I miss that generation who questioned, danced and loved,
who turned away from the shooting range, stock exchange, shared flowers with those who shoved.
Simplicity dared, awakenings shared, embryo's seeking the light,
a generation, harassed in their haze, yet unfathomed unfazed, unaware of the history they write.
Love was free, love was abound, love was the aphrodisiac that stimulated the masses...that and ****
and within that metamorphosis, a music, a sound, a note was played that set the spirit free.
Freedom screamed out like a banshee's cry, freedom to be, freedom to touch, freedom to seek freedom....oh freedom was never too much to need, to ask, desire.
Yet before the banshee's cry had faded the flowers were gone, the love was stifled and the freedom faded faster than the flames of an untended fire.
I miss that generation who questioned, danced and loved,
their music sang in harmony with one's heartbeat, cleansed like warm rain, pouring from the heavens above.
Innocence touching innocence, ideals abstracted within the myriad of memories,
heuristic hereditary rules balanced, yet cast aside for the sake of sanity.
Yet the music oh the music, searching, seeking to find minds, to avail the next generations the understanding, the want of freedom....freedom and love,
but only we were listening, only we sought, only we dared, only we are left to write of.
Can you hear the music now, not that which sang out for change, for love, for freedom...no now it rings out for "want"
a want to be.. without ever gaining, a want to get ...without ever giving, a want to have... without ever having not.
I miss that generation who questioned, danced and loved,
who feasted upon ideals and flesh, who shared who cared, who offered peace to the iron-gloved,
who tore and burnt their symbols of entrapment, cast aside that which had been hand feed to unconscious minds
sought to bring forth an awakening, a new beginning, sought simply, to seek a new light by opening our dusty darkened blinds of morality.
Are we the generation that like the confused or excited butterfly, tried to fly before exiting the cocoon
did we gaze through kaleidoscope eyes, saw the moon and expanded our wings too soon.
Or did we just create within that moment an opportunity to "use" freedom and love as a means to an end.
Was it selfish to want change, were we selfish in our desires and our actions..
I miss that generation who questioned, danced and loved,
but it's their place in history that I am still to apprehend.
© Lance W Toohey Poetry
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:00 AM UTC
I long to swim
within you
above you
below you
beside you.
Without you emptiness
without you nothingness.
Allow me to dive into the ocean
of you
to breathe within the breath
of you
to rage within the depths of you
to feast upon the fruits
of you.
Allow me to transcend
the flesh
to where the mind and soul do thresh
in violent anticipation of
pleasures expectation.
Without you emptiness
without you nothingness
without you
I do not exist.
© Lance W Toohey Poetry
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
I watch from within my inner sanctum
breathless,
ambivalence flows through my mind
like a raging river shaping the ages of rock
shaping the course of time.
I smile,
at the lost souls seeking, searching
reaching out to the predominant winds
that promise to carry them higher,
to their promised Nivarna
to their vindication of self.
A need, a want, a desperate call
for nothingness to engulf,
so as the winds will not forsake.
I watch as so many reach outwards
and so few
within.
© Lance W Toohey Poetry
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC
Deep within the forest black,
silence stifles like an empty tomb
where breath ner' gasped
nor whispered it's sweet invite.
Ageless sentinels stand forlorn
as beneath where life decays
and death betrays,
light is but a harlot
whose kiss gives little but a stifled
arouse.
Still, deep within the forest black
shadows feared and thoughts entombed
one flower one life
fights
to live
© Lance W Toohey Poetry
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC
I sit upon the grass so green
'bove murky clay
no sky hath seen,
where marble sculptures
gesture capriciously,
smiling, sinister, mordant, profound
knowing all, knowing my ground.
Beneath a warmth rises
arousing the unmistakable,
the incomparable
feeling
of loss.
© Lance W Toohey Poetry
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:21 PM UTC
The beast within it needs to tear
no thought of tender no thought of care.
Just to reach and devour the prize,
to feel the flame the power arise.
Pounding, sounding wails of pleasure
only demons determine the measure,
higher higher souls conspire
in mortal twists and convulsive rage,
turn turn
for Christ's sake..turn the page.
© Lance W Toohey Poetry
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
Beating heart, bursting, thirsting
to touch, embrace, engulf, immerse
deeper than deep within that
secret place so sweetly and longingly
created by God's hand.
Sculptured, a perfection of embrace
whose depths and fires transgress,
caress, deceive, yet whose impeccant lips
through deception sweeten the lie.
Ah to lay within that valley deep,
partake of its honey beguiling
sweet, to bathe in the rivers,
devoid contrite,
once more to kiss those lips,
take flight my mind's delight.
© Lance W Toohey Poetry
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC