The Rest House

On a lonely hill, where no one makes home, is a 

Rest house. On that hill, where crickets take ease 

And lay their tune, where brothers aim never to go, yet 

Their sisters try to rest their heads, is that rest house.

With foundations foreign and strong yet weak to the 

Muddy terrain, sturdy and yet, so frail to the seasons there;

This rest house was made to ease the weary and travelling in

pain, yet

Welcomes those who use it for a wicked aim, and then leave.

The caretaker has no complaints; it gets so lonesome on that hill;

When the rest house is his mind.
                      ||THE REST HOUSE||



Game Of Choice

Choice is irrelevant;another supplement
In a dose for numbing reality.
A world maleficent;not a complement
To men teaching naivety.
We are considerate;spectacularly sane
Until life makes living a pain.
Then choice seeks relevance;becoming popular
In case man’s conscience becomes bipolar.
Choice is playable; a gentleman’s sport
With two Russians and a Roulette wheel.
God is the Croupier:holding the sacred fort
While he throws the ball for us to kneel.


Faced with the sight of oblivion,
put in place by life’s cruel unveiling – showing how we are vulnerable.
We give monsters names and plots
then hand ourselves a focused purpose
to fight against forces that could care less
so our life seems less of a void space
when the hourglass has a pebble in place.
We create gods and monsters in our image
give them life above lack of meaning.
So we can live in some semblance of peace
avoiding the verse that goes like this;
“bleak futures make us grimace,
like dark corners make fire retrace,
the body shakes at death’s warm embrace,
the soul scurries from angst’s sweet grace.”

The Tempered Embrace

my fingers wont stray from their iron embrace.
your words were fierce so your neck must break.
My rage is quick. tempered animals on the mend,
with instincts like mine, kill insects that leer.
you’re an insect-you steered too far from my grace.
(now you’re evil red) and may hope to break
my embrace with your mandible’s lower end
But Be Still! my fingers will unloose when your breath is queer.

Lebrecht|Hitlebb 2016

A spectre with love

A Spectre came, 

rousing the person lodging in my nogging.

He beckoned my tenant,

who sighed to berate his tyrant.

But then he marveled,

wanting nothing more than to reach out

and leave his room of logic,

to seek madness from his shell, for magic.

His latent desire,

an escapade with a spirit not right,

stumbled in with sensations to rekindle  

the romance his pragmatics lack.

So he skips out, my savvy.

Hand in hand with his new-found cherie

to tumble bareback  and far from all distraction

never to return, lost in the wind of passion.

Then he returns,

crawling back to me every night.

seeking refuge where it’s right

his winded shrieks give me fright

Battered by the cold

searching for a whole.

 Begging for the shell he damned

yet hoping his feeling comes around.

I wait in the night

wait for the spectre to come for his right

for the tenant to run from his true light

for love to come calling for the night.

Lebrecht|Hitlebb 2016

My own private torture…

Still not sure how I stare back at this lack
while held by chains of my own private torture.
Walls so wicked they’re leering back
at my helpless wails and tasty tears.

I made the choice to be this way
In blinding light that makes me sick
but why leave that Which helps me stick
the ways that keep me safe and let you stay

I once brought down Jericho with you!
Hammered down the walls holding me back
leaving debris of your indirect conquest
As a testament to your masses and dark religion.

I was impressed by what you did
So I sponged from you before my journey home

Watching your maturity date age in simple magnificence with awe

I begun wanting to make my ways in your image.

Forgetting my old haven needs its own beams and foundation

I built stairways measured in your grand heights going higher

and never considered they’d topple over.

Now my little dreams are there with My Lady called Future.

They’re in danger because My Mind Palace seemed sturdy and I was so eager.

Either I didn’t master or you’re just youthful banter

it doesn’t matter now, they’re gone and I’m a loser.

All I have for me is faith and a journey on the path to atonement

the place I’ll visit while bound by my fallen

their chains will make me stronger

and I’ll drag them while I punish my self to show you the effects of your way

from the sound of my pain
From my own private torture.

Hitlebb|Lebrecht © 2016