Poems ✍️

Beyond the sunset where
the first shadows of twilight appear, heaven:
a boiling fire-line

If my hands weren't so stained
by choice, by reason
I'd endeavor to reach for God
who quietly lingers out of touch tonight.

Life is a death sentence.
I've accepted fate and pray
as I learn to walk the final mile
I will earn virtue.

The patients of saints.
the love of those whose legacy is a cross
I've bared since birth.

I write these mere extensions of self
in sincere hope
that tomorrow's generation may grow
from the knowledge that honesty
was once the forefront expression.