Breathing Slow Dreams

It is when we want to cry,

the sound will not come,

its expanse,

fills our lungs to capacity,

short breaths,

quiet realities,

keeps us moving through a storm,

taking a moment,

a gasp,

yet still there is a desire to find more,

know a place we might settle in,

get perspective,

develop a plan,

learn to let go,

let go, let go, let go

of my infernal panic drawn by circumstance,

mixed with pride,

lost in ego,

until someone decides they might listen.

Only, we can never know,

when the right time is,

when the chance to breathe,

becomes the right idea of purpose,


righteous knowledge,


Then again,

and again and again and again,

breathe deep the …

another lyric away from

recognizing the purity of our own sweet



Six Hours and Time

I suppose I could suggest a time frame,

the time it takes to drive across the state of

mind, water, fuel, warmth, notion,

a sedentary reality

some might label an escape

yet step inside and recognize

the vacuum,

the loss of empathy,

the terror within our own desire to


I suppose I could stand up and walk away

in my head that seems right,

a solution, a purpose, a reason,

well, reasonable interpretation I suppose,

yet, we are all able to wonder,

I just myself wander rather then

decide upon a solution.

In the meantime I can watch the seconds

go by without effort to discover


I am sick,

yet by society, that entity determines purpose,

we all have a certain responsibility

so the time does not allow our unhealthy

reality to permeate the world around us.

Instead we cry,

we attempt some semblance of


we want to battle ahead and reduce our


Tomorrow I will walk through crowds of ignorance

non one realizing that if only I might, given the chance.

Listen to My Muse

What drives the soul, this early autumn morning

when all the task of our lives looms the horizon

how is it a crystal clear sunrise with pastel blues

treats the mind a solace of desire to admire.


I would if it were true leave all that is abhorring

well behind the mantra of ‘if when’ a decision

could allow our hearts to freelance the news

only listen to the beauty of human nature.


While we recall the subliminal query crying

could perhaps our lives become this vision

we have passion, we climb magical views

to discover an inner peace, new adventure.


While the morning sunlight lit my fragile face

I could then decide this inspiration to embrace.

Morning Solace

When wake of day the sunlit rays cause a stir

we might know the beauty of another may.

When soul do cross path, we might register

a new sort of peace, a kindly takeaway


We do welcome the light of day with hope

a happiness may speak volumes so near

to the heart of that which creates our slope

where descend or rise we might commandeer.


while soft the fever of the mourning leaves

the mind to gently wander near to bask

in gentle storms, without wallow she grieves

that very night where he may leave his mask


Sweet the eyes of a waking day might release

Chance pheromone albeit, a lasting peace.

Falter Freely

Would that I might understand the freedom of error

that part of my life I seem to want to always forget

I will indicate no survival from this constant terror,

the holding of my human condition might I beget.


When just yesterday I smiled and laughed out loud,

tonight again will this tunnel vision soon assail

any thoughtful remedy, perhaps a linen shroud

with a transparency to allow humanity’s¬†love to sail


along uncharted waters, those land masses we shy

from when confronted with the reality of our game.

Is it that simple to imagine just one reason why

our lives held in a chasm of indifference seem tame.


I was crossing the road to find my new composure,

having discovered the ill effects of raw exposure.

Human Capacity

I wonder

if our society,

matched up against your own,

would matter too much,

when it came down to simply,

sucking air.

I mean really having to survive on

oxygen to breathe, to speak,

to determine just how much our lives,

depend upon one another,

rather than only ourselves.


I am lost when trying to decide

whether or not what I feel, and want, and suggest,

might be the exact same ideal of that person

who just yesterday or perhaps tomorrow,

I disagreed with openly,

making a public display of my position,

rather than practicing civility, or compassion, or natural eloquence.


Perhaps I am asking too much.

On occasion I struggle with knowing when I might

be out of line,

I suppose that is human nature,


when the end of the day draws near,

my anxiety,

that measure of confidence in any given moment,

allows only

shortness of breath,

the sort that speaks loud,

when trying to find solace,

in the activities of the day.


I hope sometimes, I might be forgiven,

within the confines of the human condition.

Civilized Agony

Tears are real,

though hidden,


we really don’t reveal

fires inside,

we can’t allow others

inanimate reasons

to hold court

in the presence

of others.

When alone,

that ability

to cry out loud

delights the mind,

while sitting alone

without audience

tears will flow free

and yet if we reveal

a sob, a gasp, an awkward

shift in posture,

if we,

allowances are made,

we become free,

we fly inside a dream,

a myriad of emotion

follows …

in there a world

far beyond

a typical day,

a routine need,

a wonderful sunrise,

becomes ironic,

we believe our soul

cleansed again.