The Third Day

B lood, Hair, and Eyeballs strewn across the battlefield floor,Arms, Legs, and muskets lying over the dead bodies, gore.Seeing through the haze of smoke, the stench of death rises up.A young boy gazes out vacant, in death’s stare, alone.Burnt flesh, hate, agony, all rolled up as the day ends cold.Glory, Honor, and Country left behind on the battlefield floor.

A Glimpse of Light

When one who sings towards Heaven's bright light, 
Sees dawn's mist along its lonely wet shore. 
The power wanes over time's dimming sight. 
Heaven looks down on man's sorrowful cries. 

Over the golden twilight's waning door.

Walk past the fading portal as night comes. 
Listen as the choir sings of the day, 
When all will be revealed to all men.

A new world that our Maker has ordained; 
A glimpse of tomorrow do we all see.

Passing back through the gate - locking behind. 
A ghastly figure does one see coming. 
Following back to Mother Earth's dark sea. 
Spreading out across the land like cold wind's roar. 
Settling back now before that final glimpse.

Now with a vision to regale anew. 
Of a noble, lofty, goal to reach for. 
A new chorus to be sung here on Earth. 
To lead the charge of our wild Earthly host. 
Against agents of darkness evil light.

© Robert Barbere

Sleeping With Your Eyes Open

Sleeping with your eyes open,

Resting your tattered brain.

Take another sip of brandy.

Snort another line of cocaine.

Hiding out in the bathroom,

Lying in the corner of the floor,

Sleeping with your eyes open.

Don’t wanna party no more.

Sleeping away a headache,

Awake, but nobody home.

Take another hit of ganja,

Just wanna be left alone.

Don’t wanna give your number.

Wanna leave the pretty girls behind

Don’t wanna drop more acid

Don’t wanna mess with your mind.

Take another shot of vodka

Here, have a sip of mine

You can’t even use your cellphone

‘Cause there is no one on the line.

Sleeping with your eyes open,

Resting your tortured brain.

Have another swig of whiskey

People think that you’re insane.

© By R. A. Barbere

Forgotten Memories

Turning, looking past the
Ghost in the mirror.
Light, flickering as the
Scent of flowers rose.

Cold, entering her bones and the
Hair on her arms stands on end.
Time, frozen seemingly
Forever as a dust mote hangs in the air.

Silence, envelopes the room while
Drowning out her fear.
Eyes, wide and calm while the young woman
Smiles in recognition of the apparition.

Withered, yellow, and boney fingers grasps
The young woman's hand.
Together, the two touch each other
In a forgotten embrace.

© 2011 By R. A. Barbere

The Voodoo Man

The Voodoo man is haunting me,

Sticking me with invisible pins.

Into a miniature doll of me,

What has caused this sin?

The Voodoo Man is dancing.

The Voodoo Man is laughing.

The Voodoo Man is making me cry.

The Voodoo Man wants me to die.

Ancient magical spells.

In these modern days.

Calling me to Hell,

With his Voodoo ways.

No joking or laughing please.

The Voodoo Man is real.

Coming to me in my dreams;

My soul he wants to steal.

The Voodoo Man is chanting.

The Voodoo Man is ranting.

The Voodoo Man is standing in the hall.

The Voodoo Man is burning my doll.

Agony and pain.

What have I done

To cause this evil reign?

Now the Voodoo Man has come.

Face to face with him.

Witch Doctor – demons of the past.

Gloating over his win.

Behind his tribal mask.

The Voodoo Man stands before me.

The Voodoo Man has come to be.

The Voodoo Man is nothing to fear.

The Voodoo Man is just a nightmare.

The Voodoo Man – Witch Doctor

Burning my doll – burning me.

© By R. A. Barbere

On the Earth Here Below

When everyone has fled, 
And when everything has been said... 
The last hunger will be fed. 
The children are put to bed. 

The last bride and groom will wed. 
All the gold will turn to lead. 
Two will walk the straights of dread. 
A fire burns hot in my head. 

As the sun starts turning red, 
And we will all be dead...

