall is bright
with verdant lights
dressing up in varied shades
for one last autumnal promenade.

And Spring is marked anew with flowers
rumored for their amorous powers.


In the dark of the night
when I’ve just had a fright,
I grasp my palms
and reach for a calm.

I get down on my knees
and my lips spill with pleas.
I promise it all
just to survive the fall.

But when those prayers fail,
when the gods are deaf to my wails,
it’s then I begin
to confess all my sins.

In desperate hopes that my penance
will prove enough for recompense.

A last light

Their bodies spun and intertwined
with promises of who’d be thine,
and tongue and teeth met with bared breast
and the rest, they say, is the rest.

A decade later only shows
two fires which have burned too low
and people who are fumbling
with what was once a second skin.

And in their dire desperation,
they seek solace in confrontation,
and all the pain helps them forget
their bitterness and their regret.

But waiting for them in the dark
is tinder desperate for a spark.

A Royal affair

The old king was a tyrant
who played the game of war
and those who weren’t compliant
he would show what for.

The queen played games as well
not war, but of the heart
which, at a glace, seemed less fell
but were plagued by false starts.

The jester played the crowd
with pomp and pageantry
and told his stories proud and loud
and playful pandemony.

But when the lights went out, instead
the jester played games in the royal bed.


Cold wind the mountain breaks
as it crashes on the stone
though years may bring the mountain down
it doesn’t go alone.

The hammer bends the earthly ore
with the aid of heat
and though the ore bears all the blows
it’s stronger through defeat.

Grief leaves scars within our souls
writhing rivets of deep pain
and sometimes we fear
we won’t be whole again.

But dawn will tear the night apart
and daylight finds the darkest hearts.