Chapter 3 - Redemption (poem)

I waited until the valedictorian's speech mentioned orphaning, then I’d cause the breach. Two M80s taped to shafts supporting wood, justice for what is right, justice for what is good. There may be Hell where I must pay for this, and I’ll gladly go there to see him pay for his. In sixty seconds my redemption did unfold; recollection lasting longer than the act when told. Tek smugly sat awaiting on the bleachers, eventually strolled on stage greeted by the band. I heard the well-rested voice of the bullshit preacher, my lighter at the ready, a premeditated plan. “It brings tears to my eyes, remembering that day.” And just like theirs, cry your last today! “Who can forget? Us two lucky survivors?” Enough talk, you evil, hate-lusting contriver. Then I lit the fuse and took two steps back, BOOM! He fell sprawling onto loaded bear-traps, clamped knee, sliced ankle, no slack. His leg broken between wood and collapse. Before he had a chance to scream, I sliced his voice box with my knife, his robes dripped scarlet at the seam. Blood loss wasn’t how I’d end his life... I stabbed his eyes both blind, then freed him from his bind. The traps clicked open, he hobbled burping blood. I poured the gasoline with a trail through the sloshy mud. Dropping the lighter on the trail had me on my way. A bright distraction flared high on graduation day.

Foresight (poem)

I have existed a thousand lives
in the foresight of my mind.
Nine hundred ninety nine are fate-less
to a story without rewind.

What if? What if? What if?
A question stuck on repeat.
Even if THE if be if...
victory as likely as defeat.

My mind's eye sees shadows of the presents' lights.
The forecast fades regardless of all my crying plights.
What ever I say or do won't stop encroaching blights!
Blubbering, slithering, slimy, dismal, dreary, deathly sights...

Of the thousand days that I see as be tomorrow,
take some solace premonition from accuracy cannot ever borrow.

Good days. Bad days. Sideways strange days.
Up days. Down days.
Longways pathways.

My brother dies from a heart attack.
My lover drives my heart happy taps.
Robots play the harmonica.
Angels fall, driven demonical.

Really? Who knows? You actually can prepare too much.
After all, the present is the only device you may touch.

Ms. Mary (poem)

Ms. miss Mary,

She's oh so very

talented, smart, and fair.

Oh miss McCarthy!

And how with her art she

paints in focus and care.

Her pencil with glee

captures knick knacks to be

a piece, a still you'll believe.

Because once she's done,

enthrallment is won.

Stare deep, feel fully: perceive.