Time Traveling Hero

In bright fettered darkness;

If ever you need me…

Lost deep in the timestream–

That is where I will be.

Past, present, and future–

There is so much to see!

But I must keep going,

To maintain that you’re free.


–Alex Tisdale


The Picture of A Cynic

The Crow would know it’s all a show

The veil of self-defeat.

The Fox has mox and slips the locks

But dies out on the streets.


The worst is cursed to quench the thirst

Vanity laid bare.

We taste the waste of love erased

Deserved sweet despair.


And debt is met with perfect threat

With nothing more to say.

The winds of sin caress the skin

It all just turns to Gray.


Friday the 13th

Flood your heart with awful fright

In this abysmal darkened hour–

Let all your horrid thoughts devour

This, your freedom; Horror night.


Put your back against the wall

As ghoulish hands tear at your soul;

With all your friends now dead and cold–

You hear the shrieks engross the halls!


The scathing claws are at your door!

Blood-soaked teeth for flesh to meet–

An apparition without feet;

Empty sockets see no more…


You squirm alone until you find

The black, repulsive, gripping scares

And bloody, sharpened, bleak nightmares

Are just a creak inside your mind.


But in that truth a shadow lies

That grinds the jaw against itself:

A visage mirrored; maw of hell–

The morbid future–your demise!


It lurks inside and deep beneath;

The cawing crow of beastly ire–

A putrid scent of flesh and fire!

Beware Friday on the Thirteenth.

The Devil’s Whisper

What madness this that I contrive
that makes me think with just my eyes
that I convict my only bride
of treachery that she may hide?

Inside my heart where it abides
that my imagination ties
a dream of hurt and sickly lies
if it reality defies

Her simple laugh and heavy sighs
that for another man do fly
and them I see as oft’ the sky
then feel my faith begin to die

A devil is this jealousy
that makes me long for honesty.


For a time we jest, but pass the test—

A brilliant Summer’s sky,

When chilling dreams of Winter leaves–

The taste of green is nigh,

The Spring is sweet and does repeat–

The sounds of love and loss,

But be forewarned of fated scorn–

The cold returning dross.