The snow finds a valley
where a swing hangs above;
an empty cradle.
Where the children are gone
the wind will play
rocking it back and forth,
Somewhere
a lullaby goes unheard.
Confronted,
I want terribly to fill that space
but a wrongness holds me down.
I don’t belong here,
not anymore.
Move
up
recede
Find
steps
concede
Bring
your
intent
Drop
the
pretense
Be
truth
expressed
Be
sound
possessed
They say the sun sets
when the world runs away
four hundred sixty meters a second
how fast would you run just to say
“this isn’t my responsibility”
at least until the dawn beckons.
When I breathe, I am sated
the air is sweet
When I see, I am humbled
the world is vibrant
When I eat, I am sustained
each meal is a banquet
When I listen, I am enthralled
always there is music
When I feel, I am excited
the texture is capricious
When I live this life with you
I am truly alive
all is full of love.
I am here
a simple thought
obvious
I am here
nurtured by perspective
the thought grows
“I am here”
though
many were before
I am here
though
many will come after
I am here.
The road I watch is empty
barren and worn down but
I am here
waiting
for anyone
I am here
so that when they see me
they know
I am here
always.
There are only so many shapes within
lines tumbling over curves in abstract
hoping to stop long enough to begin.
Spinning, turning, grinding, twisting, breaking,
back around becoming whole once again
absurdity trapped in a cylinder
listless in the darkness, isolated.
After a time the road hides behind errant thoughts
an oasis of purpose beyond the skyline
just past the formless landscape in which I am caught
anxious sand etching the mind where they are confined
somewhere a destination waits for my return
decades away, or two hundred twelve miles by the sign.
Though the same vowels and numbers and stories were taught
the language we speak will never again align
casualties to the war of innocence still fought
despite knowing that both sides had long since resigned.
In the ashes of conflict, fragmented, I yearn
to take all those hardships and render them benign.
Roughly hewn bold shoulders pierce clouds
hearing through the soft cotton of the sky
in an eternal attempt to deny
the cost which time at length enshrouds
a history of chaos caught in contortions
the passing days a gentle rain in the ocean
Where the transient will see might
the ageless will recall violent trauma
millions of years in tectonic drama
to break the skin with vicious spite
resigned to the cosmos. Never to move again
until at last these same forces push them to their end.
They quake with anticipation
an unbearable anxiety
that brings them within reach of piety
at the expense of damnation
the earth a parchment on which will be writ its dirge
should the progenitor finally emerge
By the time that day came to pass
the monster spoke with fire now set free,
“I give to the world what it took from me,”
buried it in molten and ash
then, at last, returned to the earth from which it came
never knowing it had itself to blame.
Green
rippled surface
an east wind dance with the blades
submits
beneath a scaled foot
the years pass
collecting memories
gathering like moss on a hard shell
The will to carry on within
guided
subtly
moments that have or have not been
mature
patiently
mindful of imagination
burdens
manifest
the freedom to forget again
begin
unburdened
Grow Gray With Me 