While Digging

With a mental spade in hand,

I broke ground in a volatile land.

 

It is the sort of tale we often forget,

when suddenly life simply won’t relent.

 

I crossed over into a forgotten meadow,

only to find I’d still carried a shadow.

 

There is a reality in knowing the right word

to help move beyond what we might think absurd.

 

It is a choice,

to dig.

 

While the atmosphere around us seems trite,

there is a powerful settling in dirt contrite.

 

Seems the space may no longer feel quite clean,

once the reality of our lives become serene.

 

Oh stop again,

for the dig.

 

Seems the further inside the realm of disdain,

less easily is the worker’s ability to complain.

 

Seams in the environmental cause will display

while every last item of loss has fallen his way.

 

Though the earth has a forever sort of fallen ground

gives credence to the prison in which we are bound.

 

We cannot ever escape the tone of the suddenly frail,

its competency so built upon retelling a scorching tale.

 

Instead we dig, we do try to compel a story,

written by ourselves to discover just what glory

 

lies in the dig,

where uncovered,

 

we fall victim to knowing time is a circle, a place

whereby all of our insecurities likely keep pace,

 

while digging,

in search of a likely capsule.

 

The ground itself in however it may swell,

always uneven, one might never retell.

 

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I Wandered Home

I’ve come here often,

when I could remember fear,

often,

when time seemed to stand still

I would look over the horizon,

picture running through fields as a child,

suddenly thrown into my teens,

those places I would weary my return.

I wonder about people

those I knew,

those I wished I might never know again,

I remember why it is I sometimes don’t really like people,

not everyone of course – I do love you.

I just

just when I might begin the next year,

I wonder sometimes why it is we continue to return to that place

we began to fear

when time allowed us to question ourselves,

when we had far too much energy to worry about who we

might have been, had become, wanted to seem,

where it was we all remember this might begin,

little flashbacks,

idioms of pain,

little moments of reckoning,

stir the anxiety in our mind,

while returning home,

where there is love, where we unwind.

home

love

time

we all do return after all,

it is sort of ironic really,

how quickly we begin to wonder again.

I Do Wait

tear

Every day, every sunset, every wake in the middle of the night,

the notion comes to mind,

I do when walking down a lonely hallway,

one that has a regular purpose,

I do wish to know just how many times,

I might find myself not alone,

yet so many miles away,

yet familiar with your smile,

I do wish that I might reach again,

dab that single tear, the one I use to love

to kiss, to kiss,

the one you would let me have.

~

I do remember sitting in the car

when you said they wrote the song about you,

I shrugged my shoulders, because then I was an ass,

didn’t want to give anything to you, at that time,

I just didn’t know how,

and yet today I want to with all my heart and soul,

and I think about time,and I wonder,

if I might be with you tonight,

could I be that dream,perhaps that sound that wakes you,and for only a moment,

you pause, and smile,

could I be the guy,you wondered about when I went

away

I did go away that day,

I just wandered away

I watched you look at me

turn away

without saying a word.

FIgure Me

I don’t know
If I will know
When it happens
They tell me that a
Spiritual
Well, in this regard
An awakening
May only occur
When one feels right
Or accepts
That the now moment
Is right
Or understands that
Together this really does suggest it is right
~
At least for the moment
We might be satisfied
For the struggle to define
Who we are and why and how and where
Suddenly becomes a notion lest
After thought
~
Really simple to imagine that giving up the struggle
Allows the burden to unveil the likely blossoms