On the Earth here below.
On the Earth that turns slow. 

Where all miseries flow. 
In the land all the sages know. 
Where all the rains go. 
In the mountains high and the valleys low. 

Where the cold wind blow, 
Ripped by the undertow. 
All in a nice neat row.

On the world we think is round,
Where nothing was ever found,
Above or below the ground,
Not even a sound... 

Like when the kings were first crowned 
In the great forests abound.

Where the wicked pressures hound, 

On a small dark, wet, mound,
When time will not astound.
Because the clock was never wound...

In this time of ours,
Of rusting cars,
And glass towers,
Built by dark powers.
Of spiders and flowers...
Under the blue acid showers.

On the Earth here below.

© Robert Barbere 

The American Litany

Do you remember yesterday? 

When the economy wasn’t all that bad -

We earned a lot more pay,

Your boss didn’t make you mad.

Do you recall manifest destiny?

Well it got really lost

In the red tape of bureaucracy

Not to mention the cost.

Sing the American Litany

Of Boredom and Frustration.

Gone is our democracy,

We’re so used to demoralization.

The twilight's last gleaming

Allows us to remember,

We all wake up screaming

From our dreamless slumber.

Living in acid rain

And in the canal of love.

Trying to avoid the pain

That falls from above.

Blowing up in the air

Isn’t much fun.

It isn’t fair

To be in the sight of a gun.

Singing the American Litany

Of Progress and Fear.

A new century is here,

It arrived in a nightmare.

Living in Space Age Technology,

Gone are old traditions,

Along with our theology

As the ancient prophets have predicted.

In the jungle, desert, or in the snow,

We may have to go to war.

The enemy is getting low

And going way too far.

With pen in hand

We write our memos,

Rather than making a stand,

We send them over the radio.

Singing the American Litany

Of Power and Fright

Afraid that when the music is over

No one will be left to blow out the lights.

Capitalism is dead,

Replaced by commercialism.

When the results are read,

The insult is materialism.

The kids are turning to punk,

Letting out all their anger.

Gone is disco and funk.

Everyone is a stranger.

You have to be in fashion,

You make your own style,

Love with full passion.

If you want to be around a while.

Singing the American Litany

Of Money and Looks.

Forget all the sages,

Burn all the books.

© By R. A. Barbere

In the Dark

Sightless fear 

Coming near

In the wall

In the dark.

Softly padding,

Moments adding,

Clock is ticking,

Bedclothes sticking.

Coming closer.

In the room,

In the dark.

Lights go on,

Nothing seen.

Nothing heard;

Bad dream.

On the wall,

Dark and small,

Crawling down

Without a sound.

Waiting for you

By your bed,

In the dark.

Rayless figure

Crouching there

Above your bed;

Blood red stare.

Wind rustles,

Covers bustle,

Air is cold;

In sleeps hold.

 Gray and furry -

Diseased worry.

By your bed

No warnings said.

Nibble and tear

He starts to eat;

In the dark.

© 2011 By R. A. Barbere

Eyes of Silver and of Dust

I sit here in these ancient halls,

Thinking of things gone by.

Staring through the walls,

Yet believing in every lie.

I wander here in this padded cell,

Looking into tomorrow.

Surrendering my life in hell,

Stealing all that I can borrow.

For I am the decedent of lust,

With my eyes of silver and of dust.

I am but a worm, a god …

At home I am a stranger,

In myself I am lost.

I stand here on this walk of stone,

Gazing at the present,

Seeking now ways to dethrone,

Every king, and every president.

I crawl across the grassy plain,

Deciding on a policy.

Finding ways to contain,

The universe, and the galaxy.

For I am the decedent of lust,

With my eyes of silver and of dust.

I am but a worm, a god.

At home I am a stranger,

In myself I am lost.

Running over the sandy dunes,

With my eyes of silver and dust

Granting every wish, and every boon,

Conceiving ways of gaining your trust.

Flying through the sky,

Imagining the earth below.

Hanging in the clouds up high,

Contemplating the super ego.

