A Visit with Poet and Letter Writer Brandon Lawrence

Here is a spotlight  on one of our letter writers behind the recent book Letters Never Meant to be Read.
letters
Brandon Lawrence is a young poet, musician, songwriter, nerd, lover of all things nerd, and a hobbyist. He loves to delve into new interests as any curious human being. Brandon lives in the deep dark of Pennsylvania. We all need someone, or at the very least, something of someone to relate to. Brandon takes that approach to heart and hopes to achieve that goal with you through his letters and poetry. Below you will find a bit of magic in a poem or three.
A Knight in Shining Tinfoil Armor
Ride in from the horizon, sun glimmering off of him.
Looking chivalrous as ever, as rich a king.
Until he came closer to view, and the light had grown dim.
The horse was not a horse at all, and he had not a shield, nor a sword, or ring.
Instead he had a dog, one of great mange.
Tied to his fingerless gauntlet, bound to him by chain.
On him a thin metal, not armor, but silver and strange.
Not made of mail nor plate, full of rips yet no scratches no dings, had not one blood stain.
A man, from a far, seeming capable of the greatest feats.
Not wearing a helm, but a strange resemblance, a sort of metal hat.
Yet from personal space, not owning a pair of boots for his feet.
Looking much like a knight, but one of great shame at that.
He was a man of great respect, kindness and thanks, never asking for more.
A knight of the Templar he was not, but instead a knight in shining tinfoil.
I Am
I am the man in the shade, the man of shadow.
The monster you fear worst, devourer of souls.
Lacking of heart, of breath, no longer hanging.
Having a hunger, endless void, far from shallow.
I am, that which haunts you, glowing eyes, fearful.
Kneel and pray that as above, is not as below.
For you have entered into my death.
I am that which comes to drag, in your blood
you drown, too much to swallow.
But I am what you need, in fear.
Pain and agony, you must wallow.
Free yourself of sin, hear my howl.
Ask not who I am, for by no name need I follow.
But ask what I am, and find I am fair but foul.
I am truly a man made of monsters,
hidden beneath this cowl.
Mother Earth:
The expanse and wonder, to the love and mirth.
Brought to us, but so many lack the respect and love for her.
Her generosity endless, but our care is returned in numbers dearth.
From the sky, the mountains, plains, valleys, sands, and immense land disperse’.
From oceans, to lakes, ponds, creeks, and firth.
Our food and drink, to the very knees that hit the dirt.
To the endless reaches of space, far beyond Jupiter.
A place of infinite creation, an amazing place of berth.
That, to our mother, it gave birth.
Allowing feats of that unheard.
And she has, far beyond, proven her worth.
But we as the apex predator,
have continued to fail with repaying her.
There’s no place in this solar system, quite like Earth.
And there are no parents in this universe.
Quite like Father Sun, Mother Earth.
So we must stop our selfishness, and end this pointless nuclear purge.
We must combine our forces, create a plan to reimburse.
And do our best to save.
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