When A Child Believes

A child is born into a quiet world

Given a slap, a gasp begins their day,

We listen with intent, a cry today

Oh to hold child in hand, love we twirled.

 

We didn’t know about an adventure,

One designed wholly in passage in rites,

Sweet is innocence drawn beyond night lights

Swift shadow seekers in nomenclature

 

A child now moves beyond original sin

Learns adaptation within peer response

Oh to know the true angst of an ensconce

Perpetuate loss, forgiveness within.

 

We might all believe sweet coo of a dove

Designs a child’s world to live inside love.

 

 

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Getting Older in Autumn

sunset

pinterest – sunset

I read somewhere today about recognizing positive energy,

wonder came across my mind,

am I, can they, do anyone I know,

is there really a measure,

or are we all simply kidding ourselves.

 

I would glance around the room during times like these,

see all the different faces,

are they feeling the same,

maybe not now, or could we, is the

same solitude as impactful for her,

as it might be for the other guy

nearby wondering what lunch will be,

later on.

 

Is it really that simple for those that would rather complicate

the reality of our lives,

are we all, is it this, did you, I said it again,

I keep trying to stay out of this argument,

yet somehow I find I’m in the middle,

always trying with little effort,

or perhaps it is the other way around,

I might really exercise a certain bizarre discipline

toward accentuating

the negative nature of the human condition.

 

I do know there is a measure of truth

in the reality of a giving spirit,

I can see it on their faces,

the fresh affect, beautiful demeanor

of those whose smile is as real

as a wonderful sunset on a cool summer’s night.

 

That visual caused just a little bit of happiness … right?

While Walking Home

I was walking for miles

where no one seemed to care,

the snow was waist deep,

a busy avenue with no passing cars.

I remember seeming like this would be forever,

knowing I had just tried finding some eternal

reasoning,

yet, still I was this human being,

walking in snow,

waist deep,

wondering if anyone really cared.

 

That was thirty years ago,

and today,

I might do the same thing,

or if I noticed me then,

there on the street tonight,

I wonder if it would be me,

visibly indicating by my actions,

for them,

I didn’t either,

I couldn’t care anymore.

 

Perhaps that’s what happens,

when the world begins to implode

rather than allowing itself

a burst,  a shower,

a monsoon like rainstorm,

filling the streets with clarity.

I Would Wait For This Moment

If it meant two people from opposite sides might smile,

I would wait for the final moment,

if I could know it was coming soon, we might lose denial

to recognize the beauty of Man,

beyond the animal, far and away we might know

the human condition,

it all of its fervor,

trying forever to recognize the places

our minds might go,

but if in the moment,

I measured race to be an entity

of sharing love and passion and a compassion

for the well being of the misunderstand,

then certainly it might be the classroom,

the place where lives we touch,

could smile again,

look upon each other in a sea of clouds,

both distant and frankly above,

and through that atmosphere

of a certain unknowing,

might we then,

remember where this all began,

in a place we might call love,

yet,

understanding beyond the mystique

does lay the real,

we would then shout from the rooftops,

we now know how to look one another

in the eye,

sharing a pleasant catharsis.

is it as known as the love we might have shown.

When Will It Happen

When will the day become the reason,

when lives we seem to wonder a loud

become just a natural breeze in the fall.

 

Because we honor tales people create

they seem so simply easy to relate,

and yet, we do every turn complicate.

 

A long time ago, a person listened,

then told the story again, while others

began to recognize some purpose.

 

How many reminders will it take

until acceptance might become

some certain negotiate.

 

Standing outside the same moment,

there will always be a recall,

some symbolic gesture before the fall.

 

While everyone around us debates

a timely reckoning to decide,

the active reality will remain.

 

A long time ago, a certain history

began a repetitive tale of balance.

In the morning stories will continue.

To Know Who I Am

I struggle sometimes,

with the right words,

perhaps an easy phrase,

a greeting of some kind.

I want the world to understand,

I am my own being,

I’ve fought a war perhaps,

nothing like a soldier’s wrath.

 

I listen to what is real around me,

the smarter speakers

those meant to be listened upon.

I wait for revelations,

I want to know,

where is it that I shall go,

with my next adventure,

just a simple morning away.

 

I’d like to think I’m right,

but there is such wide expanse

of narrative to discredit

anyone who might disregard

the reality of fear.

Instead we live in a constant,

of idiosyncrasy and wealth,

the sort that leaves a waning.

 

See it seems we are a society

built upon certain hypocrisy,

and if someone argues,

another might step in

when the originator

is walked out of the ring,

a towel over their head,

to hide only that embarrassment.

 

Yet, what happens to the winner,

when it is realized,

there is a far greater fight ahead,

than anyone might imagine,

Or perhaps they did,

just in the blink of an eye,

when were all told a no,

we might find agreement instead.

 

I wonder what it is, where I’ll be

suddenly when asked to know who I am.

Even The Brightest Might Second Guess

Oh it is a travesty,

to imagine we live in a society,

so bent on coercive plurality,

we have to think about our sanity.

 

How is it possible

so many are duped

forgotten are our principles,

drawn inside a very large scoop.

 

I listened to the news last night,

again, abhorrent, aghast, afoul,

and now today the sun will shine,

it will seem we all have only called foul.

 

It is in the best interest of a human being,

to recognize love, to understand peace,

for within the heart and soul of any bearing,

is the need to connect rather than divide.

 

We live in an alarming time, you and me,

whereby simple words can foul a nation,

One man may suggest the world is flat,

and for a time, the people will know exactly that.

 

Or do they really know,

is it that easy,

My, instead I think it’s Bowling Green

a simply massacre of intelligible rhetoric.

 

For if it is really said it’s true,

If it is really sad, is it true?