What I Want

What I want is certainly that which I cannot have

though I think that true of everyone

including the stars in the sky,

hanging in the balance always in a shine,

wondering just where everyone else

lies.

What I want is to understand the purpose

of knowing just that outlet whereby

my satisfaction becomes immediate

with all of the foolish glory of delight

in one huge display of authentic

grace.

What I hope is perhaps that one day,

when I look a stranger in the eye,

they might know even that person whose

path they did cross, might eventually

find the same outlet we all wish to define our

peace.

What I want is to get the intrigue,

the excitement comes with finding a now,

the moment, the explosive inspiration,

that time when our eyes need no reminder,

they only bask in the beauty of recognized

time.

What I want is for our society to look up at the stars,

know they are not going away, and whether we decide

to be truthful or ironic with our lives, all the actions

we employ depend entirely on ourselves, and even

they are brilliant in illumination, they may very well still,

want

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Twilight’s Reckoning

looked outside when the skies cleared

was wondering if I might see

what I was looking for today,

if it might be any different

distinguishing another day,

another time perhaps,

when my purpose stood before me.

When you spend some time

looking at the starlit sky,

waiting for the fall,

can’t help realize there’s far more

beyond ourselves

yet, that moment when I slide the door,

my routine will return and the stars

a distant memory.

So how can I  tap into that energy,

the one that suggests that we are on our own

unless of course we can map the growth

of our night sky, waiting to take us home.

Twilight is a beautiful thing,

I have to agree, because just to be cool

means great sacrifice in the greater scam

of twilight’s autonomy.

Twilight Speaks

sky

I wait for these moments,

clearly,

when some how I begin,

there isn’t a way to describe

the need for expression to find

an outlet that feels right, feels

just almost like a fine thread

being needled through a canvas,

an artist’s sketch,

a Van Gogh perhaps in the mind

of that person creates the image.

A certain melody,

a memory,

perhaps a loss, yet somehow new gains,

the world begins to tick again,

stillness no longer impactful.

We need motion,

always to move forward so when upon a step backward,

we might patient in our minds, figure out a new step.

In every night’s twilight,

I can almost get there, oh so close,

so very much next to me, yet just out of reach,

always, beyond my scope, enough to have me question,

why is it I am so compelled to ignore the stars.

County Fairs and Conversations

Everyone there,

all of the local talent

stepping toward, around, nearby

each other,

even her while he noticed,

and they wondered about him,

each one wanting to know the other,

yet all of them imagining each other,

all together,

standing on bales of hay,

with hellos, sharp tongue,

until later in the night,

began their quiet withdrawal.

Yet no one is walking away,

everyone remains,

just the state of mind,

that disposition that began the day,

earlier notions that created a shell,

slowly began to make its way,

to another region of the park,

as the rides began to slow,

the crowds would disperse,

and finally the lights

on the ring to heaven,

slowly blinked to midnight.

There was that withdrawal,

if we could have just capped

everyone’s state of mind,

just for that instance,

when everyone smiled,

if then,

what might

today be like,

again.

Stars Outside

Formations are the same in the evening sky,

Wherever I glance I can be next to you again,

Miles away yet I am still wanting to be with you,

Not as much in the physical sense as intellectual.

I want you to help me to solve some riddles,

And it seems likely well especially now,

When I am spewing out these words to Henley,

I can write forever and try to figure out just why,

But I cannot,

I still am unable,

I’m drawn,

Tight

To a sort of noose of reality,

That piece of recognition suggests I am wrong,

And no one cares to correct me anymore.

Outside, the stars align the same way,

Every night.

When Just A Child

I could dream,

look out over an open landscape,

let my mind travel to somewhere, I couldn’t see,

but I felt it, deep in my bones,

I’d look to the sky,

hope it might be there, appear,

always returning eventually,

when my name I might hear, a song on the radio,

would always bring me back.

~

Today I’m older,

still looking out that window,

wondering what might truly be nearby,

just around that concept,

the idea of a new horizon,

a different place,

one that offers resource,

to help contain the peril of this place.

Perhaps that’s strong,

yet, I do believe we are sometimes gazing

at the brilliance of an evening star,

and we left believing …

~

Something is out there, and beautiful,

a dream, a mystery, an island hoping we could

land there, just for a moment,

and then we’re pulled back again,

the island fades into our natural trance,

we’re left imagining there will be another day,

~

when I glance across the street through my open window,

I will see the beauty of life in freedom’s grasp so delightful.

Stand Still

Watch the skies move above

crystal clear summer night

each star with a story

making connections

to a childhood,

an adulthood,

that should suffice our need.

Yet, we wander

wanting more from the sky

this permanence of delightful clusters

a white streak across our night

allows us to imagine

something much greater than ourselves.

Then why this stand-still

this frozen temperate of self-driven

pity

this albatross of heavy rings around

our shoulders that is a weight

one greater than any pressure

we may ever endure, yet as light

as a soft breeze on a cool

summer night.

Stand still

look up at the sky

and for the night

let go.