My Noble Sensibilities

An advocate for sincerity

Dueling with the fire of simplicity

Has a heart that aches for purer views

With an outlook on a just redemption

To drown the crowd that drains the world

In shadows of their own attention

Poetic Injustice

Arranging words, a subtle skill
Requires more than wit and quill
The ink itself holds no clear shape
To think that is a fool's mistake
Exhuming minds and thoughts within
Humbles reasons next of kin
A perspective one subjects to change;
The more clownesque, the lesser range

The Deceitful Art of Thinking

As a man of this century – I think I think too much.

Making decisions about decisions instead of grabbing the situation by its throat.

No, I plan carefully and allow no natural flow of hesitation to make its way into my well-structured life.

Repetitive actions replace my heartbeat.

And insight and overview have long numbed the last drop of my adrenaline.

Then waiting, I think, is how I spend my life.

Waiting for my life to start.

Entrusting my fate to a stage called security – one that’s now become my condition of captivity.

Or so, at least, I think…