Awaiting your arrival,
the excitement of a younger me
shouts with internal glee.
I must have missed (you), I must
submit to weak knees
and beg you pretty please
to open my offerings left from
Christmas day.
What can I say?
Welcome back to my state
of disarray- to humble hugs
and Winter wind whispers
below zero.
She questions-
where can we go?
A father-affected
frightens his daughter.
Broken families crumble
under the weight of uncertainty.
Antics of a frantic man-
lie us, awake at night.
Pacing halls,
windowless,
lights switched off.
Mind switched on in the darkness,
of the man she will never see anew.
A dead end is near,
loud and unclear.
The cycle is shear,
as is his life,
so what of his dear wife?
Left to muddle in a puddle of missing tears,
in remembrance of his battles over the years.
Agony is the cry of Rejuvenation,
she did not lose her will to live,
but gained the will to die.
Advantage seeks for her to find
the heaven which she had in mind.
Peace retreats in anticipation
as the gates await the king’s creation.
Impatience forces her impertinence,
mercy begs for eternal rest.
Forgive her if she's impolite,
for she's dying to see the sight
of an ending to this plight.
Speak of regret- I am destruction on the corner.
Money meets my hands,
my blackened heart steps
on sidewalk cracks,
breaking more than mothers backs.
I am broken with or without my sobriety.
Tangled in a society who wants
nothing to do with me.
Sold death to the desperate, lined my pockets with the finest gold.
Did my time on lies, I was told.
Twisted truths turn the wise into fools,
deceit’s on the edge to tempt us to lose.
Authoritarian eyes, unjust, given into monetary lust.
Welfare, well I care- climbing to the top of the ladder,
I look down to see the world shatter.
Corruption tosses me about, back-and-forth, sleep disruption.
Strings attached to horns appear as angel wings dancing about.
Fill my days with faithfulness.
The room to grow
in evidence surrounding me.
A breath of life to show animation
through the static blurry film.
In bitterness lies
a sweet revelation
of the eye-catching
connection between two.
I call, you come,
there is nothing guaranteed
in life but this.
We made a single agreement,
you need, I deliver.
And in the wondrous cycle,
I see no harm in selected apathy,
or the confession of anxiety.
Upset by worthiness-
oh, how could I be more worthy!?
Self-praise,
we gaze upon cross fingers
and feel the rapid
heartbeat of hope.
The footsteps approach,
my answer awoke.
A voice, it spoke
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Hearts are humbled
to the sounds of hymns.
Your favorite verses
resonate as the movement
of grace falls around us.
The ministry of music
makes a wave among
the curious contender.
Bless the best kept
secrets of sound,
the lingering spirits
the soul has found.
Welcome sinners
and hide
in the love
of every blessing.
Let changing hearts grow
from fallen chains.
Rejoice in finding
the wandering sheep,
focus on the shepherds' keep.
The never lost flock-
filled with the glory
of God’s reach.
Within his reign above
is bounty and endless love.
Why is your pain so special?
To kill
abuse
use until you choose to die
take a life
suffer alone
push until they fall away
love them so much they cannot stay.
Raise your gun to my dismay
your voice
hand
price of my life.
Pride too big to swallow
and you wallow
in your prison cell
where your fate is your shell.
With God be her glory,
where fellowship,
a joy divine,
distracts her
from her healing pain.
Run to the church
and pray your debts
to the Almighty.
Dedicate your hope
to build on nothing less
than mournful holiness.
Gather at His Humble Hands
to hold her crumbling heart.
A beautiful word
as her voice carries
in this place of thinning faith.
The weeping widow
spider spins a web
of her soul's sincerest desires.
Then shares the bread
of new loneliness.
A bump and a bruise,
a trip and a scrape.
I can no longer wear my cape
or be the hero you so choose.
I drink my tea,
leg-up on display.
I cannot feel THOSE toes
much to my dismay.
An open gown,
I am bound.
I frown at what could be
me
is not what I see.
A part of me lost
in aimless injury.
And the hunt for who to be
grants me the right to let go.
I can not follow
you home tonight
I must go.
There are certain worries in life
you need to walk far from.
People, places, points in time;
words which stick,
people who pick,
substance abuse,
the constant misuse
of a good-natured being.
Devices do linger,
the pointed finger
of mishaps and miscreants.
Guilt-
a wilted flower goes to seed.
