I am a created man (as all others), with empty words upon my spoken dialect that spills the blood of martyrs within a biased land; an emptiness so deep, and oh, so truly damned. I am this savage world that seizes then destroys with a biased claim. I am this pit of eternal fires where fiery demons thirst upon their crimson death. I am this vexing distress of sacred blood with a pulsating shaft of naked wounds, confused and dazed, from melees upon this clique of killing fields by adversaries that wrap their lips around my diseased mind of gifted sanity. I am this pen-aged ink and virgin white that liquifies the page and a young man’s fright. I am the poet of dimensional windows where I see things. I am the cool, red, mystic moon where raindrops bleed stony words upon an open terrace. I am for the sake of man: Savior.  

[This free-verse poetic prose speaks of a diminutive portion of pain I went through from the slaughter of an innocent young man serving active duty within the ranks of the military affected by MST. I have forgiven for it is not about the hate, but the pain continues to resonate. MST is a form of a violation of another person’s sexual intimacy. I had not even known the love of a good woman during this era and lost a self-esteem I never could embrace. A ruined man I struggled with many demons throughout the decades. Arriving now, at a point of self-reflection, I know the differences between goodness and wrong. The world is a mighty place to live but can bring a mighty ruin to the unprepared soul. The tiny amount of faith I had and the love for family rendered just enough to cling to. I have survived but lost so much of who I desired to be only to come out of the storm victorious awaiting for a directive of what and whom God wills me to be, and this will always be a good thing. Praise the Lord of Hosts!]