When We Find We Are The Same

Rules need not be broken

to identify our true selves

we haven’t the demand

to walk upstream, to push

the elements aside

for personal gain,

in essence,

it is true that we all

do find the similar grounds

for which

our bodies

strike the earth

as feeling landed, secure,

understanding of time.

 

Oh, we do battle to separate

our lives

from those we disagree,

the them we conclude

are far astray from you and me,

and yet,

who is it we might observe

when the feeling

of not so assuredly confident

might cause dreams

aspirations,

the fantasy of our completion

to become more stirred

angst driven rather

than a peaceful protest.

 

We do,

we can,

we will inevitably

live our lives the same,

if for a moment

we step off the pedestal,

we let go of our divining rods,

loosen our grip on the main-hold

let our bodies, mind, heart

set sail and when we find

we have crossed a boundary

toward some simple freedom,

well then,

be sure to say hello

to everyone whom have all arrived

the same.

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If, Again

If

once we

were partners

though shadowed

intimate decisions

drove us apart, our lives

seemingly drawn

in more necessary direction,

would it be possible

to find purpose

in knowing …

again.

 

If

the world

were able to

walk in the shoes

of those they despise

would it be possible then

for each of our lives

to become valid

to such a

degree

we might understand

love,

again.

 

If

the world

were a perfect sphere

and all the polar opposites

began to better listen and hear

each other rather than negate

their contributions,

could we maybe

become

whole

again.

 

If when

the sun were to set

we might all still look inside

each other’s lives could

we finally recognize

the similariites

and love

again.

 

If … again

The Humanity of Letting Go

I feel things,

since living dark realities

a childhood

without scars,

yet, somehow beaten,

the foundation of

a quiet turmoil

always is that centering

point of personal fear.

 

In our society

we question judgment

public scrutiny,

filling the airwaves

is a certain attractive

seduction

meant to take our minds

away from our own

persecution.

 

Those silent moments

when the mind

allows the heart to breathe

there’s a sudden tightness

strangling physicality

that does have a pulse,

a reminder,

a constant of the human condition

within the framework

of some individualized society.

 

I cannot seem to walk away

from the burdens of my past,

yet,

the minds around me,

voices mouthing advice

seem to forget

or perhaps overlook,

this reflective nature

is the fuel

of a precarious

walk along the edge.

 

I would wonder

how long this loneliness

can exacerbate

my owned recall

of every single

tumultuous

moment in my life

when all

circumstance

overwhelms

a more seemingly sane

stance.

 

I would take a chance

on letting go,

if only I understood

the purposeful nature

of forgiveness.

Deep In The Wood

I did hear a scream,

It wasn’t a city street

A forest it would seem

To hold so many sound

The wind had calmed

Now in the distant mystique

A cry could be the sound.

 

An animal I would surmise

Caught in the moonlit stars

A bright horizon left exposed

This creature of the night,

Was simply pre-disposed

To use the carrying sound

To warn the world around.

 

Haven’t really known a way

Beyond the cover of my chance

I’m listening to the ground,

Yet only when I’m told

The locks have been changed

No new keys to be found,

You’re on your own, is Man.

 

A creature wild in the deep would

Forever find solace what calls wood.

Crossing The Line

Boston_-_Crosswalk_(cropped_2)

boston_crosswalk


Instinctually we choose to respond

as the heart might certain suggest,

though perhaps a practicality

draws upon a decisive measure.

 

We search the source,

find the accuracy in a stat,

insist upon certain prior

knowledge, presumably …

 

Yet there is also emotion

that piece of reality sometimes

forgotten, overshadowed,

set aside as a possibility.

 

All avenues seem accessible,

accurate, accountable, adoring,

always the human condition

presents as a family heirloom.

 

In every capacity of our lives

we are given license to know,

to react, to express

a need to seek relevance.

 

Today when we glance outside,

the world looks easy,

trees reacting to the breeze,

traffic always purposeful.

 

The cars on the street modern,

roads meant to civilize

a way of life

seems impenatrable.

 

Yet the violence is out there,

on everyone’s mind,

we are thinking about

somewhere beyond this.

 

Could be right next door,

I used to live in a flat

accessible to my entire world

within a block of my purpose.

 

Likely miles away and beyond

the reach of our compassion,

though we are told, we know,

we cannot escape the reality.

 

it is in the lines, the sort of

choices we make to care about,

show compassion, or that fear,

recognize risk reflects humanity

 

When we do choose to cross,

seems everyone is or is not …

walk inside my sordid lot,

perhaps your gain is my loss.


photograph – Wikipedia

The Beginnings of How We Believe

A young boy looks out to sea from the shores of the Greek islan

I suppose there has to be a little peace,

the mind in a restful state,

oh and music offers a solace,

an avenue to draw the heart

along a wonderful path of sweetness.

 

I remember as a child

there was this hilltop,

can’t call it a mountain,

but the anyway was the reach,

a gravel path to the cityscape.

 

I would sit there for morning,

often afternoons,

the evenings find me again,

it was a place where I would sit

in wonder about all the things I did.

 

I reflect today on that patch of gravel,

the rocks and stumps I chose

to sit upon, or perhaps a lean to

on a tree nearby, and I wonder

if I knew now what I worried then.

 

There is a certain beauty in finding peace,

when we can believe,

we know in our hearts the right thing,

the world of humanity,

is designed around the concept of love.


Photo found on savethechildren.org

 

 

Life Is Not A Ploy

Though there would be

immediate disagreement in one,

quiet satisfaction in another,

in the final hour,

one would realize if they did stop

to glance,

a world beyond their own device,

would, might

still exist,

and in that social fabric ignored,

a pain,

a fighting soul

whose rapture not found

might emulate

the sorrowful nature

of a discompassionate ploy.

 

Yes, simply a game,

beyond the reality of our terms,

defined by the human condition,

a banter of

despondent disregard

favors

only the regarded one …

or two, or three, or miles of more,

so difficult it is to understand

the lemings at my door.