"Warning of the Night"

Bridle your tongue young man
and capture thoughts of the heart.
Imagine the fire engulfed in the sand
while you crave the organ, the harp. Play a game at your leisure
Take in the air at ease.
The same is the fool—the day of seizure,
a lullaby in the night of theives.
But thou art wise, ready to die.
Thy cross wears you and not a crown.
The death of the moon, as eternity nighs,
with stars looking all around.

"Scales of the Poet"

The scales of the poet: How lovely
and iridescent the purple, blue, brown,
and green. The poet's eyelids flash
their brilliance. As scales fall, a light beams
from the soul, to only be covered in a
moment from the beauty of the
semi-transparent scale. The light. Foggy
but clear as glass or that crystal that
appears through the windows of
upscale dreams. The reams of plagues
tucked away, covering the green
blankiets of happiness—and the
gold and ice. But the buckets, they
can catch the scales. They weigh as
priceless but are sold for pennies.
The poet, so naive to commodity.