A deed to bury
and root over sins
of dirt, earth,
and the will to be beautiful.
I wander out into
the vast world of nothingness
and find substance
in the void of broken minds.
Find myself wishing
I could be more like graffiti,
leave my impression,
paint the town,
fade into the next.
A vandal of vocabulary
interceding internal dialogue
for the sake of a single sentiment.
Snivel,
feel hurt,
broken
and bitter as usual.
Find happiness
in simple substance,
a rat
around the corner
mops up tears.
Weary and woken
to unspoken woes
and worry
of wrongdoings.
Make ELEPHANTS
out of ME!
Send them-
marching DOWN,
spiraling around
my mapped out mind.
So the power
of the mind
can be so unkind,
when a heart's in doubt-
unable to sort anything out.
The infinite zipper,
a concept of coming together forever.
Never ending-
meticulous bending,
joining of wire.
The desire to be free
from monotony.
An ominous cloud,
cooling you off on a scorching day.
Relief with the grief
of a thunder strike,
dawning your need
to recede into the zipper.
I erase myself in pointless endeavors.
Traveling along the print on a page,
my picture, my name,
stain your memory with disdain.
I erase myself from your history-
belonging nowhere in time or space.
Existing to trace a face from a familiar place-
disappearing from hometowns and high schools.
I have no childhood
but a red mask
of rosy reminiscent sin.
Nostalgia paints the way to melancholy,
and the only escape
is to allow yourself to be erased.
A bigot's tale is tall,
wide and vast.
It encumbers an infinite mass,
blankets the earth in black and white.
Weakens the strong,
blurries the difference
between right and wrong.
Eliminates equity,
the fight,
and the right to belong.
A bigot's agenda is read, told,
said and sold by familiar faces
in your favorite places,
even public spaces.
When I'm alone,
it's like freedom
in my disconnected space.
Chasing down
dead air radio static.
I wash out his essence
for the last time.
Love written on open windows-
on lines-
sun fades its intimate messages.
I bask in His sun,
transparent,
a place where I find your trace.
Interlacing fingers in my dark space,
sonny, I know your face.
The sun rises without (me),
casting shadows on the surface
of an expanding universe.
Troubled turns to windowed daylight,
she speaks to the world
through breath and fog on the glass.
It disappears to nothing.
It's everything we have,
the air in our lungs
and each other.
A foggy vision of you in each sunset,
a reason to see sunrise tomorrow.
You're a tainted fortune,
filled with the glory
of fables and fairy tales.
A hidden treasure of shams
and charlatan hero-princes
on filthy white horses.
Deliver me from wicked witches
then lock me in your
enchanting bell tower:
Where I'll find my escape
from the sympathy
given to phony saviors.
Nature has its way
of aging the kindest stray
into a single-minded ideal
for fortune and fame.
The blind torment of intrusive thought
meddles above as a storm cloud on a sunny day.
What a terrible end,
trapped in time
with a sinner's reprise.
Yet small-town-syndrome takes its victims,
then devours them to inflate its leaky ego.
I've settled into a sound speculation
of suburban civics.
Down to the last breath of righteous indignation.
A push to the shoulder and a shove at self-esteem.
Lips sealed- unspeakable the words which describe the state of mind.
Unkind, a single stare, a glare and the words unravel meaningless drivel.
Indifferent eyes take in the cries of an unjust outrage and who am I?
Who am I to contend with useless emotions?
Intrusive thoughts invade,
not a frequent occurrence,
but haunting enough to displace
each sound emotion once enjoyed.
I don't believe in superiority.
Is there a choice but to follow blind campaigns?
You fly blind and know not what you do,
with the idea of authority
and politicians being superior.
They are men like the rest,
so-called heartless,
outdated men.
Potential rich men,
in the place of power,
that the collective voted for.
Simpletons at each day's end.
There is no winning in a game of politics,
at most-there are shifts of power
and new abstract wars to fight.
Left or right, what does it matter?
They sink deeper into a dead ideology.
Circling my mind,
I find a motion to express
a well-grounded distress.
In time everything fades,
moving out is moving on.
So what's beyond the gates of lost cities left behind?
I catch a glimpse of abandoned homes
which cross my mind over time.
A heart beat seats itself inside
each corner of quiet longing ease.
Houses to appease each of our needs,
and the value of a moment is the difference
between chaos and peace,
A catastrophic call to our creator
from the crypts kept
within the darkest waters.
