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