To the shape I see fit.
Life wants to drown me under the waves
But I will rise once more, unscathed
As this charade of conformity goes ablaze
Be amazed as I rise from the haze.
Can’t end my trajectory, it’ll only be delayed
If it takes a second or a century, I’ll still get my way.
ETERNITY
What does it take to please me?
How will I learn to be happy?
I could be the greatest things
And still yearn to be better
Because, in truth
My greatest fear on this earth
Is to be on my death bed
—Hopefully at an old age—
And to look back upon a life
That I didn't live to the fullest.
Even if I left behind a legacy
That would stand for a century
I would think of the length of history
And see that my contributions
To this planet of ours
Were nothing but a breath,
Nothing but a careless blink
Before the eyes of eternity
Refocus on something else
And I, forgotten.
The first things to disappear
After you’ve left this earth
Are the minute details,
The truly small things
That made up who you were.
Then it’s the voice, the smile,
Then the eyes and face fade away,
And before long,
Only your name is left
Before even that disappears.
Maybe I feel this way
Because, growing up
I was taught that the
Only existence worth any
Consideration was eternal.
But eternity is a long time
And for now, what do I need
In order to not feel
Like I’m wasting my life,
Wasting this only opportunity?
Maybe happiness isn’t for me;
Maybe I’m doomed to contemplate
The deep mysteries of existence
And leave the frolicking, the love,
The days in the sun to others.
But I hope that isn’t the case.
I hope that one day
I will find rest
And will not worry
About these grand things.
THE WEIGHT OF THE FUTURE
I hope I end up one day
Having everything figured out
I hope I end up happy
Certain of what this is all about.
Pressure knocks at my door
A clock ticks and demands its due
The lava burns from the floor
But not in a game like it used to.
So little time to figure it all out
So many distractions to prevent success
I’m in a dark forest with no path or route
But this internal fire knows no rest.
I cry out and scream
Demanding answers, any at all
What does any of it mean
When will clarity call?
Darkness encroaches on vision
But ask for light and it blinds
Boiling distaste for indecision
Spills into this heart of mine.
Will I ever give my heart
To love without reservation?
Will I ever learn the art
Of waiting with true patience?
Am I even capable of loving
With more than an actor’s grimace?
Will I ever stop juggling
My real self and my outer image?
When a blank page is a canvas
You are used to filling with words
Real life becomes stranded
As another canvas, the lines blurred.
Will I ever admit I need others?
Will I ever learn not to judge?
I hope I will go further
In the pursuit of giving love.
My hoping, my dreaming,
I lay them freely to die
I will be a present being
I vow to be truly alive.
SPECIAL PEOPLE
You meet every once in a great while;
Those one in a thousand souls
Whose eyes speak of galaxies
Whose soul speaks of mysteries
Whose breath whispers of freedom;
A free spirit
Who the world could not keep locked up
In a prison of conformity;
I could speak of your honesty
For a century.
Someone so very real
They make everyone else
Look like pathetic facades
Too afraid to be anything
Or anyone
Close
To who they really are.
I could not begin to capture
The beauty
Of your soul
If I had a thousand pages
And a thousand days
To fill with words
Declaring how you amaze me.
You know who you are, kindred spirit
And I hope one day you read this
And smile, thinking of the time
When our souls grazed one another
Resulting in sparks of electricity;
I will keep you in my thoughts
And become just a little bit more
Like you
Because
You’re just one of those special people
You meet every once in a great while.
CYNICAL
The music used to pulse through me
I could feel it in my bones
It shook my spine and gave me shivers
Oh, the music used to move me.
I used to watch a sad movie
And tear up at least a little bit
I might wipe the tear away in shame
But at least I felt something.
Where did those innocent summer days go?
When did cynicism sneak up and consume me?
I wish I could hear a sad story
And not dismiss it out of hand
Saying it is nothing more
Than a method of getting sympathy
From someone else.
I wish I could see butterflies burst from cocoons
Without tempering my amazement
Knowing all beauty eventually dies.
I drive alone up the mountains
Just so I can scream at the top of my voice
Hoping the loudness of that sound
Will rattle my bones as music used to
And I would awaken
From this stupor—
This cynical, deathly stupor.
