The Glory and the Vice

People fight hardest what they fear the most
Actions speak louder than public oaths
It’s not what they say, but what they do
They flatter while they really despise you
They say they’re right, they’re not lonely
But at night, you hear them cry forlornly
Weak, but they make no move to be strong
They say you matter but they really mean ‘so long’
They build you up once, tear you down thrice
They want loyal friends, but still want all their vice
They want the victory – but don’t want the race
They desire true love, but cannot do what it takes
Non est sine successu defectum
If this be what they are, leave and let them


Twas as the tears did fall

I wished we never happened at all

Wished I had never heard your name

Never have to feel my heart break again

But as the days have dragged on

And I stumble on alone

Here in this mansion of my mind

Filled with ghosts I fight at night

Is the deep painful truth

That I was the reason I failed you.

I regret so many things I did

Things I did for a life of no regrets

Now the most I regret, is that you were used

I regret the fact that I abused

The very one I vowed to protect

Now I find myself to neglect.

The very thing I swore not to do

Is what I did to you.

And I can’t make it better.

Can’t break out of my own fetters.

Can’t help myself be whole

So how can I fix the damage to your soul?

I saw, yet I was blind –

Starstruck lovers, one of a kind

Mirages and hallucinogens

Clear away, the truth condemns

So often those we swear to defend

Are those we ourselves offend

We walk away and swear

That we did everything we could to be fair

But the bitter fact is that

We stole, and didn’t give back

We lied, cheated, and extorted

And now we sit inside our forts

Licking our wounds, pointing fingers

Through glass windows that are really one-way mirrors

Till finally, we find that all we can do

Is walk away to find something new

Some makeshift replacement

For the hole we made in placement

Soon this heart will just be a jigsaw

Full of pieces that don’t fit at all

Because bit by bit

I’ve thrown away each little piece.

Replaced it with other people’s pieces

That will never bring me peace


Full of pieces that don’t fit

We’re falling apart, bit by bit.



What is a friend? What is an enemy?

Is it just one person’s peace, but then enmity?

Where do you draw the line?

Whence does a friend or foe define?

Are they a friend when you first get their name?

Is it after the storms and winds have came?

Is it after they heal your scars?

Is it after they patch your heart?

Is it when they just chill?

Is it when they stand by you both good and ill?

Somebody tell me, somebody tell me

To be a friend, what conditions there be?

And will someone please explain?

When did one an enemy became?

Is it when they blow out your brains?

Drown you in gas and cover you in flames?

Stab you in the heart

Tear your body apart?

Or is it the gentle kiss

As they seduce you to get lost a bit?

Is it when they stand somewhere else

To where they told you they dwelt?

When they paint their pretty masks

Covering up their telltale pasts

Trying to be somebody they isn’t

Did they ever try, no they didn’t

They look so beautiful

But inside their horrible

A trail of bread crumbs

Will warn he who is not dumb

Will they, won’t they? Catch you in a fall?

Will they be there at all?

All this uncertainty has got me

More scared then my worst enemy

So friend or enemy?

I can’t tell, so I’ll just call you a frenemy


Story behind the poem:

What is it that makes a friend? What makes one an enemy? What do you call someone who is neither yet under your skin?

I have no idea. Only time will tell I guess.



Glory – splendor, weight, magnificence, beauty

Blood and tears – her worst fears
Sun setting on a stormy eve
As she cradles a newborn son
Distraught, crying, she’s a dying one
Ichabod, his name shall be
For the glory hath departed from me
Tear-filled eyes twill never be dry
As she lets out a final cry
Ichabod – no glory – this heartbreak story
No glory, no glory, we strive yet no glory
For our complacence we are dispossessed
We strangers of the land we possessed
The high and mighty brought low
When we have no glory whence will we go?
The high priests thence be slaves
Whence they abandoned the Ancient of Days
No glory – riches become rags
Our muscles now sag
The young become faint
We grow weary – our visions grow quaint
The gold has tarnished – the silver is dull
What will wake us out this lull?
No wind, no breathe, no voice in the inner place
For the Almighty hath turned away his face!
Our bones grow cold, sitting alone
We build sepulchres out of stone
Bury ourselves inside somewhere we died
Don’t know where, when, or why
But the glory has departed
We are still en passant
The lofty and the brave
Now lie in their grave
Weak feeble men now stand fumbling
The great gifts and riches given to them
Ichabod – no glory, he bears the shame
Forever emblazoned in his name
Thou my child art condemned
To a life devoid of wealth and freedom
One day, thou wilt tell thy children
In my days, we lost the glory we were given
We who held the oracles of the Most High
Now reduced to ashes under a desert sky
Our nation’s powerful rise
Is suddenly crippled from all the lies
The glory which was, is no more
Our strong men have fallen in war
The leaves which were budding
Now shrivelling up to die
No swansong, no peak, no finish.
When the glory leaves, what will one do instead?
The dread in thy eyes, will to death rise
For nothing can the lack of glory suffice
No glory – we will but slowly die
Someone seize it ‘fore it passes us by

And the messenger answered and said, “Israel is fled before the Philistines, and there hath been also a great slaughter among the people, and thy two sons also, Hophni and Phinehas, are dead, and the ark of God is taken.”

And it came to pass, when he made mention of the ark of God, that he fell from off the seat backward by the side of the gate, and his neck brake, and he died: for he was an old man, and heavy. And he had judged Israel forty years.

And his daughter in law, Phinehas’ wife, was with child, near to be delivered: and when she heard the tidings that the ark of God was taken, and that her father in law and her husband were dead, she bowed herself and travailed; for her pains came upon her.

And about the time of her death the women that stood by her said unto her, “Fear not; for thou hast born a son.”

But she answered not, neither did she regard it. And she named the child Ichabod, saying, “The glory is departed from Israel:” (because the ark of God was taken, and because of her father in law and her husband). And she said, “The glory is departed from Israel: for the ark of God is taken.” (1 Samuel 4:17-22)