Tuesday, November 16, 2010


"Forget the screeching
and come to a hault

I'm sick of your games
and tired of your whims
and fancies or so called

Selfish? perhaps I am
so what?
then would you love me
more or less if I
were not I?

excuses...you know
Never mind, my friend

In the end you will
witness my vindication,"

he says

before the fall...

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Whisper (until the flame inside melts the castle of ice)

I ignite inside and
suddenly something
is consumed

It feels as if I have
always known
but I have lost

Did I hope for
success where it
can only be earned?

I am frozen in pain
of the realization
a flame encased
in the ice newly formed

How? why? because
of me it is
how it is

but it can change...

Isn't that better
than a no?
Why am I discontent
when it is my
doing anyway?

I can't wait
I can't wait
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't...


- Daniel Z. Garrett -

Saturday, July 31, 2010

The Cliche

The fur flies
across the sea of
seemingly endless

Only for it all
to be for naught
as like karma

Man's best friend
comes back again


Friday, April 16, 2010

Silly discussions
these debates
I ignore
Should I intercede?
I think I know better...
Yet that is why you argue
So to argue proves you right
and to keep silence
is the only way to "win"?!
somehow this seems wrong
But what other option
is there?

"That is so wrong!"
i scream inside
peace overwhelms
From an unknown source
Forgive me
I pray
The bickering continues
"There is no one like our God..."

The song grabs every fiber
as I try to write
I reluctantly type
Joyful undercurrents


Tuesday, November 24, 2009

i hung a pic-

i hung a pic-
ture on the wall

a glimpse of dead-
ly sins anoth-
er committed

i bleed; i bled

salvation come

- Daniel Z. Garrett -

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

role models

vases are emptying
beneath the visible plane
as one tries
he fails to see
them there
he cries
refilling the vases
helping another
by showing emotion

- Daniel Z. Garrett -

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

The Death of Poetry

Yes, this is not a poem.

- Daniel Z. Garrett -