A Circular Rhythm

We draw circles around a mask, our lives.

Each path we give another sweet facade

however might surmise such actions odd.

For we do covet a straight line that thrives.

 

Such is a world built as linear lines

meant for a passage without a defense.

acrid is a shelter by those who whence

internal facade sooner discard vines.

 

We stand inside the realm when given time

see such are the eyes of judgment are held

accountable of course our lives do weld

shapes and forms would eyes accept on a dime.

 

Oh strike us down in fraught shallow schism

It is such absurdity upsets rhythm

 

 

Who I Was, Who I Am

A script exists for all of us,

none of which will drag on

no melodrama

only the reality of our lives.

 

We choose to want to know

long before we ever have a need

the two iconic parallels

oh wants and needs, oh travesty.

 

I once took a ride on a city bus

staring off into the world,

I didn’t notice my mother

walking alog the side.

 

Later that night she outed me,

said she noticed and tried to wave,

said I ha look, a certain disposition

like I was wanting a different life.

 

Mothers are funny that way,

not willing to share the reality

unless the effort is made beforehand,

the pains, such are gains we feel.

 

I once felt like my world was a Hollywood movie

no Oscar by any stretch

scene to scene playing out the real

inside the illusion of dreams never had.

 

What I was and now seem as I am

has no bearing on whom I wish to be.

Breaking Apart Wrath

This communication

a desire to know,

to understand

a device inside a spectacular mind,

drowned in the circumstance of vice

each community

drawn by memory

responsive to a quiet solace,

always drawn by the tension

the human condition

a societal mandate,

how would you respond

to a crying appeal,

we want what feels right

rather than the circumstance

of indecions

and disparaging commentary,

so while away

the coming day

or decide upon a travail

a sojourn toward

peach of mind.

The Psychology of the Human Condition

The answers exist,

wait, not today,

perhaps later in the evening,

some cathartic moment,

praying for an epiphany.

 

The heart stops and the mind cannot compete

we are a solid lot of indifference

dependent upon the sunlight,

rainbows strike a nerve

coupled by nostalgia or endearment

to a moment,

the moment

when in that circle of compelling delight

we did experience,

did evolve,

would resolve the questions in our mind.

simple logic, sweet emotions,

beyond the scope of tearing down our own

idyllic beauty.

The Gallery

Such is a shadow,

a lonely walk

the energy of a soul

finding their way

his way

her adventure

perhaps his imagination

a painting to lose his mind while trying

desperate measures

the sort of bind that seems attractive

rather than one of ridicule

when the reality of the game

is revealed

in gallery seven,

perhaps it was four

or somewhere in the early afternoon,

she in cloak and dagger

watched him switch postures

giving him some indication

that his trophy

might be her own

quiet diadem

to steal the words of

Emily … (Dickinson) …

he was in his aching manner

subject to

fantasy.

The Will to Fight

Was a day

would a shadow

be a muse

could satisfy,

ever loom

cast a pall

slow remember

with little why.

~

In a breeze

follow desire

beauty is time

lights a fire

when all

around our lives

seem daunting

love does remain.

~

A source indeed

such is freedom

her spirit

waits …

allow a dream

slow to rise

become manifest

a silent utterance.

~

We do contain such is passion

to love, to want, an embrace.

Feeling The Rains

He didn’t have to look outside today

to feel the sunshine quickly step away.

We sense the energy, a rainy day

would bring our sorrows into light of day.

Soft in a cleansing wash would now the fray

of a conscience in pain, solemn display.

Oh to know the special nature such lay

ahead in sensual burdens love weigh.

Walk with me again, feel water release

sweet remedy will provide treatise.

Might we then our hope to abate increase

while certain inhibition will decrease.

Oh to know the sweet scent of summer day

when rains offer the silence a quiet peace.

In Respect to Anger

A friend of mine

told me the truth today,

said in a matter of fact way,

you are too angry man,

life is too short.

I paused,

put away my defenses

began to wonder about my

starting words,

and came to the conclusion,

I’m always

this or that or why or because or they

yet somehow I’m never too me.

 

Life is too short,

life is too sweet

life is a carnival

and yet we never quite

make it to the

presidential suite

 

Instead we look for someone else

to take the blame,

and so standing in the parking lot

tonight,

I felt my eyes did well with tears

realized my exhaustion has a purpose

allows me to come to terms

with who I am what time I have

life is a carnival after all,

we should remember just how to

enjoy the ride.