Outside Thinking

 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.

A Beggar's Thoughts

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.

As He Turns His Eye To Me

 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.

The World Is Not Ending

 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.

How Can I help?

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. 

What To Do About The Unwilling

 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.

She Never Did

I have no explanations,

no theories.

-Fate is a mystery

of death and misery.

Beauty defined it,

a state of mind,

sorrow's kind.

Grief idles in absolutes,

but nothing is certain

except for denial, it's impact -a burden.

Fate handed Beauty the hindrance

of addiction and denial.

Then tossed her into the earth

to wither, then rebirth. 

John's Symbolic Vision

 When we rise again,

the poets will be

the first to face East.

Our rising Sun 

will rescue us once more.

Creation will flourish

with our vision,

we will have insight

into nature.

The ebbs and flows

of our imaginations

will be free

to paint the earth.

It will become

our canvas

to adorn

as He once did.

I've Witnessed It

 Take a wild trip into the unknown,

a peak inside a dreamer's heart.

I'm grateful to have my tongue

to speak of fate and creation.

Creation beyond an earthly thought

conjured up by simple men.

Architects, engineers, and physicists

toil to complete a vision of aimless dreams.

There's something magical

about these men

who bring their dreams to life.

The imagination, the innovation,

of dreams come to life

is sensational to see.

I Found My Paper Doll

 Love notes to myself.

An abstract admirer

creates a secret confidence.

Notes none would speak,

words of love, enchantment.

Everything I wished for,

in paper form.

If he, a paper doll, were authentic

-rather than an extension of myself-

I'd be overflowing with encouragement.