Silently Serve, Silently Die

Roots, like hearts are hidden,

under where people blindly step.

The fruit on the tree is made,

nourished, and sacrificed for

by that, which is unseen.

Not until the soil is dead,

and all the water is drank, dry,

does the fruit tree tip over,

and the broken heart leak,

and shows what layed silent

under the feet of fools

a inverted crown of roots,


an abused highway of veins,


the dying servant

kissed  by fire,

turned to ash,

before the empty sockets,

of starving eyes.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


War of the Words

Words, are but shadows, dancing upon the ears of the listener.  The warm fire of breath, heats the air, in a quaking rumble, and carries human thoughts through the black void.  The heart of the speaker hides itself upon Plato’s parapet, pulsing and moving before the fire, casting the vague shadow for the listener to see.  Truth, can not fully seen in shadow, letters form words, words form sentences, and sentences carry thoughts.   An export of shadow, carried by the light of the fire.  How does the heart export pain, hurt, rage, love, affection, hatred, and the like, with in words.  The listener, not seeing or touching the heart, feels these imbued emotions, and takes them on.  The word it would seem, is the conveyance of the heart.  If a heart is green, covered in puss, sick with hatred, the shadows will carry hurt in all of its potency to the listener, biting ears and poisoning hearts.

Consider for a moment that a shadow in transit can not be seen, until an object lays in its path, much like words can not be heard or read, until they land upon a listener or a reader.  The speaker, or writer projects images and emotions directly onto the heart of the recipient.  How much care is taken, in regards to how this message will be received?  The package of words, wrapped in invisible shadow may show love, respect, and kindness, but the heart does not lie.  It’s true self, is never false.  The medicine or poison laced within shadowing words, tell the tale of the condition of the heart.

Words are powerful.  The phrase, “I love you,” for spouses and children is air for their souls.  How long should they have to hold their breath.  “I love you,” dies in flight when the heart is lying.  When the words are formed and delivered, yet the heart is gray and dead, and its ash burns the ears, and breaks the heart of the listener.  If the proclamation of love is a reflection of a plump red heart, bursting with affection, then the words have true power.

What is gossip?  Could it simple be a distraction?  What better time to conceal the evil of the speaker, than to speak ill of another?  “Look over there, at that person.  At their kid, at their car, at their addiction, at anything, anything but me.”  A dying heart, is an embarrassed heart.  It may form words that make birds and flowers on the eared walls of the listener, but gossip is laced with poison.  The poison of betrayal, lost trust, and worst of all exaggeration.  Words, (and their purpose) live much longer, then the short time it takes to say them.  A misquoted price, a mindset, a position, a belief, an outrage, will stay etched in history.   A tattoo of sorts on the listeners heart.  When they find out about the misleading, the tattoo is ripped out the soft flesh, and the heart hurts, and bleeds.

What is a lie?  A word shadow, that the listener takes as truth, believes it, ingests it.  The heart of the speaker is cowardly, scared, worried, empty, or cruel by choice.  To lie, is to send the listener on a path of destruction.  How much can the heart of the speaker, value a misled listener?  It is difficult to think, there would be much value at all.

So if the tongue is fueled by hell fire, where is the hell fire kept?  It may be possible that the raging blaze is in the heart.  What is the purpose of speaking to another human being?  What is gained?  What is lost?  What are the motives?  After the exchange, are ears burning, while hearts are reduced to ash?

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


Warm honey, sprinkled with moonlight

Hearts, drink love in hungry gulps,

breath, kiss, and caress, quicken 

sparkling needles dance inside fingers,

summer breezes float sweetly in warm night air.

Sand scatters on times shore,

wipes smooth under oceans of passion,

surrendered souls rise like storm clouds,

rain and lightning, blast an orchestral symphony.

Sunlight spills, free and loose into the morning,

a warm orange and yellow embrace follows,

blue shadows of swaying trees in moonlight,

Hearts twist together like roots and soil.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert


Perhaps only a woman may know…


(The Bereavement of Sweetness. Oil on canvas  17x12in)

by Shannon Soldner

Perhaps only a woman may know…

Her vast emotions, live safe,

in a fortified city, their cherished relationship.

For years, nestled warm under his heart.


In a painful moment,

her life is besieged by green fire.

Her man, her love, that saboteur,

reveals his villainous tale.

Stories bite bitterly into burning ears,

while her throat swells shut,

Rhythmic heavy words ripple the air,

shaking the foundation, of her heart,

causing a mighty pressure in her chest.

Her breath becomes rapid, hot tears stream,

trust is leveled in seconds, like a wounded building.

Choking gray dust and crushing heavy concrete,

pummel her soul, and entomb her heart,

in rhythmic cruelty.

Her emotions pop like a blister,

under the jagged cut of his news.

Yet, a reddish glow, a rhythmic pulse,

warms the deep rubble.

Her heart is lost,

in love, though wounded, its lives,

in the ice cold silence.

She hates him, and loves him,

within the same heartbeat.

She condemns him, and forgives him,

in the same breath.

In this moment,

she will endure,

and she will be lost.

His fate, their fate,

rests within the moment.

The relationship;

Will it be sewn up with black stitches?

A love enduring under thick scars?

Or buried in the cold brown dirt, cried for,

then forever.

a burden to be forgotten?

Perhaps only a woman may know.


Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert