lost choices

Evening Tomb

Smoked-filled room, choke the senses,

tenant’s visits heightens defenses.

Buried emotions, snuffed stale air,

vacant expressions with sunken stares.

All who come to the evening tomb,

cloud their lives within the room.

Clinking of glasses the flame of the lighter,

two strangers meet, become one-niters.

Reaching from trust now long failed,

hopes wrapped up now kept and jailed.

Speaking present, the buried past,

masking in drinks, in hopes it will last.

Long enough to help forget,

strangers, soon lovers, talk and sit.

She now with her tinted hair light,

sits as he listens throughout the night.

Each one look for their night of need,

knowing dawn their guilt will breed.

A different loss, a hollow space,

another night to seek; erase.

©  CMM   2000

The Death of Conscience

We speak of evil,


We speak of guns,


We speak of radicalism,


With political puns.


Science defines the mind


with no choice.


Telling us within ourselves


we have no voice.


We are drones captured


by our determination,


DNA, physiology


no ability to decide our own inclination.


Those of science say we cannot choose


will see the rise of wrong


blend into a cesspool reused…





Copyright:  2016 CMM