Where are the skeletons...

There was a time when the crazy, insane junctures in life remained hidden,
Tucked away,
Secrets for others to chat about,
Never denied or confirmed,
The meat of the topic chewed upon, consumed,
Eventually becoming skeletal remains,
Hanging in a dark closet,
Enveloped in the spider’s web,
Forgotten.

In the twenty-first century, the being airs all via Facebook or Twitter,
Like an electronic roadside billboard or TV ad,
The status changes by the second,
A new tweet appears,
Updating all on their latest drama, tantrum, or madness,
Nothing is too personal,
All is disclosed.

Nevertheless, they are astounded when they learn others are discussing their private affairs,

How dare they!

The Peddler's Whisper

The curtain rises…

Warm smoke saturates his lung tissue,
Swiftly whirling into the capillaries of his brain,
Euphoria ensues, pleasure overtakes him, Superman emerges,
“Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive,”

The peddler had whispered, “Ice, Ice, Baby,”
Mimicking the Vanilla man’s rap,
Ice is the tower to your nirvana, he promised.
Pleasure soon awaits,

Adam gazes at Eva ,
She slithers sensually toward him, her smile bright, as she casts off her attire,
Hungrily, his sex replies,
As their fantasies engage,
Mentally, he thanks the hawker for his wares,

The last act….

His emaciated form shuffles across the dirty carpet that is littered with empty beer cans,
Vacant eyes are reflected in a distant mirror,
Lying on a stained sofa, she snores,
Mouth open, drool on her face, rotten teeth just visible,
As the flame licks at the glass pipe, the fog that swirls will scarcely dampen the despair,
Suspicion is preceded by slipping sanity.
He stands on a crumbling tower that led to unreality.

Passage

The angel’s face was in shadow,
Darkened by the cloak of mortality,
The shroud of casualty and fate,
A taker of spirits,
Immature or aged,
Unspoiled or rotten,
He lingers, ever present, waiting,
For the murmur of imminent passing.

Her gasp clatters,
Uncouth her lungs rebel,
And when the final declaration is expended,
He lights, like a butterfly,
And whispers, “Your soul He takes,”
Unafraid, she smiles,
Gently enfolded within his cape,
Luminous, they wing heavenward.