I’ve battled those who thought they were tall And nursed giants still running from a fight. I’ve challenged kings in their empty hall And carried the lowly in places hidden from sight. I’ve honors in cities of which few can talk And been cursed by some who saw themselves wrathful. I’ve sat with the lost where few dare to walk And braved the dark spaces of the ashamed and bashful. I’ve been to places you’ll likely never see And gained great rewards and lost most that I got. I’ve been subjected to tyrants who never knew me. And, likely, none […]

And so, many appear to be good, by deedless gestures, inactionable words, rested limbs and parched mouths, praised for courtesy, yet deceived; many appear to be good.

My God grows gardens In thirsty forsaken lands. On perilous paths not easily followed, My God grows gardens.

I lay my head and stare into the sky; Shapes form about me, menacing faces like ghouls in flight, taunt me, seek to haunt me with a voiceless cry. “The wind is for me, and you are subject to it.” I found a blanket of grass in the desert Here I’ll rest and watch you fade.