I’m doubt ridden

about living

in ways

far from how my heart feels…

My beats are beating

through sternum

to fight from hurting…

Cuz pain,

only shows true gain

if it’s from learning.


(the same mistakes)

keep staking me to the grain…

These tools of sin,

keep carving a brother’s name…

Mercy me,

it hurts to be the outcast…

who knows..

This light of mine

might shine

if I could outlast…


©2018 SagePoetry. All Rights Reserved.

Photo: ikutokitten/ DeviantArt.net

webs we weave.

My heart’s split in a thousand threads,
each wicked twine spins new sorrow..

Unraveled minds,
leaving behind
a broken shell..

The house of pain.

The home of truth.

The bed of despair.

Is this the cocoon for me to own?

Wrapped in wrath?
To bloom in hate??

Or does pressure squeeze magnificent stones?
Birth immovable anatomy?
Found internal fortresses?

Yes it is true, I cannot shield
YOUR pain,

YOUR anguish..

But maybe I can knit a new narrative.

Stitch a new standard.

Patch renewed passion,

in those who choose to thread
beyond dread


lace new faith

in those who choose to believe

beyond belief..



©2018 SagePoetry. All Rights Reserved.


So much to hate.

So much to love.


So much to feel..


So little time,

Such little patience.


So many ills..


Somebody cares.

Somebody doesn’t.


Nobody deals..


Life isn’t perfect.

Life isn’t fair.


But life is real..


So think that,


look in the mirror,


and see what’s looking back..




©2018 SagePoetry. All Rights Reserved.

simple snares

Idle words in the dead of the night,


fiend response 

in unGodly hours.


“whatever” can fix these fits..


as long as it comes quick..


So he pours slow

when pitted with these pangs for pleasure.


You know he rather feel emotion by the liter..


Just dirty habits of a hollow heart,

still itching with temptation..


But, in truth,

he fiends control 

and sinks in his shortcomings.


so eager to see 

just how far 

this rabbit hole goes..



©2018 SagePoetry. All Rights Reserved.

The Jedi

I was a star before books had answers

in a galaxy far beyond these bars and stanzas.

Molding novas into ink to tame flames of an enflamed brain, breaking the cells thats barring me..

Such routine is boring me.

So I’m alien to the concept of your world

cuz I live in fantasies of making ’em reality..



notebook space

is the only place that I call home.


At least until this carbon decides to copy the rest,

in peace..


Then I’ll be a free man,

no longer fighting this fire with fire


and no longer taking such pains

in vain.




©2018 SagePoetry. Rights Reserved.


I let the ink roll…


and stain pearl pages

to purge curved rages

that really relish in the venom thats been

soiling my soul.



I let the ink roll…


and stain pearl pages

for brilliant explanations

on what troubles I hold.



I let the ink roll,


and stain pearl pages

for the hazards that I’m faced with

and the grit it takes to make it..


Too sullied with grief

to wade in patience.




So sullied,

my grief

gradually grates my greatness..




I don’t know…


I think I let the ink roll,


and stain pearl pages

to mark these traces

of hope

in hopes that it never gets mistaken.




©2018 Sage Poetry. All Rights Reserved.

Sleeping Dragons

The best dreams

have been laid in accord

by the assembly line antics

that scramble the brain frantic…



thats another one


that fell captive to reason.



that’s another one


shackled by logic.


All the while,

dormant dreams lie


unaware of their freedom.


All the while,

dormant dreams lie


unaware of false knowledge.


But you can’t bottle the fire

ignited with passion.



you can channel the fire

making the magic…


Because failure is a myth

if opportunity is a gift…


So, awake to take what’s yours.




©2018 Sage Poetry. All Rights Reserved.

Midwest Blues

I’m just a midwest playa,

gaming to gain hues.


In the green or red sense,

whatever the game choose..


That means

I’m in it to win it,

minute to minute,

I cant lose

not a second’s progression

in the direction that I’ve viewed.


My third eye’s blind to mirages of fair systems.


My third eye’s open to visions of clear victims.


And I’m not a fan of not giving a damn..

So I rather make a stand before taking the stands…


So my token of admission is knowing the difference.

Knowing I’m built for the league,

knowing I shape the conditions..

Cuz these vices I’m living, have given room to improve

for a midwest playa

who still competes with the blues.



©2018 Sage Poetry. All Rights Reserved.

Lost Leaves



A sore,

among scarred minds, 

that lie in wake of aching purpose.


This is Ambition’s Achilles..


Dragging us by the collar 

to heeled complacency.



the comforts of the bottom..


These shallow pleasures, 

piling for the forgotten.




©2018 Sage Poetry. All Rights Reserved.