Logic linking, rational thinking, socratic speaking, skeptical sleuths seeking out truths clouded in conditioned youths determined by causality to seek out the details of debris, part of some ultimate reality, following evidence with each sense condensed through perspectives fence of relativity realized through free inquiry, following leads, pulling out weeds, recognizing breeds thanks to evolution, an elegant solution to the diversity of life, knifed by supernatural beliefs, arrogant chiefs, and meme perplexing thieves thieving the minds of men to condition them, to control the den, when what men really need is a good dose of actuality because factually they have no choice without free-will, that illusion when thought about causes confusion within our ego that wants so desperately to control ironically determined by cause and effects roll documented in the fiery secret pages of an atheist diary.

Heathens, aren’t we all?
Respects are no longer paid
to all other gods.

Kill the last Buddha!
Bury him with the other
lords you’ve rejected.

Summer day,
leaves, green and vibrant,
the morning dew drips off
serving the thirst of wild geraniums below.

Autumn comes,
and the leaves begin to wither and die,
spectators gather
to admire the beautiful colors.

Winter, the trees are barren,
the leaves have all fallen off,
and have been mulched
to fertilize the now frozen grass for next year.

Spring arrives,
the grass is green and healthy again,
and on fresh new leaves
the morning dew drips off
serving the thirst of wild geraniums below.

The cycle repeats.

We are transient like the leaves,
blowing in the wind,
and some day will fall
to allow another to have the chance to live.

The death-like frigid air
sharpens its blades upon your sputtering lungs
having burrowed its way through twin nasal cavities
it crystallizes your breaths from the inside out.
Suffocating your zephyr with its own,
upon exhale, your life visibly evaporates before you.

And so it was with us that in defense of this nipping assault
with hands split and fractured like dried up ravines
we struggled to even adjust our wooly scarves
over each others chapped flaking lips.
The same lips we normally long for in the spring
we were now blinded to with eyes glaciated wide shut
And like a pair of blue frozen corpses
our limbs were stiffened,
yet somehow, we still managed to tremble together
as though it were our furnaces last attempts
to throw sparks at each other
in what could be our final days
of jointly sharing lifes’ bitter bleakness.

I welcome change,
for only it is steady and consistent.

I welcome chaos,
for it is particularly persistent.

I welcome death,
as if I had a choice.

I welcome everything,
because I am its voice.

A symphony starts
when the tempest winds blow,
moving gray cloud pads
behind lightening strings bow.

The thunder brass strikes
between the rain drums beat,
rippling once silent puddles
into hi-hat heat.

Undertones of texture,
crackling rooftop patter,
synthetic ambient ocean pads,
indoor muffled chatter.

Natures atmospheric ensemble,
Rhythm-ized to relax,
through the rain drums beat,
and its symphonic sax.

Guerilla global warming,
hung from careless hands,
sands slowly sinking,
shrinking tropic lands.

Temperatures are toasting,
roasting artic S’mores,
species extinguished,
dished by summer’s wars.

Heat strokes and skin cancer,
dancing through the smoke,
provoke Mother Nature,
all together now, choke.

Forests set a’ fire,
carbon in the sky,
goodbye dear planet,
for I murdered you and I.

The fattest fairytale ever fed
fixes a folly to foil ones head.
Flattering its host with features to attract,
it forges a fiction flavored like fact.
It’s firm to force that flesh will fade
and fibers internal are forever in grade.
Made in faith this figure does flower,
framed as the most famous, favorite, phantasmal power.
Our father who art not in heaven,
figure in yet another seven
days or more
to free us from each and every war
scored in your shifty label,
your fading film like fraying fable
feeding on man’s fear of death,
a fog, lacking face and breath.
Fumbling upon only what is said,
this fairytale fantasy foots to wed
man with prayer
at his bed.

Branches curiously root-like replicate themselves into the frozen air to jointly host today’s fair burden of romancing winters frosty breath upon their once deathlike limbs. A skeletal framework now flattered to be spangled by nature’s artistic compliments ironically outlines the now treacherous icy road routinely worn in attempts to make a living. Fortunately, the real crisp breaths of livelihood come not from arriving at ones destination, but from traveling on that slippery road while admiring and acknowledging the six inches of snow that transformed the once lifeless scenery into a breathtaking live illustration.