Summer Daze Alone

A familiar air,

cloudless sky,

Listen to the sounds of a backyard,

tree trimmers, grass cutters, BBQ-ing neighbors,

listen to the children with innocent screams nearby.

 

He would understand,

their natural allegiance to the land

around them being an open playground,

his own did the same,

decades earlier,

on similar days,

a cloudless sky,

the sounds of summer daze.

 

Yet there is a familiar air,

perhaps we call it the resistance,

we felt it when twelve years old looking out the picture window,

a light rain, yet friends gathering,

and him,

staying inside,

pretending to not exist,

though experiencing all of the psychological trauma,

that associates our lives with the living.

 

He would find himself in that place again,

today,

while the world outside embraced the summer skies,

his mind in a fog,

wondering about time, wondering where,

curious just why he falls into this mental cavern of

indecision,

it is the time he remembers as a boy,

wondering in the moment,

not knowing beyond the day,

yet now, in the quiet midnight,

the same question remains.

 

 

A Silent Decision

Sat in a room tonight, listened to the wonder,

of the world we live in today.

Hard topics, sad outcomes, hopeful realities,

the horrific turmoil in the lives of young women and boys.

 

Earlier this afternoon, I took a student apart,

confronting their need to focus on their academics,

made sure the rest of the classroom knew I was serious,

held out until the very last minute,

felt justified until minutes later,

I realized she suffered from social anxiety & depression.

Who’s the tough guy now?

 

See though these are two seemingly different stories,

they’re really the same,

each one a product of the other,

the initial motives for throwing a young person’s life away,

and the later the end result,

decides just why should we try anymore.

 

Any more and we’ll fall apart and cry,

yet so often we are told not to respond that way,

too many times, we forget the others,

end up in the trapping of silent decision.

When Society Chooses Self

We do pronounce our selves in an elitist light,

Always to suggest ours is the more important route,

Forever drawn by goals to merit personal might

We seem destined to burn, a wrath soon flames out.

 

When lives become the natural course of a purpose,

Seems suddenly we chart a distance toward a freeing

Way of life, that sort that blends in melody – sweet verse.

We touch the sky with certain aptitude while believing.

 

Always a current turmoil seems certainly human design

When to measure reasoning, we cannot forget the blind

Ideal that gives primary focal point its inherent sign,

Suggests our lives are only a temporary quest we remind.

 

Oh to undermine the truer sense of what concludes a life

Is to know no end to the current belief in a selfish strife.

Deep Scars

Always when truth allows,

there is a certain peace,

while in the throes, not readily,

long afterward.

The idea of healing,

perhaps a salve, a wrapping,

the comforting

of a bruised ego,

shall never share the same leverage,

as the damaging nature of

victimizing the human condition,

for personal gain,

personal growth,

personally I’d rather have been

ordained.

Depression Seldom Defines

There is a part of me remains inclined

to let the world imagine me undefined.

That’s originality

or our quest toward individuality.

What’s my reality,

I’ll tell you only if you listen to me,

but there’s the struggle,

the obstacle between knowing and telling,

is the inherent nature of a sadness

overcomes our own desire to rid the madness.

 

While embarrassment can often expose

the true nature of the demons we hold,

our lives always remind ourselves that human nature

in all of its evidential plan to feature

mystique and an inherent chance to change,

still mocks the true reality of our game.

If we could wake to splendor every breaking sun

what would cause the need to wonder of our pain

if it became a surreal memory

rather than the constant reminder a soft cry might bring.

 

If we could know when to rely upon a need

might then our lives become less overshadowed

by a society suggests we always understand

rather than accepting confusion as a demand.

We are subjects of appraisal,

in the moment,

when while alone in our mind we do travel,

there are always a set of eyes nearby,

to ponder, to wonder, to initiate our own sense of

quiet surrender.

 

Oh to be that muse of everyone in their daily ongoings,

to know the key to survival in a storm would be our knowings.

Morning Ritual

Cool haze of a morning frost settles the eye
A sky has a limit and shadows do comply
While I wonder in warmer tonal slumber cry
Winds seek shelter seem to only suggest why.

How is it a mind choose to travel this distance
While away the morning if by given chance
A mood is drawn on canvas a spectacular blue
Pastel reminders of the silliness we eschew

When do I cry in the moment this time allow
If while walking alone in silence wander how
Lonely is a gust of wind a shallow reminder now
Callous is nature at the human condition’s bow

Whisper hello towards a greeter in the quiet release
In this our routine, sweet breathe we a lover’s peace.

Searching In Manhattan

Though it is that place I wish to be,

I’m lost inside my own travesty.

As well I seek solace amongst masses

hide within a world of classes.

 

Such is imagery of teeming lives

caught inside streaming archives.

Where alone a face in the crowd

somehow is always allowed.

 

I once read a master speak satire

He’d suggested how he might retire.

A brilliant life so seemed is the giver

they fished him out of the East river.

 

Even while hidden among archetype

our lives matter far beyond those type

who caress the mystique of scrutiny,

always a cry out loud for security.

 

I would if the streets would allow release

On Bleecker street, begin to find my peace.