I am buried alive
In a casket of my own doing
Someone please, someone please
Command me to come alive
Like Lazarus
And bring me forth
From this jaded tomb.
INTERNAL COMBUSTION ENGINE
Sometimes I miss the sadness.
It cut through the confusion
In some way it made me sharp
It made me somehow more than human
And put brilliance in my art.
Sometimes I miss the pain.
It was the fire burning the fuel
That was my hopes and dreams
And turned them from minuscule
Into power for this machine.
I made a deal with the devil.
God gave me seeds, soil, and light
Which I traded for a minstrel’s guitar
Seeking money and power in new heights
Considering no self-destruction too far.
I wonder if I’ll ever be satisfied.
I could watch this fuel burn
Or find some positive self-expression;
Before it eats me away I must learn
To create without using depression.
THE BOX
As a kid, I never was the type to color in the lines.
I used to wonder, why do the lines even exist?
When these pictures in my head are ripe for harvesting
And I can give the world something it’s never seen before.
They said, “Think outside the box!”
But truly, I don’t think they meant it.
Or perhaps they meant it literally, as in,
“Think outside the box, but stay inside it.”
I don’t think they much approved
of my incessant attempts to break free.
For once I had tasted freedom,
I resisted what I saw to be a prison cell.
Tired of my antics, they locked me in as I was daydreaming
And threw away the key with a laugh.
There I was, locked away in that roomy box,
So, I decided to have a look around.
A heavy, immovable, drab wooden desk
And on it, a form with checklists and neat little spaces
And next to that, a generic gray metal pen.
Behind the desk, an average-sized chair
With an average-sized head rest
Much too small for me, it appeared.
There was a rack of clothing near the back,
A row of black suits and white shirts;
As I walked past, I picked up the scent
of a generic male cologne drifting dully in the air.
I opened a desk drawer to see what was within.
A book, labeled “Vacation Photos!” In small, all-caps print.
Perhaps that would be of some interest...
I flipped it open casually, shifting in the rigid chair.
I expected pictures of sunny days, beach living, and fun,
But I did not find any.
Instead, there were black and white photos;
The subjects: a TV set, a worn-in couch,
and an at-home office.
Bored already, I turned my attention
to thoughts of getting out.
I tried the door, but it was barred with a heavy lock;
I looked for a window, but found only an empty frame.
“Let me out!” I screamed, banging loudly on the door.
“This is your home now, don’t you see? This is your new life.”
Was the muffled reply from the other side.
Already claustrophobic, I fell to my knees and wept.
“Don’t be sad, there’s plenty to like about the life
We’ve already got planned out for you.
War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, and Ignorance is strength;
After some time, you’ll love the box like a big brother.
We’ll put you through twelve nice years of school
Where you’ll learn to see this box as beautiful;
your memories of freedom and possibility will slowly fade
And you’ll realize you don’t really need to think for yourself.
After that you’ll go to a college or university
In year multiples of two, four, six, or more
Where the dreams we’ve told you are acceptable to have
Will be narrowed down, categorized, and trained for
Until you’re small enough to be a nice little worker bee.
You’ll sleep for eight hours, work for eight hours, and then
in the remaining eight hours, we have all sorts of screens,
gadgets, doodads, and pleasant toys for you to play with,
With just enough variation to keep you vaguely satisfied.
You’ll have just enough rebellion in these first few years
To placate you into inaction until you die.
After some time has passed, you’ll feel it time to fall
into this crazy thing we call ‘love’; but do, do of course
be very careful that you do so only as we have prescribed
And with the established pattern of how it is to be done.
You’ll sign a paper and say some vows
And reproduce so the cycle can start all over again.
Then you’ll retire comfortably, watching spectacle sports,
politics, and birds, until you die at long last
And we put you in an even smaller box, in neat rows,
with all the others who have their own little boxes, too.”
I sat in stunned silence, seeing at last how the world worked.
Sadness overcame me, and I lamented this reality;
the fact is, for me, the box they wanted me to end up in
The one six feet under, nicely insulated, and made of wood,
Was the same one they wanted me to live in
For my entire life, from first breath to last.