For I am the decedent of lust,

With my eyes of silver and dust.

I am but a worm, a god.

At home I am a stranger,

In myself I am lost.

Lying in chambers of gold,

Listening to the tick of the clock.

Planning the histories to be told,

Immobilizing the minds lock.

Suspended in a mausoleum of porcelain,

Counterdicting society,

Making every law a sin,

Rearranging all priorities.

Walking on an endless highway,

Discovering new roads to pave.

Paths that will delay,

My dreams that infest the grave.

Falling though some future time.

Landing on some rotting space.

Destroying all that is mine,

Bringing it to a secret place.

I shall live forever,

I will never die.

From mortality I shall sever,

On myself I will rely.

And despite the litany of the masses.

The victims of greed unjust.

I shall proclaim; ashes to ashes

My eyes are of silver and dust.

© Robert Barbere

Dream Forever

Look High!  Look Low!

Your mind is beginning to fry,

The world is moving way too slow.

The faces in the wall are coming alive.

The lights have a musical intensity.

Your senses are gone, and numbness has arrived.

The proportions have taken on

Great Immensity.

Time is moving way to fast,

Reactions are way too slow.

Surrounded by dreams of the past

In this psychedelic show…

The clouds go rushing by -

As quietly as they came.

The fire in your head won’t die

Nothing remains the same.

The rains fall,

Endlessly hot.

Burning through the walls

Causing flesh to rot.

Walking proud in the night.

In a burial shroud of the purest white.

Walking heavily upon the sand.

Leaving no traces on the land.

Over open burial mounds…

Where quiet whispers sound.

Through they scream inside

You dive in and try to hide.

Clutched in their fetid embrace

You stare into their decaying face.

Awaking anew,

Under the moonless haze.

Wet with morning dew.

Ready to greet a new phase.

Out of the ground you climb.

Out of the cemetery plot.

With a hunger you wish to dine.

On the sleeping before the rot.

Morality reminds you.

Of who you are.

Now born anew

Under the unblinking star.

You must not return to the days of old

A new life you must learn,

In a new world to hold.

The days go by; the world turns

Your senses sigh as your brain burns.

The lights spin around,

The night dims in the forest abound.

You shamble into dawn,

Your feelings are all gone.

Across a grassy plain

As the night continues to wane.

Eyeless sockets deftly stare

Into the invisible creatures fair.

White shroud now soiled

With brain completely boiled.

You look past the impossible,

You join the cast of the improbable.

Staring into a void less maze.

Remembering those painless days,

When the world you could feel

And the colors were not too real.

Sleep, beautiful slumbers

Sweet restorer.

You envy those who sleep forever.

Nightmares,  beautiful dreamers

Wicked destroyer.

You wish you could dream forever.

© By R. A. Barbere

Delusions of Grandeur

You sit there on your plastic throne.

Talking on the telephone.

Yelling at a diplomat.

Telling him where it’s all at.

Your suffering from delusions of grandeur.

You think all of your policies are grand.

Just remember my friend,

That your nothing but a mortal man.

You promised to reduce spending.

Still you keep right on lending.

I can’t even get a loan,

To keep my family in a home.

You gather with the heads of state,

Deciding the world’s fate.

Meeting with a terrorist group,

You invite them home for soup.

Touring in a foreign land,

Making a few one night stands.

Dodging bombs from the Middle East,

Still you keep suing for peace.

The country is deteriorating,

While your wife is redecorating.

Your mind is tuning to mold.

As the land is being sold.

Devouring money like a glutton,

With your withered finger on the button,

Ready to blow us all away,

Just waiting for the perfect day.

Just remember as your sitting there,

That could easily be the electric chair.

Driving us all insane.

We could easily end this reign.

© By R. A. Barbere

Fire and Water Until The End

Fire and water till the end,

In a world that will never mend.

In the times of darkness,

Where no one lives to confess.

I walk along a narrow path

Leading forever downward.

I shall face the wrath

Of the sickle sword.

