Poems from Kurt Philip Behm
Religion…my writing,
all faith in the pen
My savior the words
—the Muse heaven sent
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Dying the slow death of political infection,
it hides within our words
As we try to run, and try to hide,
its plague a constant scourge...
A ring on his finger
—ribbon around his heart
(Dreamsleep: August, 2019)
The better Angels of our nature…
the Devil only laughs
Laying traps as yet unseen,
in virtues aftermath
Reluctant aspiration,
free will...
Where would we be without language,
still naked around the fire
Trading bones with a grunt or moan,
very little to inspire
How could we...