Wait
In shadows
the dark like water
Swimming
Against the current
a weight to the chest holding you
Down
Beneath the rot
where light is afraid to come
Out
Of sight and mind
patiently waiting for the moment
When
Will it end
or should I end it
myself
Let the mind get lost in traps
find new ways to fight back
as memories degrade and collapse
reclined on the backs of warmer days
Navigating those labyrinthine paths
hidden behind all those well-worn masks
that have long been unrecognizable
amongst the moments masked by confused vitriol
The thoughts that remain are like loose balloons
escaped to the skies from a once crowded room
through a window opened long ago
when there was room for air and levity
But now there is so few balloons left afloat
your identity reduced to a scrawled note
“I that was and am shall be again
nothing of note is new, make room for the past.”
The ocean calls to us often
when life itself will not soften
those depths could envelope our pain
as we settle in their domain
submerged
What better way to keep at bay
the many thoughts that can break you
all those demons that haunt the day
when you’re trying to just get through
the mind submerged in work is strong
Reality can be held down
with fluffy handcuffs and sex toys
or a host of other such joys
when all else just deepens your frown
become submerged in pleasures song
When everything else feels so wrong
be submerged or you won’t last long.
What is perfection but an attempt?
passion personified as will
but left wanting
to give in would leave you with nothing
Perfection is a nice dream
when sleep is needed
and morning comes too early
Perfection is a plan you have for the future
that you should have enacted years ago
Perfection is a long drink of water
waiting at the desert oasis
Perfection is pursuit and effort
though it is lost in the result
you will never achieve it
and for that you are perfect
How can this be
what I’ve come to know as me
I was so sure that I would be more
This life a bull and I the matador
but, alas, I could not harm such a noble beast
Their broad shoulders bear their own horizon, a mountainous ridge that both beckons and intimidates. Cloven hooves punctuate the battle ground, sure footed and pacing to display their command of the stage.
Flowers fall from the stands, red petaled rain to honor the harsh brutality made flesh. The horned dawn rises over the beastly horizon to wreak havoc on all that hinder them.
I lay my sword amongst the flowers and offer with it my hubris. May they find me a worthy feast.
I’ve tried to make things better
Sisyphus against his stone
bound always to let it go
and watch it destroy all that I’ve ever known
The path was laid out long ago, go
forth abandon all you believe, leave
it behind to face the challenge that lay before, for
nothing of the path is easy, see
yourself humbled by the call and recall all
your notions of truth to have them discarded, dead.
Did you find what you’re looking for
hidden within your ambition
numbers in static transmission
deciphered from a complex core
strung together to become more
or did you instead lose it all
like a plane deep in the clouds stalled
lost in the marvelous nothing?
Well, I hope for you that’s something
as you fall for your curtain call.
I’ve had enough of me
the dreams that once would get me through
have drifted away and bent askew
floating past their apogee
I’ve had enough of me
The joy I had was misconstrued
and there is nothing left I want to do
I’ve seen all I want to see
I’ve had enough of me
Trapped in a puzzle room without a clue
forgetting more and more of what I knew
I just wish I could be free
I’ve had enough of me
The loneliness inside I can’t subdue
the stable moments are so few
all that’s left is debris
I’ve had enough of me
Ever screaming towards a distant point unseen
the whole of everything is barreling past
who could have known the world would move so fast
the rushing air and tears pulled by the slip stream
at a speed that makes the journey seem obscene
Clearly the moment to stop has long since passed
but an ending is coming – this cannot last
a sad finality one could have foreseen.
The destination approaching is a dream
lost inside a memory one can’t recall
but in its approach one can feel it defined
though the path may have a conclusion it seems
the journey was laid in cold repose at the fall
when from thirty stories up I chose to resign.
Grow Gray With Me 