"Beauty in detail, gives you the largest picture."
(deep growing inner sadness for society)
If I were ninety
I might think
It’s time to leave this world. And if
I thought I’d incarnate, re-incarnate,
Then I would hesitate
To have this wish
For just the reasons
Since this old world is goin’ to hell
In a damned wheelbarrow, and
Who’d wish to stay here till tomorrow
Or come back to what’s to be?
Inner Conflict 6.27.2016
Our Times, Our Culture II;
I feel free
Free of you and every mad man
Pretending to be lonely
Free of all the demons
Haunting me at night
Free of dreams and burden
Dragged along for comfort
I feel free
Like the wind you cannot see
Flying close to earth
Like the leaves of the tallest trees
Flying as they fall
Like the birds born with wings
I can fly with open eyes
I can fly free
Free I am at last
Reassembling the pieces shattered on inconvenience,
Smoking my lucky,
Trying to imagine what the taste of your lips would be like against a shattered nose,
Blacking out and bleeding profusely for my beliefs and opinions,
What a time to thrive,
What a time to thrive,
WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE, MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
Waking up on the floor with a black eye, holding on to the floor; the only solid thing left in my world,
To the progress made and to the progress I have left to make,
Sipping fine wine and then chugging what's left of the pack of PBR,
Getting wasted on my youth and everything involving it,
A drunken recipient of happiness and sadness all at the same time,
What a goddamn mess we have made,
I just hope the cleanup doesn't take as long as the mess did to make,
Even if you don't look back, be sure to know who was there and where they've gone now,
Cocaine white and pitch black,
My worst fears, my worst fears,
I am just learning,
I have given so much hell,
Don't stop talking to me, I haven't been listening
Whisper her name & let the word
Linger within the anthem of
A whistling, sultry summer breeze.
Enunciate the word again
& let each syllable flow through
My weary bones & longing heart.
The sound fosters a melody
So sweet and proud; I’m overcome
By gentle dreams & gallant goals.
Alas, every sound & every word,
& every person fades away
Like the dying of a rainbow.
Echos disperse & colors melt;
Promises of forever are
Only meant to tantalize.
Despite it all, I will grapple
With nebulae of space & time,
Seeking a chance to make things right,
And rekindle my lifeless love,
His brown face was wrinkled.
Cracked like the late August soil in Oklahoma.
Once black hair, now grey.
Still fell long about his thin shoulders.
He wore it in the traditional way.
As he stooped.
The People used to dress in their finest.
Going to war in regalia.
Painted skin and feathers.
Painstakingly made representations.
Demonstrations of their band.
In this way, he said, they were prepared to die.
Prepared to meet the Mystery.
To be found in his sight.
Welcomed with honor on their day.
On this my day.
Me, he said, I am now one of the Old's.
Waiting to see if it is time for me.
Time for me to meet the Mystery.
And so I dress this way.
In my finest suit.
It is wrinkled like me.
Torn at the seams with buttons missing.
An errant thread here and there.
I am proud in it.
It is the one I wear to Church on Sunday.
To hear the round eyed preacher tell us of Heaven.
But mostly, to scare us from Hell.
I have seen Hell, he said.
On this barren plane.
Here in this land of the Red Man.
So I will sit and wait.
Wait until the Mystery calls me home.
Until I stand beside the throne.
And receive my feathers.
46 & 2.