Sometimes It Is Fear

Pressing down

The mind is caught in a ruthless trap

trying desperately to release itself.

The constancy of the human condition

fighting off the demons

that would choose to rest

inside the solace of our dreams.

We escape our lives

mechanical trysts

episodic echoing

laughter chills the sky

with moonlit streams,

remind us why

the vulnerable tale

be our guide.

Sometimes life clearly

steps aside

that our mind

seek serenity

in each storm

will carry our eye

witness the naked

mystique inside our

sallowed fortune.

Oh to know a different name

would this hold in fear lessen

The Psychology of the Human Condition

The answers exist,

wait, not today,

perhaps later in the evening,

some cathartic moment,

praying for an epiphany.

 

The heart stops and the mind cannot compete

we are a solid lot of indifference

dependent upon the sunlight,

rainbows strike a nerve

coupled by nostalgia or endearment

to a moment,

the moment

when in that circle of compelling delight

we did experience,

did evolve,

would resolve the questions in our mind.

simple logic, sweet emotions,

beyond the scope of tearing down our own

idyllic beauty.

A Foolish Proposal

To imagine nobody knows,

our hearts turn to stone

we might waffle in envy,

scorned by our own soul.

 

When a stroll in twilight

seems singular

what happens if the world

around is forgotten.

 

Lives become measured

without sacrifice

only retrospective annals

of lost imagined horizons.

 

While traffic lights blink,

cast away the fears of our now,

reach out, breathe, anticipate

lives respond, sweet elegance.

 

While the business of reality

pokes the bear, laugh out loud!

 

 

The Gallery

Such is a shadow,

a lonely walk

the energy of a soul

finding their way

his way

her adventure

perhaps his imagination

a painting to lose his mind while trying

desperate measures

the sort of bind that seems attractive

rather than one of ridicule

when the reality of the game

is revealed

in gallery seven,

perhaps it was four

or somewhere in the early afternoon,

she in cloak and dagger

watched him switch postures

giving him some indication

that his trophy

might be her own

quiet diadem

to steal the words of

Emily … (Dickinson) …

he was in his aching manner

subject to

fantasy.

The Will to Fight

Was a day

would a shadow

be a muse

could satisfy,

ever loom

cast a pall

slow remember

with little why.

~

In a breeze

follow desire

beauty is time

lights a fire

when all

around our lives

seem daunting

love does remain.

~

A source indeed

such is freedom

her spirit

waits …

allow a dream

slow to rise

become manifest

a silent utterance.

~

We do contain such is passion

to love, to want, an embrace.