Looking The Part

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Wonder the curling fingertips,

the adamant task

drawing locks

security

in the presence of life.

 

Check austere provisions,

a smooth swiff,

filling jars,

a man pacing the room,

always in a wonder of how.

 

A picture of human interaction

“I’m going solo”

spoke a gentleman java guide,

off to the focal point

where lives intermingle alone.

 

Yet, interaction, a game,

or is it truth

that sets aside

an intellect

beyond the comfort zone.

 

The breeze outside

wafting wide open screen,

leaves, dance in

unison

the humanity of life.

 

Would one wonder,

if the hand swiping a sallow

brow

similar to their own,

a night before when alone.

 

A line of laptops

give quiet indication

we have all been here

before,

in certain wander we atone.

 

Sweet is the humanity

of discrete passion

for the moment,

the privacy

yet Vicinity wills love.

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Being Real

Certainly, life is a challenge,

wake up to a peaceful sunlit morning,

compelled to go back to dreams,

life is waiting with a plundering notion,

at least,

that’s what a voice tells me,

when trying to ascertain,

getting a grip, get a grip, get a grasp,

we all do grapple with a sweet ideal,

when not met, forgotten,

when we seem oblivious to the plan,

whose plan, The Man,

yeah, the Man seems to drive our …

I woke up an hour later,

wondering how I had fallen into,

fallen off, fell forward, free for all,

landing in whatever state of mind I might choose.

What’s Really Happening

Ever wonder,

when you look them in the eye,

if their response

is a genuine effort to lie.

A mean-spirited man once said to me,

if you wait around, you die.

 

Ever wander

through a day and sigh,

just not sure how to complete a moment,

instead letting it pass,

by listening to the tick, a steady reminder,

of every lackluster effort

we decry.

 

Ever wonder,

what it is like to

find the answer

without actually recognizing why,

said the man,

to the other man,

who thought of the man,

to be lesser than

the Man.

In High School We Believed

Everything

mattered, occurred, became known,

whether we wanted notoriety

or a simple life as a student.

 

Remember walking the halls,

feeling the eyes,

wondering about thinking

that could expose your own state of mind.

 

I remember they told me otherwise,

so I trusted their ideal,

and when the walls caved in

they were nowhere to be found.

 

I remember the rumors,

she was so beautiful,

carried such a wonderful spirit,

no one would understand the hate in mirrors.

 

In high school, we lived many different lives,

some would last a week,

others perhaps a couple of days,

it only mattered if we could find definition.

 

When the word arrived in our mind,

how could we possibly imagine

telling anyone, especially those eyes we were

already afraid of, deathly afraid of knowing.

 

While the world seemed different outside,

internal walls protected our sanity

only when we accepted ourselves in earnest,

if not, we relied upon a mask.

 

Though the transparency, when noticed,

became the final reckoning, we did understand.

always just a little late …

Where Time Lays Path

~

If a measure could suggest definition,

Would we cease succession of passion.

While all around humanity play travails

Might we all become a cutting prevails.

~

Search the world over for recompense

Only then discover all momentous tense

Realizations begin only again when slow

Mind unyielding decides somehow show.

~

When in childhood needn’t depend on time

Only marvels and wonder were made of thyme,

A recipe in growth in satisfaction newly gained

When all the others left and just he remained.

~

In writing, the paths we take are all we release,

In knowing, in hoping, in trial we find peace.

Take Me Home

i wandered along the river bank,

a crystal churn of noise nearby

always a good reminder of life

when caught inside the chasm’s grip.

~

There lies inside the mind

a certain ineptitude

when given an opportunity

to seize our clues to good.

~

Easily pulled inside the current

our waves of deceit to follow

welcome only the pure horrid

reality of knowing our truth.

~

step lightly on soils drawn

into the waters so fragile

our lives remain moving

forward in a straight line

~

wind, that pulls apart

our soul and manner

of living, to dream

a bit  downstream

~

I wonder how many

times, the river cross

I might bear again,

in hopes of home.

~

Perhaps a seat cushion

the soil damp on skin,

in Nature’s grasp

I win the freedom to live

~

What ails the heart soon

drawn along the river’s edge.

Afterwards or After Words

that resignation,

when quiet in a solemn shadow

that realization

perhaps we speak too freely,

yet,

when do the decisive opines

matter.

Every time a catharsis is deemed

epiphany

we measure the balance

between two worlds …

knowing and wishing,

reacting and accepting

suggesting and listening.

Next morning, the light is revealed,

methodology redefined, another start

to cyclical survival, a piece of the world.

So often we hear our pulse,

speaking to the day’s energy,

wondering how we got here,

curious if this was the right timing,

or if that impulsive part of our lives,

espouses just a tad too clearly …

while outside in the evening breeze,

starlight dances the universal dream.