Waves claw at the shore
then draw back
whispering for more.
There are no sirens at sea
no guile to set us free
Though the ocean may beg and plead
there are no sirens at sea
hidden amongst the ship’s debris
When our confidence is under attack
nothing need draw us down to the sea floor
we will see ourselves drowned for what we lack
There are no sirens at sea.
Life challenges us all each day
to wrestle it down to the ground
to tame it and teach it to play
or have it subdued and rope bound
Either way life will often sting
take us to places we should not go
but there is comfort, you should know
just remind yourself of one thing:
| There is no place but at the top no reason you should ever stop be unyielding in your pursuit harvest what you’ve earned of life’s fruit | Be satisfied with who you are take pride that you have come this far Do not bear this burden alone even stumbled steps are milestones |
and in doing so you’ll understand
your happiness is at hand.
There in the trees on top of the hill
a house rises seemingly from nowhere
spared the rod of modern architectural will
it reaches above the canopy in despair
careful not to touch the world that consumes it
a moonlit tragedy glowing like nightmares
Fear inspired its construction in the past
that persecution was drawing near
reared from contradictions growing fast
with a world that was as yet unclear.
Careers were founded on these false ideals
sealed by paying patrons kneeled before them through the years.
Time only made the palace stronger
atop that mountain of political power it climbed
anytime someone hinted their use existed no longer
they changed the doctrine to make the act a crime.
Mimed notions of intent to seize control
resoled as demonic influence against the sublime
Decay has worked its way through the house now
twisting beams as it twisted minds in its day
weighed down by the lies and horrors they allow
to save face and self and spite those in the way.
Pray you never enter the like of these homes
catacombs for the ideas and dreams they slay
To find that which is hidden
seek the sound in silence
grasp the formless and wrestle it down
take those loose ends and discover them bound
There fettered
in like company
set it free
In word
in paint
in song
The world is a canvas
sterile and lifeless
until we are bold enough to bleed.
It finds the ugly things inside long tubes
when I ask about this I am told, “later.”
But later never happens
it doesn’t understand that I too have needs
I dare not utter these words
spoken aloud they sound like the worst thrashing.
When I complain or want it gives me deep cuts
then the guilt makes us look for ugly things to cull demons
For awhile after that it gets better
for a while – water flows clear below gutters
But more and more I start to wonder
perhaps it has always been like it was this day
Perhaps when we dive inside there is just blood
that we bring death rather than bold justice
What if we are the ugly things in buried veins
But it tells me to keep cutting and ignore this vain bullshit.
A grave assumes that you were never ready
for their loss
Concedes that you are not now, nor never will be willing
to let go
But go they must to the annals of memory to suffer
the long death
Let us be brave in our ending for there are many chapters
to be written
End
over
end
I see
a face
before me
reflected abstract
the horrific visage
reflected abstract
before me
a face
I see
end
over
end
Guttural sounds
are lost then found
memory bound
as I recall
It once chided
now subsided
suicided
to bring my fall
Such need have I
for troubled cries
that I might die
should they be stalled
Or so was thought
but all for naught
the ending sought
could not be bought;
I am no thrall
Though the sounds end
I will not bend
before the wall.
What great purpose does our life give?
To but live.
Where is found nirvana’s likeness?
In kindness.
What value does life afford?
Its own reward.
When the whole world you’ve explored
the last of your pages now penned
there is left one truth in the end
To but live in kindness, its own reward.
Wind settles to rise again
Tacit words in the darkness of our mind
both maligned and constrained
What future would bear their weight?
Even the past refused the encumbrance
resigned to slumbrous fate
And thus the wind will collapse
as forgotten phrases from long ago
They flow, fall, then relapse
Yet still they both hide a storm
the scent of distant gray clouds in retreat
like peat the sun made warm
Regrets are the ghost of life
ever they rise again to haunt our thoughts
the mind caught amidst strife
We charge the mic with our song
but often old words hold new words captive
the active words made wrong
The melody thus silenced
we find solace in the moments between
a routine of violence
Witness the corpse of our muse
but bear in mind not all is truly lost
the cost of fear recused
But it will wake in the sea
the crashing waves of errant thoughts at night;
dying light sets them free.
Grow Gray With Me 