It’s what causes loneliness for the heavy hearted,
and depression for the lonely.
It’s something that kills again and again,
something too many must live with.
It keeps the poor ones hungry
and the rich ones wanting
and it’s responsible for so much bad.

It’s also what kept a heart beating
when violent hearts were pounding,
what kept one from making an unforgettable, unforgivable mistake.
It’s been known to keep the good as good
and to keep the bad away
and to let us all decide for ourselves on which way is right.

It is a blessing.
It is a sin.
It is part of you
and me
and them.
It is the only thing,
one of countless,
and none of any.
Some days,
it is my saving grace.

© Blake Leitch August 16, 2015

There’s a whole world up there;
not beyond the clouds,
but in the clouds themselves.
Up there lies the basis of life,
a reservoir of existence
ready to reinvigorate every ant down here.
And up there lies mystery –
a series of questions we still can’t answer,
a series of questions we don’t know how to ask.
I like the sun moreso than many,
but sometimes, just sometimes,
thank the heavens above
for the silver-lined reservoirs of life.

© Blake Leitch July 21, 2015

A picture from a postcard,
a Rod Major masterpiece,
an image of perfection.
Clouds scatter far and wide
to let the north-west sky
be the blue reflected below.
And the trees,
the endless ocean of trees
I could only dream to name;
they are something purely beautiful.
Log cabins are dotted shore-wide
while kayaks skim the water top.
A picture from a postcard,
a Rod Major masterpiece,
an image of perfection.

© Blake Leitch June 13, 2015

Life and death are the problem
until progress changes truths.
As age becomes a distant bother,
time increased with friend and brother,
a chance to go ‘tween lust and lover,
it’s meaning that we lose.

As truths evolve for some,
rights are changed for all.
And new problems take their place;
from a right-to-laugh to fashion taste,
it really doesn’t matter, whatever the case.
It’s life made superficial.

© Blake Leitch July 10, 2015

It’s because there are times
when the world feels empty,
because there are times
when today feels like just another
in a long line of yesterdays,
because sometimes the screams
and yells and curses and hate
is just a cross too heavy to bear,
because sometimes I need hope.
Why do I listen? Because sometimes
hope is the only hope left.

© Blake Leitch October 20, 2014

He doesn’t fight or work
or live by the law; he lives
by the land, he survives.
Life is the only life he knows,
not breath for the sake of
promises. He doesn’t
give himself to take, and
he doesn’t take without need.

And he’s no saint.

He is just a life amidst lives,
and his induction into civilisation
kills him. He is not civilised,
he is no servant to you or me,
he is a man by his own ways.
He is not for us nor gods nor
systems; he is for himself and
we’ve killed him. We’ve killed him.

© Blake Leitch October 8, 2014

A concrete stronghold
holds back a giant of our land,
forcing forces of anger
to keep and build. The lords
and masters of the stronghold and,
ergo, of that giant monstrosity, that
beast, know of the building frustrations that could eventually
overcome their powers. So
once in a time and again, the beast is
let loose. A short leash keeps
the beast from causing chaos,
but allows a tantrum of magnitude
to reek havoc on anything
foolish enough to stand in
the beast’s allowed wake.

And we watch.

We stand on a viewing platform and
watch as momentary Armageddon
takes hold. Some watch in awe,
some in fear; everyone has their reason, but the feelings are hardly
without each other. Regardless,
we stand and we watch as
destruction ensues. Like a storm’s
torrential wind, life and rocks are
beaten down and battered. And then…
it’s over. Heaven or Hell takes hold
of the poor and unprepared. But
ultimately, the lords and masters
retain control with a crack of their
concrete whip. For now, at least,
the beast is retained, until we fall.

© Blake Leitch March 1, 2014