Every morning
when I wake..
who do I see?

Upon
The Other Side
of silver linings..
is it not
my dearest
enemy?

The One
who mirrors me.
The One
who gazes back.
The One
who faces being.

The reflected
being faced by
its inversion..
mirror image of
its gazing act …

When fighting shadows,
you can’t know..
which is your friend’s?
Which is your foe’s?

A silhouette alone
does not betray..
it merely traces
contours of
The One
who standeth
in light’s way.

Fear not
the form
and essence
of the darkness
visible in broad
daylight.

Rather …

The growling rumble
of a rolling thunder
is preceded
by a flash
of light.
Their common
source, however..
is the lightning strike.

A phase transition
that entangles
lofty heavens
in a kiss with
earthly soil.
But the two of them
diverge to singularity..
only at the critical point.

Why does
the royal jester
joke around
and play
with open
flames?

Is it to keep
his humble audience
of Chosen Ones
forever entertained?

Is it to make it big
and get so rich
off his comedic
tragedy..
that he no longer
needs to work?

Or else to leave
a …

If only that
The All of us
could finally agree..
once and for all
to never be
creative again.

If only that
I didn’t call
the faceless
horrors
of existence
my beloved
friends.

If only that
the blood
that spilled
from me
could taste
more sweet.

If only that …

Bound
by a Markov
chain
to a crystal
ball.

I sought
cheap thrills
to satisfy
the deep,
insatiable
vacuum of
The All.

Alas, savory smoke
from sacrificial pyres
doesn’t cut it anymore.
The only method now
to make the holy bleed..
is with still beating hearts
of purest lambs …

So many games
were conjured up
by human will
throughout The All
of history.

Some games
required skill.
Some others
favored reflex.
Others still
were games
of strategy.

The All of games
were always
first and foremost
meant..
to stave off
our incurable
affliction..
boredom unto
Death.

Alas, sometimes
mere …

No ragrets,
Mr. Freeman.
For, already
you have lived
at least a half
of life.

But is not a half
better than nothing?
Was it not a half
brimming with
love and longing,
struggle and despair,
triumph and strife?

Sweet as
Georgia peaches.
Savory as
ol’ American pie.
Alas, half-time …

My God is a dancer
and singer.
My Devil - an actor
and poet.
In his devilish voice
he now
speaks unto thee..
If you’ve read
what is written,
you know him.

But what about
humble ol’ Steve?
What do I even do?
Who is me?

I merely am
The …

How strange
are hearts
of men..
how fickle.

Over some
utterly ineffable
aortic tickle..
they either fail
to recollect
or else feign
to forget..

The reasons
why they used to call you
their most trusted ally
and their closest friend.

Alas, when methods
of the carrot fail..
there always is …