Be kind.
Lives are short
but actions
transcend histories.
Stay your mind.
Entropy does enough on its own.
Let it be.
Take a rest.
Be not confined.
Show some empathy.
It is lonely to know only yourself,
echoing off the walls.
Be not resigned.
Death is a fine ending,
no need to intervene.
Focus on beginnings,
put your energy into growing.
The fog that hides the day as night retires,
shades of sunlight grasping for purchase
struggling in undulating swirls,
hoping to find in ambiguity, some purpose.
The rising darkness from the depths of fire
billowing into the night to throttle the stars,
like open mouths cradling soundless screams
or the profound words of a dead man’s memoirs.
The way a tree feels when bound to expire,
stripped of all its lush extravagance
the machinations of a world that brought it life,
now turned to break it beneath those same elements.
The slow pyrotechnics of stagnant air’s attire
sustained in sanguine starlight while time drifts away,
held like the pot won in a game of marbles,
careful hands celebrating their display.
The decisions we unearth in quagmire
seeking more an end than a right or wrong,
transfixed by distant familiarity
the difference lost in the chorus of the song.
The way our histories resurface as satire
courage marred by fear, the bold now timid and pale
those truths that hide in the present revealed
once pitted against the rest and placed on a scale.
The thoughts that in twilight give cause to perspire
when the permanence of absence is paramount,
trickling through the cracks in our confidence
though it is only ourselves we need to surmount.
I want to scream
to yell out against the wind
to accost the world before me
condemn those responsible
curse myself too,
I can’t.
I want to rage
to lash out against that stone wall
to become violence upon the leeches
take by force my fair share
fight for life until death
I can’t.
I want to collapse
to fold on myself in despair
to make myself small
diffuse into the static background
become less than what is needed
I can’t.
I want to live honestly
to breathe the fresh air of clarity
to rest on the laurels of defined purpose
move through the world without restraint
act as the situation dictates
I can’t.
I can’t in this climate
so I’ll just wait
…
Let the stone stand
the mountains seed
planted
marked by arrogance
to commemorate some meaningless deed.
Let the stone stand,
the visionary’s pride
sculpted
shaped by waking dreams,
that only the brutal rocks can confide.
Let the stone stand
the idealogue’s last breath
buried
by thousands of its lesser
matching presence with cuts unto its death.
Let the stone stand
the titan’s bane
humbled
laid low by the cutting slivers of time
leaving nothing more than a phantom pain.
Let the stone stand
as a reminder
warning
pride is a chisel to make sand from mountains.
All of us stand lined up in position
stripped and bare like a vacant apartment
cupped hands hiding bits in flesh compartments
as if modesty makes the patrician
but really shame is more the condition
as if we are defined by our garments
without them we are just naked parchments
awaiting some others inked ambition.
Grow Gray With Me 