The Deepest Cut

There in the silence

a wandering soul,

human being

whom when asked

will respond,

will navigate

inside a moment.

 

What is it the

seeming attraction

takes their heart

beyond finding peace,

instead persecution

offers solace

before a quiet passion.

 

Once in a storybook

lived a man

who did question

his life,

the meaning around

what is value,

still he found no answer.

 

There is a fear sometimes

in words,

those subjective tones

an affirmation

later became

such a powerful

condemnation.

 

How do we survive

when the brain

seems readily drawn

to yanking,

demanding,

interrupting the flow

of a soft heart.

 

Where is the deepest chasm,

one that defines our lives.

On Positive Outcome

We have these moments

we, the human beings

where emotions begin our day,

end our nights,

decide our way.

 

We sometimes cannot move a muscle

our bodies so strong, resilient

frozen to the ground,

the nature of a piece of soft furniture

becomes the bastion

covet our ill.

 

Today, nature’s frozen ground

sure to take some lives,

those of human beings

lost inside a vortex of instantaneous

decision making ice

 

We need to look for answer

instead of accepting defeat,

our bodies human yet frail,

we cannot allow the remedy of loss

become our only outcome.

 

Sweet is the human condition,

ready and willing

weep and cry, laugh in hysterics

the emotional roller-coaster

whom we become, come to be.

 

Find solace in the truth,

know honesty

recognize the power of an ill

realize the beauty of real,

stay safe, stay warm, stay in love.

 

No matter that the world has other plans,

let your own be the finality carry on a glow.

Standing In Line

black-and-white-community-crowd-9816

Readied the winds of change

would speak tonight,

fair warning,

a knee cap to the asphalt

the bleeding had begun …

 

and so he may believe

this might be a truth

 

He chose to ice the damage

knowing full well this body

would not desire the challenge

to respond

be the resilient one

hold fast to insurrection

 

and so he believe

this might be a truth

 

How ought the line respond

cut inside the weaker lot

forward we will resonate our steps

it is the American way,

we do as descendent find

sweet entitlement in crass negated

walkways, airstrips, bon voyage

 

I see the ghosts of my ancestor

still standing firm, dignity in hand

Standing Inside A Movie Theater

I kept waiting for the movie to begin,

watching all the many faces walk in,

a quiet couple with a few kids in tow

buckets of popcorn, couple sodas y’know.

 

We were all together intrigued by the feature

the latest hot reel to blow minds for sure

that sort of ‘let me out of here’ my reality

is way too compelling, now escape civility.

 

For a few minutes we all sat down, settled

making sure no one near our business mettled

we wanted only the silver screen to take us

far away from any thing important did we fuss.

 

Still standing inside, the movie ended long ago,

wondering just which part I might already know.

Being In My Head

A description

suggestive in its exploit

meant as prophecy

more oft bereft

Fallacy.

 

The other afternoon

when caught

in turmoil’s grasp

would one recall

Travesty.

 

We are ourselves

makers of the storm

we design our fall

how we rise we dwell, this …

Legacy.

 

This notion of an internal measure

Always reminds me of my leisure.

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