A cry into the sea-
Almighty answers with the waves that be,
which harbor an element of doubt
as this body is cast about
the blackened tides of hope.
Twisting & turning, sea tangled & trapped,
drowned down, this man found
a way to bow and pray
from the earth
at the end of the ocean.
As death is dawning
the Whale is yawning
face to face, now
floating from the abyss.
The shores of Assyria don't see
a light in the deep, a concept to keep
of split seas and the oath to stay afloat.
The soft-spoken innocence of peaceful people,
the constant motion in my mind.
The value of the universe and my menial achievements.
I can not silence the declaration of disordered ideation.
Ethics eat away at mythology,
giving finance to the greater good.
Where is the morality?
In a system of spiritual liberties,
we are as free as we are captive
by the limitations of neutrality.
The quiet hum of havoc
in the atmosphere overcomes
the echoes of empty impressions.
Victims everywhere,
of unpopular opinion,
depart and decide who to be.
Oh, I wonder why
it's essential to evolve
in an advancing world,
where change isn't welcome.
Adaptation in our nation
is the acceptance of failure,
and the freedom to succeed.
Happiness, prosperity, and sobriety
have not been guaranteed.
Keeping yourself content
is the curse of considerable accountability.
And how contentment has been achieved
is concerning in each way believed.
Who will you be,
the man sitting in the corner of society,
or the miserable mess of over medicated opiates?
A muddled mess of a man
brings himself back to life.
Society wants his misery
for the sake of artistry.
Industry would take him,
make him militant.
Brace him for a pocket full
-then pilfer his passion
through the subtle push of suffering.
Twisting him till he's braided
into industry and society,
there is no escape.
He is a strand of industrial elbow grease,
valued by no venture handed to him.
As he searches for himself,
fulfillment will scarce fall into industry.
A muddled mess of a man has no value,
he is disposable,
dragging himself around a dead end job.
My mind is a mess,
stumbling around my thoughts.
There it is,
the chaos and confusion
of my creation.
By my shaky hand I say,
I will not be cornered by my own canvas,
painting the world to be
a blurry and bizarre place.
The world is not black, white, or grey,
it's muddy with our true intentions.
I can not see the corruption come over me.
A lie made by man,
the introspective essence of esteem.
Why lie to ourselves?
It does not build character,
it breaks our confidence.
Alone in my mind,
I find the freedom
to be blind to bitter notions.
Standing on the streets of my mind,
desperate for some change.
What can you spare for me?
Can you spare me, stranger?
Spare me from cynicism,
the broken shoulder of philosophy.
There's an element to suffering,
one I'm quite familiar with,
for without pain,
there is no power.
I am a beggar in my mind;
where passion is currency,
where consideration is a drug to crave,
where desperation settles deep within my spirit.
Desperate for an eye's attention,
here comes dopamine's phony affection.
Deflated egos everywhere
are familiar with the feeling
of ups & downs, and sideways looks.
A beggar knows misfortune
and her dreary streets to sleep.
Home is a dream for discarded sentiments,
a treasure, a concern to keep.
His clothes,
white as snow
on mountaintops.
The highest summit,
I could not reach.
Speak to no one of
what you've seen.
Trapped by the generation
of wayward thinking.
From above comes a voice of reason,
"I have chosen you."
Found all alone, covered in fog.
A sullen spirit descends
into the multitudes
despite his disposition.
It's my voice you hear,
begging your help.
I cry out,
"How do I contend with
the plagues of my mind?"
"Overcome."
He says.
Never look behind you,
where the past reminds you
-there is no change.
A dangerous thought to dwell in,
depression's attempt at reason
with backward thinking.
Life's lessons and little games to play,
catch us in a loop
where time no longer moves.
Faith is the freedom,
the choice to move,
to leave those little games behind.
Pile up
into a mountain of chaos,
for the fear of facing the world
is greater than the need to be in it.
Humiliation has done it's damage,
an honorable offence at best.
Worried by the reminder
of another inadequacy.
All potential is lost
to the creeping void
of missed opportunities.
Look forward to a future
of endeavors into
the enrichment of man.
Open your eyes
to pride
which keeps you unwell.
All the imaginary fights
you've started
dwell deep inside your head.
What does it take
to intervene
the chaos created
by an unconventional brain?
A miracle of medicine,
and the willingness to heal
might be the only answer.