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What is a path but a reason,
to follow past intention?
These old bricks are slick, with the rain.
Shining, clean meets dirty
in harmony
They are for everyone, a
service publicly placed.
They are for no one, for,
when not trod upon,
they are forgotten.
These bricks are a graveyard,
Where each interlocking piece is
proof of a moment,
just waiting to be reborn in a
memory - fleeting and busy.
These bricks are a stage,
they fit together,
to hold up actors
in the this riveting tragedy/comedy
They are solid ground,
and feet seek them.
But as they,
stare at the sky
all day,
And the unrelenting traffic
wears them away;
they subtly give way to the crush,
and with the slightest gust.....
Return to the dust.
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I stare at my closet...
and I am torn between:
Loose well adventured khaki cargos,
flowing, stained and
oh so comfortable
or
Well fitted, poly/wool blend slacks,
charcoal black, hemmed, masculine and
oh so powerful
Then I realize that
it doesn't really matter much
Because it's what on the inside that counts ;)
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It looms as it zooms
The shadow cast is like new night
Standing unassailable all power and might
Its reasoning is single minded
Bricked in no, mortared in can't
Stop
You.
Your Movement.
Your Passion.
Your Action.
Your Action.
The ice rain beats against it
drips on the warm earth
and mixes.
It fixes a mixture not unlike quicksand-
Stagnation and suction and comfort and easy...
Stop
Rest a little longer
Forget it,
that future that doesn't exist yet,
is no comparison to wants easily met-
right now.rightnow.
Relax, justify and get down
Drugged down
Sleep through the faint scratches from
the skeletons of dead dreams,
that no longer scream,
but are purposefully decomposing
and ignorant.
Stop
Fighting.
Resignation, is easily perverted to patience.
Just wait it out,
Play with doubt,
Just weigh it out.
What use are scales to a trout,
already dead,
and going with the flow downstream?
Ask the eagles in the trees,
contemplating bloated flight,
sloth with the flesh of those-
who did not try.
The wall is lit with chrysalis.
As the self subjucated caterpillars
Rage against the familiar
with all the muscle they can muster.
Until thier genetic self-imposed love struggle,
Ruptures into a graceful flutter.
The wind befriends them and bends-
the current,
over the wall,
pushing upwards so that-
Thier tired and new eyes can taste
of the very place
where thier faith
was raised.
It lies in the centre of the bloom.
The colour beckons,
A vibrance that only a mother could paint with
The fragrance, the arrangement
and it is all for you.
So
Sip
Slow
The
Syrup.
Let it fill you as if your tongue
was designed only for this.
Leave the bitter waxy leaves.
Maybe give them a quarter moment,
just to double the pleasure from the saccarine nectar.
And as you sample each bouqueted element,
in summertime peace.
The pollen you carry with you,
perpetuates the feast.
Your greatest joy,
is food,
is purpose,
is truth.
Completely unaware of the beauty that is you.
for NP- you come after, yet you stay so ahead. (no homo)
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Am I dated by the dark circles around my eyes?
Does the struggle for balance, struggle for balance?
All work and no...well this work is all I know
It is all I have
No warm spoon to fork my path
no umbrella, no shelter, no recourse
I am committed says my left ring finger
The spin of the storm remain familiar.
Monday to oneday, the push incessant.
The future the aim, while the pain remains, present.
This muscular structure has dug its nails in,
and stretched me way-too-thin.
But within, is a lesson.
I am the reluctant striker, learning to hone the touch.
The roar of the din, meets the fire within, and reminds of the climb-
to this pitch.
Heritage demands this in explicit tones.
Beautiful eyes staring me down with questions.
For as my knowledge grows alongside perception,
so too, does the weight of sacrifice.
So continual
So ebb and flow
So I let it go
My compass, that so many unshed tears have nourished,
Tenders demands specific,
So that only goals,
Flourish
Looks just like the sun.
Is the devotional song I sing under sighs.
The weight is great, sometimes I am victimized
tirefaced under the drive of the enterprise.
What I do is important to you too. It has to be.
For I cannot do this for just me.
I belong to the world that reared me.
The society that broke, then healed me.
I never forget that it was me, that sealed me.
Promised quality then bet the farm.
It is only love behind the charm.
That is what the roots cling to.
I love you.
Not because I want to, because I have to.
It is the hope that holds me.
Because right now, with my head down and heavy.....tomorrow, feels so far away.
