The Tragedy of Time

Perhaps it is the not knowing

a circumstance

a press release in the evening news,

a morning alert

we all have found ourselves

recognizing the vulnerable nature

of the human condition –

oh is it death,

or simply the prolonged life

medical intervention,

that would have not extended any truths

centuries ago,

we just died,

a sort of flu,

unabated and watched,

observed and grieved.

 

Today, we see it in slow motion

the trip to the hospital,

the car ride,

a sudden turn

a flash of lights,

the triggers of taking a step off the edge,

and yet

there’s no time remaining

then,

afterward we know

only a memory.

 

There is that other real

tragedy of time,

those that wished for more

yet in their final moment

decidedly found Grace

where a soul

became such that entity

that begun a new journey

allowing the living

to pass through and step inside

a dream,

a fantasy

we cannot know

until some elegance

begins

while we do eventually

come prepared.

Advertisements

A Life Led

Watching movies all of our lives,

imagined scenarios,

romantic interludes

with coveted designs

all created within the scope

of such sweet select yearn

we celebrate a constant envy.

 

While the world reminds

us of simple routine,

a Thanksgiving Day parade

the Macy’s celebration,

streets lined with normalcy,

our world in a capsule

filled with smiles and reason.

 

Watching a stranger now,

who did once lead a life,

a sort of mechanical failure

brought him to his knees

standing outside

a warmth and peace inside.

 

We choose our lives.

Would we that gather an

idyllic scenario

now that terms are met

could we ever disregard

the notion of our lives

to be the

sweet remembrance of why.

 

In lasting conversations with friends

as memory suggests, pretend.

There’s This Place I Like To Go

In the quiet reminders of how we live our lives

a silent recall will always come knocking

always come knocking

always come

to somehow tell us we are a concept

we remain here forever,

always knocking,

a steady rap of recurring thoughtful

imagined lives that stir our hearts

until all the passion we feel

suddenly spills into the next

time and place

where 

always knocking

a soft moment, 

we might certainly

become enthralled in sweet 

reckoning

because we share our lives

inside the spectrum of some

displaced anxiety,

an autumn sunset

begins a solemn wholeness,

the human condition,

always knocking

on Heaven’s doorstep.

On The Wonder of Age

Today is the birthday of an elder,

a daughter just lost her father,

a young boy,

playing in a culvert,

watching handmade wooden ships

float toward the sewer,

no judgment in mind,

simple childhood,

with an elder keeping his welfare

in mind.

 

We wonder sometime about the truth

in aging, the wisdom found,

the mistakes we wish to take bake

yet now we simply go on living

appreciating sometime

the turn of the coin

where once we believed this,

now we are forever asking for

sweet forgiveness

because with age

comes for some a sense of

quiet humility.

 

Oh do answer the question

that when under the knife

my body shut down

for modern medicine

did I go anywhere

with my dreams

beyond waking again,

seemingly fixed

yet forever drawn

to wondering just why.

 

The age of this my freedom

Will by my silent fiefdom

A Walk Inside A Dream

Took a walk inside a dream,

seemed the same,

each waking moment,

a breath of wonder

then wander back inside

visit old friends

stir memories of an

attitude

the sort of look in an eye

when we might fall into

the shell of our selves

inside the dream

everything happens

we sometimes wish away

from ourselves.

The next day

When a conscious reminder

that dream last nigh

look around the space

the people drifting by

could be there then

might be there

now

waiting for an arrival

every stone unturned

when the natural

tendency might be to scream

inside a dream

taking a walk

a wander

into a waking day

A Little Boy

when I was a little boy

I had no idea

the man

I would become;

inside all of this

anxiety

remains that little boy

screaming

sometimes to not recall

the day

innocence gave its

departure notice

to his only

grasp upon

sweet reality

 

when I was a little boy

I understood

universal

love

When We Find We Are The Same

Rules need not be broken

to identify our true selves

we haven’t the demand

to walk upstream, to push

the elements aside

for personal gain,

in essence,

it is true that we all

do find the similar grounds

for which

our bodies

strike the earth

as feeling landed, secure,

understanding of time.

 

Oh, we do battle to separate

our lives

from those we disagree,

the them we conclude

are far astray from you and me,

and yet,

who is it we might observe

when the feeling

of not so assuredly confident

might cause dreams

aspirations,

the fantasy of our completion

to become more stirred

angst driven rather

than a peaceful protest.

 

We do,

we can,

we will inevitably

live our lives the same,

if for a moment

we step off the pedestal,

we let go of our divining rods,

loosen our grip on the main-hold

let our bodies, mind, heart

set sail and when we find

we have crossed a boundary

toward some simple freedom,

well then,

be sure to say hello

to everyone whom have all arrived

the same.