Time, a verse in the making.
One part of a timeless flow,
One thing to accompany my warm ears,
Cold feet and a full glass of art, now half empty
By virtue of my drinking.
In lie, some try, I might, this virtue,
11:22, another time, moments gone,
Fading with the miniminutes in my pentameter,
Fading slowly without boundary or diameter.
Faded finally, all but free, this the reality of 11:23
Monday, April 11, 2011
Night sky, passer by,How do we see the stars through the lights of this town
With the scars of our hearts and marks of our skin?
Can u see me through the wind coming from the changing day,
Sun setting on my mind.
Moon rising on our night,Can you see us running away through the city lights and up to, into, the scar stars that would illuminate my fear, bringing you to tears, and have all of this socialism enamored my dear.
Can you imagine pushing the limit,Opening the box to a future more than your past, but less than a life under a fall cedar tree, something more than you, something more than me.
A cedar tree frozen still, shaken through its roots by the quake of our desire, burning cedar smoldering in our fire. Ice to water, then to fog, back over the scar stars and through the city lights.
The fog is heavy, it removes all shadow, and as it lifts...only us left in love, left without, and right about everything.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
How can a tree so much bigger than me but blow so free in the wind?
And when do I get my star, having traveled so far, what more must I do to deserve it?
I have talents thus, my frustration must, be apparent whenever I seed.
And now, left cold, in the shadow of this oak, I lay barren without my leaves.
Whatever is to be said for never being alone must come from some younger me,
For I stand bent in the middle of this wood, skewed yearning for a glimpse of that star
Some days she comes, mostly she doesn’t, but then this must be the life of a tree.
Smaller, wanderer, mentally prophetic…no longer will I go without light,
Down with this oak and its bright shiny star, his comfort is not longer my plight.
Down with this oak, it’s gotten too tall, and will surely fall under the weight of its lumber.
But first I must die, for our roots are intertwined, like Mobius and his unending line
Then so be it to dust, my lumber first, I will go gracefully and calmly with the wind
A traveler, a wanderer, and mentally prophetic I will seed this time on high
As high as I wish, and all I shall I take, all I will bring is this star,
And of that oak, my one and only, who knows, who knows, who’s asking?