There’s not a thing wrong with the things in the box,
But the constraints of staying within it are killing me.
If it takes every single second of every day I have left
I will shatter this prison, and then I shall be free
at last.
section five
nature
SECTION V: NATURE
CONTENTS:
Above The Clouds
The Sun, The Moon (A Romance Story)
Passing Seasons
Termination Dust
Rosebuds
A Butterfly, The Universe
Season of Love
Volcano
Up The Mountain On A Brisk Fall Day
A September Sunset
November’s Northern Lights
Snowflake
A Hundred Billion Stars
The Death of Summer
Skydust
Requiem For a Raindrop
Sunrise Coffee
Avenlight
The Auburn Scent of Pine
I, Forest
Life can only be so bad when the beauty of nature is so abundant.
ABOVE THE CLOUDS
Way up in the mountains
Sea level too far to be seen
The clouds mask civilization below
People replaced by a sea of green.
Peace falls down from heaven
In the form of a cleansing rain
The trees could tell endless stories
If you knew how to hear what they’re saying.
An ocean of gray spills out below
Walk on it if you dare to drown
Its tendrils reach out and the waves crash
But it all happens without a sound.
Above the clouds, below the stars
No money here, but endless wealth
Inward is the hardest adventure of all
Come above the clouds and find yourself.
THE SUN, THE MOON (A ROMANCE STORY)
The sun begins to crest the
Looming, mountainous facade,
Sending a cascade of golden light flittering through
The calm, yet swift river,
Making the whole scene
Come alive with
Golden hues.
This coronation of the day with a crown of
Golden spectacle and
Vibrant pageantry
Marks the end of the sun’s
Slow waltz
Across the darkening sky.
The sun’s lost dancing partner, the moon,
Would soon step out
Onto the dance floor
In search of her partner;
But this night, like every night spent in
Fruitless search
For millennia upon millennia,
The two lovers would find
No solace
In each other.
PASSING SEASONS
The sun charges into the mid-autumn night’s sky
The frost melts away, everything comes alive
The birds
chirp away in their orchestral reprise
But oh, they’re in for an unexpected surprise.
The sun dances down below the horizon
The birds answer a call emanating from inside them
As the first snowflakes fall like tridents of Poseidon
We watch the seasons as they’re written by God’s pen.
Armies of snowflakes invade and combine with each other
Human beings flee from the site and take cover
This chill makes nature seem a most negligent mother
But the freest of spirits are those who aren’t bothered.
Yes, we mourn the passing of our summer days
And adore a warm breeze in about a million ways
But if we cherish our Decembers as we do our Mays
We might learn some of what the snowflakes have to say.
TERMINATION DUST
Loose leaves tumble occasionally to the ground
Thick trunks wave gently in the breeze
But a shock awaits any of those who
Dare to look up past the trees.
Up, up, on the mountaintops
If you look up at this tectonic crust
Peer far, far into the distance
There, atop the mountains, is white dust.
A loud herald saying seasons are changing
The heavens deign to show their will, to speak
Look up, look up if you dare to find
A sprinkling of snow atop majestic peaks.
ROSEBUDS
A branch held on during the winter
Against countless winds and gusts
Armies of snow slowly retreated
The howling winds have been shushed.
Green attacks the canvas
And the scene is vibrantly alive
The birds return, the bees appear
To make honey in their hive.
Stalks flash up from the ground
But malicious weeds they are not
No, these are treasured rosebuds
Spreading beauty as nature ought.
The promise of much beauty
Brings bird songs to a halt
Rosebuds grow in perfect cadence
Dancing to life's slow waltz.
A BUTTERFLY, THE UNIVERSE
Every breath we take from the air
Takes oxygen from an insect’s lungs mid-prayer
And every exhalation does loudly declare
That in the currency of life, we’re millionaires.
A butterfly flapped it’s wings and Rome fell
A passerby’s whistle cracked the liberty bell
And I dare urge the daring not to yell
Lest we so bid a skyscraper a rough farewell.
A snake’s tongue slithered and man did sin