Phoebe Kate

My two sons are (among many other things) poets and lyricists, philosophers and singers. 

From the archives of my second son, the Arcane Jayer, a sample:

I DESCEND 

I descend into a rift,

a valley filled with a multitude

of porcelain and plaster.

Faces greet me with cold cement lips,

as I sift the dust for any remains.

The sun sets to allow

for the dawn of a new evil.

A frigid, unforgiving rock pile

substitutes for pillows’ comfort

and mattresses’ ease. With the utmost care,

 I force your head into these pillows,

a desolate goodnight under blankets

 of dust and mistrust.

I gaze at the moon from within this canyon;

the trees obscure the certainty of circumstances.

Behind the vagueness of truth we find our plaster casts;

molds that bind and ultimately allow the taking of a life

to be all right.

Bells ring in my head and bring me

back to the utter reality, that life

is nothing more then a snivel

underneath the barren blanket of dust.

Suffocating, we all choke

for the last breath of farewell.

                     ***

–phoebe kate