The smoke retreats, do not pursue…
why would you?
Stay calm and observe from the bow…
disavow.
Watch the anger be receded…
the truth heeded.
The ego must be conceded,
the heart convinced of more than blood,
and ask those still crawling through the mud,
“Why would you disavow the truth heeded?”
What armor need truth?
Truth is indefensible,
indiscriminate,
indispensable.
No monsters exist beyond truths reach,
no obstacle can withstand its might,
but few fear its conquest.
For all its weight must be wielded,
and fewer still have such strength.
They speak its name,
list its dimensions,
even threaten,
but seldom brandish it;
betting everything on mere intent.
Like a young heart beneath mortality’s veil,
truth soothes with practicality,
overwhelms with certainty,
and in their embrace, reveals;
truth needs no armor.
No monster endures truth,
not even truth itself.
No
is a trimmed tree
groomed grass
and smooth round rocks
choreographed through shadows and sunlight
so the errant eye can rest
where they may not.
No
is a deep breath
to fuel questing thoughts
that birth a flood of words
crashing against the levees built by time
slowly chipping away
what years could not.
No
is a thin line
then many
a stroke of color
careful cut stone
the complexities of life expressed
when words will not.
No
is a new way to know
what no one knew
or could have known
before they were shown.
No
is an excuse to say yes.
I am here.
Against all the dreams of fate,
my persistence permeates,
transcends the fear;
I, am here.
Long behind bolted gates,
bound by crippling weights,
now freed upon a new frontier;
I am here.
This life is mine to dictate,
these dreams, mine to create.
If there is one thing that is clear;
I am, here.
Through all the changing states,
my force will not abate.
Because I persevere,
I am here.
Bones
riddled with age
wrap around the space.
The entirety of the body
embracing oblivion
like a handle hovering
just over a threshold;
an opening.
Each step
is surprised to land
a little further,
retire there
and relax,
but there is more to go.
The light is green
the streets – serene.
A hot wind
sends what remains of hair
into a silver blur of rebellion,
against time
against fragility
against predeterminism;
restrained only by old roots
that hold fast always
even beyond the grave.
If these are to be the last of our days
I will tick through them all in slow seconds
never so bleak as to call out the hour
but aware enough to know the minutes.
Every moment respected and cherished
I will stay with them as long as I can
while able to wake, early and witness
these last few sun’s to rise on human eyes.
In our end the sun will not set upon all things
only on all things that include ourselves,
so as we come now to disinherit the earth
let us make it better for those that remain,
for what concern is time when it is good?
I can taste the years
transcribed as fruit
bites of indulgence
bursting with what was.
I chew on them in restless moments
squeezing out every ounce
yet still
those faded flavors
taste ever sweeter.
What will today taste like
once devoured
digested
sewn in my mind
to sprout, bud and flower?
Have I nourished this fruit to flourish… or sour?
Boldly embrace the moment,
Essentially there is nothing else.
Somber minds will tell us of the future
Transcribing it as a burden we must carry.
Reminiscent orators will speak of the past
As an obstacle to avoid or embrace, depending.
Not many will speak for the present
Guarded against its volatile nature,
Eager to be anywhere else.
We talk to ourselves with fists
a pugilist of reason
faced against years of abuse
the ebb and flow of emotional seasons
Only reason knows when to quit
but abuse will never stop
unloading blow after blow
to make sure no one else lives on top
Anything for that title
we have absently supplied
trading any confidence
for whatever drama we’ve cooked up inside.
With your value undefined
transactional praise given
where else could you we ever turn?
Unconceited, to the fights we are driven.
We can but hope that we win,
our critical self will fall
our ego rise the victor
but victory grants an albatross for us all
Our ego must be tempered
our abuse must die in shame,
either way our value breaks,
time and again it works exactly the same.
Without honesty we lose
the audience inside us
is only there for the show
ring the bell, choose yourself – the rest are treasonous.
Grow Gray With Me 