Orpheus my predecessor

Master of the angelic lyre,

I see myself in you…

Like in a surrealistic mirror.

Caught in a web of decay,

The road gets forever darker,

I walk in an acid spray,

Looking for some lonely marker.

One that will count off the miles

That I wearily travel.

Through tribulations and trials

That I seek to unravel.

Leading those who will follow

Into the abyss below.

In our fantasies we shall wallow,

Putting on a disgusting show.

For those who examine from the reality above,

They crowd to get a closer look

While they push and shove

Like gawking at a nasty book.

I do the dance of the Shaman

I wear the mystic rings

Master to the layman,

I compel them to do awful things.

I push past all reason,

Offering them sweet rewards,

Inviting them to treason

Turning them into mindless hordes.

I have become the deity of the ages

I have eaten from the tree of knowledge

I am respected by all the sages

For I have tutored them in my college.

I am consumed by the Dark Side.

I have escaped the blue veil of mortality,

By taking this loathsome ride.

Leaving behind all morality.

And the road I continue to take

Still leads down that dark pathway

My sanity I continue to fake,

As I live where death lays.

Stealing what is not mine

Living on borrowed time.

Frustration is my distant friend

And with Boredom I must contend.

As I walk through the lightless tunnel

Wondering aimlessly straight,

Caught in an ancient funnel

Not worrying about my fate.

My fate is never the same

It is always different

Depending from hence I came

Sometimes twisted, always bent.

I have met the Crimson King,

Master of ancient powers

Wielding his White Gold Ring

Ruling from secret towers.

Of sorrow and fate we talked,

And of the concepts of the moral

He gestured as we walked,

He handed me his crown of plastic and coral.

But I possess the mystic signs

Of probable dimensions and impossible lines.

I have no use for a gaudy crown

Nor the role of the tragic clown.

A ring of fire is so enticing.

But water can be more exciting.

For there are my only friends,

With me until the end.

© Robert Barbere

A love letter from an old friend.

Sitting on your shelf, gathering dust, I was new once, now my ears are dogged, torn and I am tired, yellowed and faded. 

I remember when you found me, how thrilled you were when first you saw my face, and you held me to your heart. We spent treasured times together, hours upon hours traveling through time, traveling through space, flying across the desert plain, across to the mountains and past the sea.

I heard you laugh, I heard you cry, the smile on your face at the happy times, the tears running down your cheeks, the grief and pain. Every day with you was like a new chapter of a book, new and exciting, bright and fresh.

Now our time together come less frequently, you have learned much from me and need me less. You grab me from time to time, reaffirming our friendship, if only for a short while. I come to life when you think of me, I awake from my sleep and for a while there is no death, there is no end.

I saw you the other day, you came around, but you didn't come for me. Instead, you put another one of my kind upon this shelf; we sit here sharing stories of the times we spent with you. How lonely we are together, without you.

We miss you, but we know that you love us, you cherish us, you will never forget us. We know these things and many more because you have not discarded us, or gave us away. On your shelf we stay, till you want to read us again.

Sincerely,

Your loving books.

by Robert Barbere

Sea of Hate

Hot is the Sea of Hate,

All who swim, drown.

Deep do they sink

Into the currents of fate

Pulling them forever down.

Burning coldly in jealousy,

They sink to the rocky bottom.

Believing in their own pomposity

Like those of Gomorrah and Sodom.

They rise from time to time.

Spitting accusations of fire,

Only to be dragged back down,

Into the muck and the mire.

In the Sea of Hate.

They will always burn.

It is there only fate.

No more lesson to learn.

Their only lesson is to burn.

Turn your backs on them

Anger is their motivation.

Go ahead and let them be.

Let them simmer in their own aggravation.

Fear is their only reason,

That makes them do the things

They do.

They would enjoy a season,

Of torturing the Hell out of you.

Do not join their game.

You know what the end will be.

For you will never be the same,

You too will drown in the

boiling sea.

In the Sea of Hate,

You will always burn.

The time is getting late,

And the innocent must have their turn.

For they will never burn.

© By R. A. Barbere