NO CRY FOR HELP ( A Trillonet)

A boy, the age of seventeen,
still standing on the cusp of dreams,
wandered lonely in his despair.

A handsome lad; athletic, lean,
not bound to someone else's schemes.
Eyes, a bright blue; brown shaggy hair,

kept to himself, no one had seen,
Troy coming apart at the seams.
On the surface, without a care.

Who would have guessed that this bright teen,
would end his own life amidst screams,
his final breath with no one there.

A bullet blast, and now he's gone,
A promising life had gone wrong.



"Troy", a boy in my youngest daughter Andrea's English class
ended his life yesterday afternoon. He sat in front of her in class
and although they weren't good friends, had sided with her in a discussion yesterday morning; aside from a shy hello when they passed, verbal exchanges weren't a part of their routine.
Now, my bright seventeen year old daughter doesn't understand
why life is "so fucked up". Me, a man of words, had few answers.

A FINE LINE

The tightroope; taunt and trecherous,
and me, no more pious than lecherous,
Never the bane of humanity
but this sanity rides the fence.
At the expense of sounding crazy,
my thoughts get hazy and I wander.
I wonder what lies ahead but feeling
dread instead. A fine unnatural balance,
wearing this valance like the shroud it is.
Darkness offers no recompense, and you plead
the only defense you can, insanity.
You were crazy not to have seen it.
Walking a fine line between help and hell.

WOODLAWN BEACH

On Erie's shore
just south of Buffalo;
in the shadow of Bethlehem Steel,
Woodlawn Beach languishes.
Sand strewn with drift wood,
seaweed interwoven between
seashells and toes; rocky layers
stubbing and protruding, eluding
them was a battle.
Passing years brought stench,
abandoned Steel Plant stands,
an ominous reminder of the decay.
Dead fish and gulls where children played,
now they stay off shore. No more
escaping or scraping memories out of
her unkempt shell. Just as well.
Woodlawn Beach is closed again.
This Year. Every year.

SEVENLING (Michel de Notre Dame)

Michel de Notre Dame presumed,
Edgar Cayce so did delve.
The Mayans calendar predicts: 12/21/2012.

Indian Medicine men concur,
with the Bible's Revelation,
of the timing of the end of days final conflagration.

I don't know about you guys, but Armageddon underground!