Validation

Is it a want, a need,

a purpose,

defines the living soul,

the eyes of which,

a world may rely upon

to assist

simple understanding.

 

The manner we posture,

a walk, a glance, an utterance,

measured by one,

thought of as many

aspects –

how an introduction

might manifest

an outcome.

 

If by allowance,

a human being may

settle personal desire

within the structure

our normalcy suggests,

would might that insecurity,

begin a confidence,

well managed

in peace.

 

For a desired response,

to our musings

our careful scrutiny,

a passion to rather than pretend,

more assuredly demand

a satisfaction,

validation,

aforementioned affirmation,

perhaps provides,

sweet energy,

in life,

a determination

met by all eyes,

their eyes,

everyone has

many sets of …

 

I’s.

 

 

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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.

The Absurdity of Time

Oh yes,

did you hear about the time …

how often can we,

separate one moment from another,

stretch away from

that time,

to now quickly embrace,

today,

or was it yesterday,

felt better than before,

gave credence to wanting more,

until last night,

when it all hit home,

the shadows, the memories, the crack in the ceiling,

all again seemed to enlarge their

purpose,

in reminding us all about,

that one …

Wherever it is we decide to land,

to suggest this is enough,

to perhaps realize,

no wait a second,

get it,

together there must be a further reason,

to want to define, decide, design,

the accentuate nature of our lives.

Or are we really that able to describe,

in any setting,

the actual reason,

just why,

just when it is we have found,

reached, centered our own

personal

concept of nirvana.

Until then maybe again is when

we pretend there is more time ahead.

I Wonder Who Told Me

For it was that time my heart sank,

when I knew I was no longer alone,

I was exposed,

and the world around me felt anger.

 

I walked the city streets that night,

and the cobblestone felt ugly,

looking for crevices to catch my feet,

wanting to trip me into the street.

 

A stumble is so obvious to the naked eye,

yet hiding the pain is such a mystery.

We often are left just wondering how,

we could ever begin to understand a cry.

 

If I were to melt inside the rays of a hot sun,

there would be reason to wonder just why,

instead the days continue to run beyond

my control, I’m still only able to crawl.

 

One day a friend of mine, chose a story,

I listened because I always trusted his reason,

and afterward, well I just wanted to …

yet when the truth is told, we don’t ask why.

 

I do wonder sometimes, why it is we cry,

when we are always part of the reason

we exist, the answer to finding legacy

is in the message, while traveling on by.

 

Stop and listen, and your friend will answer,

from there well, the reasons I’ll defer.

When Time Seems Immediate

It is those hours as a child,

as a young romantic,

in the throes of a miscreant’s goal,

when time seems forever, to be still, to not move,

to shadow the moments ahead,

it is in those quiet seconds of reality,

we seem to venture forth to discover our resilient nature.

Is this a valuable tool in defining our

human condition,

or are we simply running our lives by

the second hand of our existence.

For it is a question of time.

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.

 

 

Mother

A heartbeat.

A cradled affection,

a sense of worry is unconditional,

she will always remember that one time.

 

Oh while the years pass,

many judgments, a currency of opportunity,

an aesthetic realization that depends upon her eyes,

she will always remember that one time.

 

We willingly recall,

the time she managed our innocence

with a sweep of her hand, a tender kiss,

she will always remember that one time.

 

I’m on the bus,

her walking nearby she said later,

yours was  a rather contemplative sadness,

she will always remember that one time.

 

There live the fortunes of time,

when we can respond to favored memory,

while, growing we did become showered in smiles,

she will always remember that one time.

 

And I suppose we all will,

that one time,

when in the throes of our own lifetime,

we did look toward the skies and delight in …

 

mother.