The Beginnings of How We Believe

A young boy looks out to sea from the shores of the Greek islan

I suppose there has to be a little peace,

the mind in a restful state,

oh and music offers a solace,

an avenue to draw the heart

along a wonderful path of sweetness.

 

I remember as a child

there was this hilltop,

can’t call it a mountain,

but the anyway was the reach,

a gravel path to the cityscape.

 

I would sit there for morning,

often afternoons,

the evenings find me again,

it was a place where I would sit

in wonder about all the things I did.

 

I reflect today on that patch of gravel,

the rocks and stumps I chose

to sit upon, or perhaps a lean to

on a tree nearby, and I wonder

if I knew now what I worried then.

 

There is a certain beauty in finding peace,

when we can believe,

we know in our hearts the right thing,

the world of humanity,

is designed around the concept of love.


Photo found on savethechildren.org

 

 

Life Is Not A Ploy

Though there would be

immediate disagreement in one,

quiet satisfaction in another,

in the final hour,

one would realize if they did stop

to glance,

a world beyond their own device,

would, might

still exist,

and in that social fabric ignored,

a pain,

a fighting soul

whose rapture not found

might emulate

the sorrowful nature

of a discompassionate ploy.

 

Yes, simply a game,

beyond the reality of our terms,

defined by the human condition,

a banter of

despondent disregard

favors

only the regarded one …

or two, or three, or miles of more,

so difficult it is to understand

the lemings at my door.

I Have These Moments …

I forget, I react, I overload,

Symptomatic of a torn life I suppose.

 

A lot of years ago I wouldn’t imagine,

The powerful grip this past might hold.

 

I’ve taught the voices of the future,

Passed on wisdoms and second nature.

 

Though I suppose from the glass you see,

I’m a regular dude, capable of many things.

 

Yet I’m always alone,

Wondering just where is it the light is shone.

 

I walk inside a myriad of speculation,

Always waiting for the cannon to explode.

 

I wonder about the rest of my kind of person,

Do we all contain ourselves rather than lose it.

 

I can’t stand to hurt your feelings, anyone at all,

It grieves me to know that any pain is of my hand.

 

Once in a while life almost seems rather perfect,

The trees, the evening owl, sunsets and sweet breeze.

 

I wish that all of life could hold such magic,

The sort of spellbound love we do so cherish.

 

I would travel the world to find a solution,

Then I realize they are right here next to us all

 

I have these moments I can’t find where to fall

I have these moments I cannot fathom the fall.

Living With Anxiety

How many are out there, when the sky turns gray,

where does the heart remain,

the fear in our mind,

in the quiet of an angry world,

how do we all come to terms with that reality,

the personality of peace.

 

We all seek that solace,

no matter the denial, beyond the circumstance

suggests we can belong inside this melting lava of judgment,

seems everyone does want some time to cool off,

and yet,

we plod on,

build the walls around ourselves,

that will prevent the leak,

that could envelop our soul to such a dire degree,

it no longer matters if we believe in freedom,

that kite has flown,

yes it is a pretty sight,

so tangible as the sky does drift its matter into eternal waste.

 

Would we really call it disposable justice

to recognize we might all feel it.

There on the horizon, we wake to look at the sky,

if a storm looms, we immediately recognize

the nature of our lives is out of our control,

and yet,

we fight that truth with every fiber in our body,

and then,

there is always the truth, when suddenly

we become lost in the translation of our it is,

we might even breathe another gasp,

instead we pretend we are beyond this mortality.

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.

In Harps and Violins

Where I would like to be

when I pass along my legacy,

without the notion of morbid

reality

I would wish to be in a lift

an elevation of state of mind

you see

We are part of this world

of constant scrutiny

far more lethal it seems

in the internal quest toward

sanity,

than it might be found to be true

in the external nature

of discovery.

I am a soul, entity, enigma, stereotype, passion

I live with agony, desire, pleasure, happiness

I wander within the confines of my mind,

and yet,

how often do I allow myself to recognize

that all of you,

each and every soul that wanders the earth,

we all no matter our being,

in the human condition,

we are all standing together

nearby one another,

not so distant as we sometimes hope we might be.

We are here,

now –

couldn’t you all agree?

Perhaps not today said the wise man without eyes,

though he might cry in the corner

while we are all

away …

Hello!

Time Beyond Decay

that irresolute nature of mistake,

the grief, sometime pity,

the realization of a period or our lives,

when misnomers, misreads, easily solved riddles

become the purveyor of our future

decisions.

How often have I felt the pain of my reality,

yet while refusal,

that piece of ignorance,

speaks in a tone all too familiar,

when does the wheel begin to turn,

the one I’m slowly trying to recreate,

in the solitary confines of my mind.

~

I would imagine a world where life could

only happen

rather than a constant reliance upon

misconception.

~

We do walk in similar paths,

all of heart, our desire, our inspiration,

driven by a soulful paradigm,

that when slow

we do look inside one another eye’s

we might realize

there is truth to the service of our own faith

to call upon a world similar

with peace and love being the mantra of our day.