The Bishop’s Hands
Rivers of strife pour through his veins. White age furls rapidly, time’s rapids reach As fingers. Time does not have time to teach. So he is here;…
The Ineffable
My mouth is dry, drawn, and hot, Strained from attempts to utter Words that man cannot — Though my bosom feels a flutter; For I have seen…
Temptation
She is coiled ‘round my being’s roots, Her venom seeps into my veins. Farewell to my imagination’s reigns; I sold all to eat this poisoned fruit. She…
I Saw An Old Man Smile, Enjoying a Book
I saw an old man smile, enjoying a book, And leaves died lovely deaths in autumn; A skipped rock trickled to the creek’s bottom, And a poor…
Consolation and Lamentation in the City of Man
Of late, much ruckus has been raised around the “feverish city” we currently endure. Within the intellectual civil war currently taking place in the conservative movement, it…
Where Can Roots Be Sown?
A strip of paper through the grass is blown, I sense it grapples and it yearns to stay; On a windy street, where can roots be sown?…
Liberalism: A Poem
I retreat, yet I never quite escape. Hellish hounds, so familiar with our scent, Exhaust us till our very soul is spent, Then drink the spoils of…