Wooden box of cars,
The red one is the best,
It’s called a “Brrrrm, Brrrrm,”.
…
Cats are funny,
laughs roll deep in my belly,
I call them, “Ghee Key”
…
A “dgg-gah, dgg-gah”
is my blanket, warm and soft.
Mom puts me to bed.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
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,
snap,
an abused highway of veins,
strangles,
the dying servant
kissed by fire,
turned to ash,
before the empty sockets,
of starving eyes.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
His selfish gray eyes,
are shut tight, as he
chews upon my ears.
Turned the wrong way,
his dead gray eyes,
see only the inside of
himself, inside HIS head.
Willfully blind to the world,
the warm glow,
close light of others,
is only distant darkness,
lost, from his shut gray eyes.
Complaining, griping, insulting,
he chews down candled souls,
the light is squelched,
lost in his wet jaws.
with eyes turned inward,
and a gut that will never satisfy.
One by one,
the lights fade,
With gray eyes turned,
into himself, in anger
he calls out,
his voice echoes
in lonely darkness
and he sees only,
the inside of himself.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
In nights dark hours,
where thoughts grow wings
and dance in my weary mind at rest,
abstract visions, engorge
upon my emotional anxiety
at an elaborate banquet,
that I can hardly remember.
Copyright © Zachary W Gilbert
Zachary W Gilbert, Author 