When In A State

I would if asked,

Suggest my world an easy one,

Though to the onlooker,

It may seem quite the opposite.

 

Depends upon the day,

I might quickly suggest,

Have I been, browbeaten again,

Or just left for dead, I’d want to guess.

 

I wish there might be a time,

Like the night I sat on the bench,

A curbside onlooker,

Watching the cars drift slowly past.

 

I remember there were so many,

None of which I probably knew,

Or if I did,

They’d certainly never agree to invest.

 

That quiet state of mind,

Where no one is generally allowed,

Except to surmise, pass judgment,

Thinking everything always the same.

 

The screams inside that patient,

Call to arms the proper time,

The explosive revelation sublime,

Defines our world a chaotic dream.

 

I would when in this frame of mind,

Wish the world around me blind,

For in the spotlight I feel exposed,

Wondered just how much my life is known.

 

And then I walk inside a crowded mall,

Mill about in a sea of eye contact,

When suddenly there appears before me,

Another human being, in a state of mind.

I Wonder About Love

Oh it is true the feeling you might have,

the moment the mention,

the imagined response to knowing,

wanting, having, believing, sharing,

all the keywords that could be eternal,

always an option,

for it was told,

we could often recall,

the word, the name, the title,

the option,

… and yet we always do somehow return.

 

I will always remember

when being told,

the actions will speak from afar,

only if I might allow hesitation

to surround my being,

to create an obstacle toward

seeing

there is a certain Truth

to believing.

 

Yet I always return,

whenever the feeling seems right,

there a door opens,

and I do choose to walk,

walk right in,

answer the call,

remind myself of the

the, of the,

of Thee

bigger picture

beyond the wall.

 

I wonder if it is all so simple,

I do often try to recall.

A Farewell Plea

If the world turn suddenly brilliant with fire,

what would be the response, a natural desire.

if in armageddon we are selectively defined,

what matters the moments where we wined.

 

While we imagine buildings collapse, lives lost

in this magical spectacle of an embryonic frost,

is the notions of survival even an able cause

when with certainty our lives bely natural laws.

 

There is the element of human nature in us all,

we strive to be real, to connect, to stand tall,

in the midst of turmoil, sadness, a chronic display

of gratitude only arrives when it is judgment day.

 

If that be true, perhaps every moment is a lease,

Oh to recognize the greater value of global peace.

Beyond Moments

If in breath, a gasp, an eye glance,
worlds interact with indifferent realities,
only to provide expression,
if only then might we understand.

While a horizon away,
a family struggles to recognize
the wealth of their local dream,
while on the other side, a smile.

If during some compelling summer
we all recognize theirs is an august,
might we in that brief moment,
give certainty to everyone’s value.

While walking toward the sun,
a fellow or perhaps her inclination
might be to know truth is love,
could all possibility turn virtuous.

We listen to the dreams of the others
oft beyond consideration of our own.

While the Presses Run

While the presses run, people continue to be real,

if in a day I change my focus,

the shell I’ve composed will remain on the surface.

 

While the presses run, the value of love does remain,

if in a moment she sheds a real tear,

nothing in the world will satisfy her impressive fear.

 

While the presses run, society has a certain makeup,

a sort of balanced hypocrisy to live by,

we all become responsible parties to questions why.

 

While the presses run, ignorance will wreak its havoc

upon those soul who cherish closed doors,

the rest of society might continue to personalize wars.

 

While the presses run, can we possibly give ideals time,

rather we sequester our minds with shallow

immediacy that disallows any true dialogue to grow.

 

I stepped outside in the morning sun, a glorious day,

to find the paper box on my corner, turned on its side.

Love Inside Fraud

 

If I were a fraud, would that I might be color-soaked,

Drawn by the anxious merchant is thought provoked.

What urgency in my soul each day cause true agony

Could reveal the nature of my heartbroken symphony.

~

In crimson drippings of sanity lost in majestic horizon

While the Teflon magic of society maintain provision,

Wilt quiet soul traumatize judgment in kindred spirit

A quest, a desire, perhaps to best ill-found in dispirit.

~

On the monster in mind; fallacy in passionate embrace

For to ever understand why we would question a face.

As the robe gives way to society drawn to stoning mood

Might the humanity of sacrifice question a sullen brood.

~

For in the fakery of life we all might shadow a release,

To know full love will alter horrific talons, breathe peace.

A Melancholy Reality

I know it’s sad,

meant to be,

difficult to imagine telling the truth,

with any happy inclusive hypocrisy.

Stand with me, if only

for a quiet moment,

feel the pain,

confusion turned to empathy,

a wondrous feeling of

empty promises.

There is that shallow reckoning,

comes with open eyes,

a solemn reality,

when in a sudden moment of fear,

the human condition rears its ugly –

oh it is trauma in the highest regard,

that when we decide

an internal messenger

will again treat our state of mind,

with such callous disfavor.

Can you see it – if you look closely,

there is a shadow of torment in the light of the moon.