Relic of

Just outside the vestibule the blues guitar plays, made from recycled bone.
The souls of the lost and those already gone, the notes howl and moan.

A pulse called rhythm; an atone for such a sadness that leaves empty.
That tale of hollowed tree's and owls that make storied words a plenty.

Reworking the past and lovers that have given so much of  their souls.
Taking and talking into the moonlight, in an attempt to fill emptied holes.

Those that once held together the innards of what was an entire being.
Now played out note by note upon the vibrations of midnight string.

 © Jeph Rants

I see you.

You stack upon layers of material to cover who you are, coats and commitments.
They seem to bring you power to your lacking of a real version of influence.
A barricade to keep out that which may expose you to your own reality of thought.
It gives you shelter from the downpour of that existence that you hide from.
The rampart of reason filling coffers of convenience to satisfy that you do not want.
In jubilance you boast of bold moves, despite the creature of comfort upon your back.
No guardian could save you, no love can find you behind that garrison you have built.

 © Jeph Rants

Foolage.

All trees provide some value to the world.
Regardless of how one may feel about a tree.
The argument can be made for or against.
I have those invasive kind on my land, a lot.
Long ago brought by good intentions hand.
They are hard to kill, but rot from within.
Dropping thousands of seeds to spread more.
Stiff winds will split their hollow core, easy.
Just still heavy enough to cause damage.
They look wicked and tall, begging to stay.
My chain I run though them one by one.
Offspring arrive before their parent cremation.
So with my blade I strike down to the root.
The temporary shelter not worth the cost.
Efforts never ending with my blade and chain.
With neighbors too busy to notice their own,
the air the clean is choking out their land.


© Jeph Rants

Stones of hearth

Smoldering embers sit low and hide beneath the ash of what was.
Winds blow the tops off them, they shows red, and cinders of blues.
I can melt steal and wipe the forest from the face of scorched earth.
Along comes a stranger and breathes life into my flames that rise.
Wipping and turning in the night sky, the dark brought to the light.
 No care for my sparks being pushed out and across the valleys.
They seek only the light and warmth that they know I can bring them.
Its too hard and too fast, I yearn for one to feed me in a tinder way.
The patients to let me go with them, seared into their flesh and mind.
Combustion of fuel, air, and desire; to dance in the shadows we make.

© Jeph Rants

Reflex in blue

I closed my lids and focused on where I needed to go.
They opened to find me in the oceans between waves.
Alone in the wide open with nothing but blue up and down.
No gravity pulling me towards the dirt far below my feet.
The air too thin to pull myself free from the brine I'm in.
My lungs filled with enough to hold me afloat upon tides.
A breaker comes to silence my calls for anyone to help.
The hollows fill with wet salt and my eyes burn closed.
My chest heaves as I sink again between the surging.
Ripples caused by a breeze push past my exposed parts.
It whispers to me that I should no longer fight the brink.
I do not try to inflate myself and watch the sky slip away.
Down I go with out a splash until only my fingers left.
Long and narrow my body slides beneath the surface.
Rainbows of color fill my sight as the prisms tend to do.
My gaze still towards the life above the deep I sink into.
Its becoming part of me and I am only but part of it now.
The light moves away, I feel convulsions, my body fights.
With a whisper I hear to come home and be at peace.
No need for struggle as my time lays in the sands below.


 © Jeph Rants

Dispossession of destinies.

The bark stripped and scared from the talons in cantaloupe colored sky.
Strings of unmaintained yard grass corkscrews about as if playing in the gust.
A once painted fence hides from the world behind a wall of thorn covered vines. 
The moon at the heals of the horizon the beginning is another final performance.
Hare stashed within its shelter finds the sweet dew waiting just outside for him.
Flowers in bloom scent the air and make easy forgetting the hooks on the tree.
Whistles from clicks echo between the raspy bark from a neighbors dog.
Her feathers blend her well into the backdrop of the oak thats her favorite.
The long solo branch she hunts from hangs high enough to rule this pasture.
Stalking while baking in the mornings opportunities as they to continue to unfold.
She sits and prey's with out the fear of remorse but with a specific need to fulfill.
The spoil no more aware and the assassin no more wicked for intention or act.
Chance will come for them both and luck will favor only one; the other deprived.


 © Jeph Rants

Once World.

You see I had to learn to be this way.

I once was a bastard and a whore.

A swindler with a wicked tongue.

With longing and passion for more.

Wrapped in armor as my cage.

Ever moving to follow no path at all.

I was an outlaw and a lover of life.

But my ways were waning quick.

Never the tale told to know a lady.

Or a item taken not truly earned.

My morals burning like embers within.

Needing only knowledge as its fuel

To let others in to breath into the flame.

Still perfection will ever elude my hand.

Only I now offer a smile at that jest.

I was once a scoundrel to the world.

Until I realized thats what I made it.

© Jeph Rants