Wanting To Be Struck Again

Gray sheathes of dark matter

waft upon a soul in peril

In the Heavens we gather

all of our apparel.

Once before I could cry

now today

cannot figure out why

instead lay

my heart down to this struggle

a constant reminder

of how life can truly boggle

the mind. Tossed under

the evening dew a spiritual

reckoning occurs

yet with every attempt a virtual

depression lingers.

Would that my life could be simple

than perhaps yours,

yet I examine when time is brittle

I begin to question futures.

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When Walking

abstract-wall-art-family-brown-painting-mavatar

We choose a step, a cadence, a pattern

we may distinguish as our own,

yet we always have knowledge,

of our predecessor, our previous walk.

When someone is borne of ambition

their ideals, point of reference

seems rather fascinating to the observer,

so magical is idyllic inspiration.

~

We have options we often share

with our neighbors next door,

without ever having to interact

or face the music of our fear.

We wave while passing by on a walk,

having little idea of what’s on their mind,

keeping silent our own frame of …

quite frankly we probably don’t care.

~

Tonight while staring at my favorite wall,

I could see through the haze a world,

furniture looks nice, a fireplace glows

we could not have imagined a life so grand.

Yet the wall continues to hinder my eyes

when inside my body will churn, misguide

my motives to remain a sedentary

human example of groomed woodwork.

~

When walking someone said choose a path.

When walking someone suggested our path.

~

Photo found on Mavatar

Trying to Focus on Home

There’s this thing happening,

on the streets of my neighborhood,

there isn’t a name really,

just a lot of confusion.

~

Oh some like to call it

inalienable rights,

others refer to the

strength of the NRA.

~

Whatever the cool language

of the day,

what matters more

are the continued loss of life.

~

A bullet rips through the skin,

tears through organs,

with little regard for anything

in its way, simply horrific.

~

the steel blood of a callous

action, mending little ground

beyond ripping apart the soul

of anyone nearby – loved ones.

~

I’m unable to really speak

to the fear and pain and reality

of the world I live in today,

though not much different.

~

Years ago, we could call

an isolated incident just that,

where today, we cannot predict

what might occur in the evening.

~

What might happen tomorrow,

what if the movie theater,

perhaps the mall later on,

live on local news, film at eleven.

~

Then of course there are the students …

These Keys

wolves

In the woods, the wilderness evokes

a sound of rustling, twigs snapping, a breeze through leaves

that whisper a reality we cannot pretend away.

Instead we listen, we joy in the simple nature

of the forest in its pristine state,

always waiting, forever growing,

letting our lives appreciate its pure self.

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

When we leave the wood,

we return to today’s world in automation,

in electricity that which turns us on,

turns off when we need to disappear,

the engines whir in the hands of our own guidance

our responsibility,

we live by the sound of our activity,

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

I’m sitting down

I’m near tears without any reason why,

perhaps the music I’ve chosen,

possibly the state of mind I am in.

Been here before, felt it many times,

and on occasion chose a difficult path,

one that would eventually hurt my mind.

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

Why is it I can see through the forest,

I can understand how the world exists around me,

I know people adjust to one another,

while deep inside the wood, our nature is to imagine,

the wolves are waiting.

~

*picture found on tumblr

Shadowed Dreams

child-portrait

See there is this world,

many do not ever understand

or realize

a place of shadows,

shattered dreams that leaves shards

to be again, found aligned,

yet,

the energy to recreate such imagery,

often for some, unforeseeable –

impulse takes over,

leads the way down dark caverns

of illicit response to needs,

the waking is always the most difficult part.

The outsider,

well they can be sweet, endearing even,

offering hugs, solace, understanding,

though the victim or participant

whichever you wish to call the human being

on a given day,

internally might appear spastic to an

affectionate tone

wrapped around the utter chaos of their lives.

In shadowed dreams we protect ourselves.

~

*photo found on Pinterest

Choosing An Edge

Republished on the recovery blog:

Dan The Story Man

I’m an addict,

my therapist told me,

edges are fun.

When first I discovered my ‘affliction’

as it is oft times referred,

I chose anger first to help unveil

the true emotions buried.

That was certainly the beginning

of a long relationship

with denial,

many edges,

from blade to blade,

to ledge, to choice, to reprimand.

I have experienced the fleeting nature of impulse

enough to wish to disregard sound advice.

I have climbed upon  the wall of despair,

hopeful somewhere along the way,

I might find an opening, or a reason to slip.

My therapist told me

edges are fun.

I find that to be true

whenever

the trigger seems right in the palm

of my hand,

the vehicle toward

satisfying my edge.

I am a fortunate addict today,

I’ve managed to blur the edge,

well enough to overcome

those crisp shiny endeavors

occasional tricks fo the trade,

labels

insidious

powerful

cunning

ah, the simple solution to the edge,

is certainly

choosing the edge of recovery.

… safe landings …

~

artist found on pinterest – albert handell

Twilight Speaks

sky

I wait for these moments,

clearly,

when some how I begin,

there isn’t a way to describe

the need for expression to find

an outlet that feels right, feels

just almost like a fine thread

being needled through a canvas,

an artist’s sketch,

a Van Gogh perhaps in the mind

of that person creates the image.

A certain melody,

a memory,

perhaps a loss, yet somehow new gains,

the world begins to tick again,

stillness no longer impactful.

We need motion,

always to move forward so when upon a step backward,

we might patient in our minds, figure out a new step.

In every night’s twilight,

I can almost get there, oh so close,

so very much next to me, yet just out of reach,

always, beyond my scope, enough to have me question,

why is it I am so compelled to ignore the stars.