The Passing, of a Day

When begins insurmountable


the waking anxiety,

a desire to burrow

rather than the music of the day.


We all seemingly rise to

a pattern

so familiar, oddly routine,

sometimes forgetting

simple beauty.


Our lives caught up in the now,

my mother used to say,

he’s a now

person referring to life,

whenever my depression would fail me.


Inside the passing

of hours

a remarkable dream,

perhaps a positive

an outcome of smiles.


Inside the passing of a day,

so much magic

allows the human condition

to love,

to understand, to breathe, to live.


The Visit

Though the time was ever so brief,

I knew her magic, felt her presence

in image she strolled the avenue,

only to suggest there is a reality.


When wonder shines upon human

mortality, we often let confuse

the notion of our existence

left aside when fate quiet speak.


I did in solemn journey wish to know

her heart would still follow my dream,

to know her elegance in charm

will bless ambition, protect vanity.


In that simple grace, capture passion

to know the afterlife might its fruition

When I Was 17

I remember not wanting to be around,

afraid of my own shadow,

playing anxiety games with my friends,

see who could cover their shadow,

who might understand the freedom

the real world,

the possibility that exists beyond our dreams.


I remember sleepless nights with an amphetamine,

the coursing through my veins attitude,

we could last for hours on our own,

no signs of empathy needed,

we were powerful with a dash of freedom

in a zigzag rolled with the finest weed.

We were always able to finally fool ourselves.


I remember wanting to escape,

hoping this next moment might be my freedom,

the simple reality of an hour,

could I forget myself long enough to remember

where it was I wished to be,

when while a slow reality might creep in,

I could still be 17.


I remember when it was possible to dream,

imagine a world where my life seemed real,

I could play with ideas,

preach philosophies that turned on the girls,

i would listen to Steely Dan,

while trying to paralyze my body,

through some Buddhist meditation.


I remember seldom wondering about the next day.

Anxiety Rush

I think the day was rather sunny,

at least that I recall,

layered in my own shawl

a travesty of the fall of humanity.


Could we ever move in freedom

if when we blink an eye

there is the question why

should we attempt design a kingdom.


When while a spiritual guide exists

in the hearts and mind

of the many who remind,

when is it that faith insists.


Can you see my eye, the fear I contain,

might reveal my inside

persona I keep beside

me as safely tucked away I can maintain


Some dignity of form I revel in

walk the streets clean

knowing that my machine

has met the standard; a societal win


now a certain grayness overcomes

the temperate nature of mine

a loathsome place I do incline

to share with no one; beat the drums.


When while I wallow in self-pity in frame

here now why would you let me join the game.

Dreams We Fear

It happened again,

you came back with a visit

only to remind me that you were gone,

not immediately,

a list of occurrences needed to take place

enough to have me find comfort

in what might quickly disappear.

Always that is the ruse

when we feel least rejected

then suddenly our confidence unravels

at the hands of our own fear.

I remember the first time,

when the decision was made,

I didn’t have any leverage,

any sense of needing to be heard.

Very simply you had decided

the books would be sorted alone,

rather than together as I had told,

when suddenly I returned

to discover you left me without

any discussion, reasons unknown.

Seems we fall so quickly,

so difficult to discern,

what motivates our actions,

or who might decide on their own.

It is in the dreams we fear,

even when we know to awake

we cannot ever imagine a peace

might exist beyond that we forsake.

Moments When We Dream

We look for them in the heavy stone mindset of our lives,

a gaze, a quick glance turns distant,

when we are able to let imagination speak candidtor

without words.

We have our lives suggest efficiency

what plans we have in store for future days

easily swept by a vision, a light

a peace drawn memory triggered by a favorite song.

We can continue,

they suggested not in primary school,

yet today, we know ourselves,

we do realize we are ok to build upon that

delightful dream we sometimes wish we hadn’t

let go.

Today while standing on the corner,

that fleeting thought crosses past your eyes,

an internal caviar, a sedentary pomegranate delight,

a chance to step off the curb

into new daylight.

Reach strong with carefree delivery in open arms,

feel the energy of a parallel universe

just waiting,

asking for your hand, suggesting now’s the time,

be fond of what’s ahead, that peace,

that piece of life once forgotten

may now a quiet soul,

deliver some new found surrealism.

In Dreams We Cry

© Ester Rogers Photography

© Ester Rogers Photography


When I want to cry, yet I cannot, the mask will

hinder my ability to cast a shadow upon my eye.

While the world exists with little regard to handle

the crisis I feel will always create my own why.

I cannot return to what once was that world,

whether we might know one another or not,

we will not ever be the similar paths twirled

around realities and dreams we thought.

Howsoever simple the grand design may seem,

some how we are all at risk to find a flaw,

a rip in the fabric of what we did call the seam,

the layered security no longer, as we saw.

Fit to live our lives together in a certain harmony,

when my mask seemed fitting, I’m lost with thee.