The Urge To Move

Felt it?

feel it on occasion,

stuck in traffic seems plausible

in comparison to standing still

unable to navigate the next decision,

next choice,

perhaps a cathartic moment

awaits the imagination,

yet,

for the moment,

the urgency begins to build,

suggesting something has to break …

or are we always in a constant state of projection.

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The Hypocrisy of Faith

Steeped in idol trepidation,

an iconic stature,

a reasonably moral conclusion,

yet,

a stark reminder

is when we choose to know our side.

 

Which side, whose side,

why should we decide

what favor we rely upon to gather strength,

when choices made,

become the standard bearer,

the party favorite.

 

Words bandied about,

tribalism, loyalists, mongering,

fear.

A certain repudiation

turns into a bizarre creationist

fable toward standing on firm ground.

 

Yet the earth underneath my feet

feels unstable, feels temporary,

like a bandaid worn in critical battle,

we are the masses,

we do decide,

whether we choose to believe or we do not.

 

I am the one with faith,

the I have to readily acknowledge,

I haven’t a clue in what direction,

I choose,

will have any great matter,

when in faith I do choose to lose.

A Quiet Travel Reveal

I walked through a mall the other day,

only to find a way out,

you see caught up in the melee

of a holiday spray,

I couldn’t discover an easier way.

I thought of all the people nearby,

each of them finghting to find their way,

we were all in a box

with windows and registers and products

of gold for the moment of reveal,

that later would become

just another reminder

of why or because we do feel.

 

I walked through the mall today,

noticed the exit and went about my way.

While Digging

With a mental spade in hand,

I broke ground in a volatile land.

 

It is the sort of tale we often forget,

when suddenly life simply won’t relent.

 

I crossed over into a forgotten meadow,

only to find I’d still carried a shadow.

 

There is a reality in knowing the right word

to help move beyond what we might think absurd.

 

It is a choice,

to dig.

 

While the atmosphere around us seems trite,

there is a powerful settling in dirt contrite.

 

Seems the space may no longer feel quite clean,

once the reality of our lives become serene.

 

Oh stop again,

for the dig.

 

Seems the further inside the realm of disdain,

less easily is the worker’s ability to complain.

 

Seams in the environmental cause will display

while every last item of loss has fallen his way.

 

Though the earth has a forever sort of fallen ground

gives credence to the prison in which we are bound.

 

We cannot ever escape the tone of the suddenly frail,

its competency so built upon retelling a scorching tale.

 

Instead we dig, we do try to compel a story,

written by ourselves to discover just what glory

 

lies in the dig,

where uncovered,

 

we fall victim to knowing time is a circle, a place

whereby all of our insecurities likely keep pace,

 

while digging,

in search of a likely capsule.

 

The ground itself in however it may swell,

always uneven, one might never retell.

 

When Demons Rise

I’m here,

waiting,

standing in the middle,

I see the society  exist in simple terms,

not idle complications,

just there,

in front of me, around, behind every corner,

I watch the world

become part of the solution,

yet the island,

the rocks have a craggy exterior,

seems rather cutting,

they’re screaming …

words anyone can hear:

‘Feel,

feel so

feel sorry’

for whom you might say,

the rocks laugh like lapping waves,

a constant reminder of their own permanence

in a fluidity I cannot ever understand.

 

Perhaps I would rather not,

possibly, quite assuredly,

perhaps,

I wouldn’t want,

perchance, the telephone might not ring.

 

I walked inside this world

I didn’t feel like an exit would be necessary,

except just then,

someone, I don’t really know who,

perhaps it was me,

somewhere someone somehow,

simply,

in a timely manner,

shut yet another door.

 

The clouds had overcome my shadows,

to such a degree,

I didn’t know if I was standing in the clear,

at least,

perhaps,

I didn’t care,

to know.

 

If only I really didn’t want to know anymore.

When Wandering Headlights Weep

In picture windows across the world,

they watch, they stare, they sometimes

cry,

they’re the souls left alone to wonder,

watching the headlights streamline by,

like a slow motion ray of long wound

catapults of energy,

sweeping past the imagination

without waiting wanderers,

perhaps ne’er a question of why.

 

We all might wish to have that moment,

a second of their time,

screeching tires and suddenly

out the door, a person,

a human being assuredly defines the rapid

departure of any possibility

defining the time

we just watched sweep past our reality.

 

Yet for that next few hours,

she will, he might, and they’ll return,

to their security,

the picture window,

observing the reality with swift purpose,

motion by,

as if to recognize

there is no one waiting nearby,

only everyone lays ahead,

in the distance,

there’s the real reason why.

When My Father Cried

It was the changing season,

a tragedy,

we were all crying,

dumbfounded and surreal

the moments ahead

forever.

He was heart-broken

no place to stand or sit or feel,

just simple pain,

always and forever,

misty eyed and helpless

to the reality of the human condition.

He’d been tested,

he’d been traumatized,

together

ships passing in the night,

his words to soothe,

his reaction lost in agony.

 

How could the world ever be normal again,

when his son had left to travel,

and nearby,

a consoling brother,

a relative of sorts in marriage,

in a consoling gesture,

suggested a distraction.

 

How might he react any other way,

then lose faith in humankind,

when the soul of his world,

remained lost in the mechanics.

There is heartbreak to be noted,

when one’s dream

suddenly fades

while all of those around

have no idea the strain.