The crush is in me, on me

Seen through my eyes, stuck in my memory

It is crushing me, my crushing crush

Upon my heart, stuck in my throat

No one comes to lift it, so I ensure it

I feel hollow, about to crumple

Until one day, I ****** it off

Blocked and bounded by choice
Retreating into the imprint we have created for ourselves
Retreat then surrender but why?
To live on the sharp edge of dullness
Doubt leading
More and more to doubting
Insecurity becomes reality
Choices become the secure unreality

Sons and Daughters are the real unreality
Feeling scared then needing to see them
They are hope impossible
With them we can stare life down
Giving us the hope we need
All the hope we could ever hope for
Giving them security while we carried anvils
Embracing security with them in our arms
Our little guides to flatten out the hard path
Our hammers to blunt life's sharp blades
For their sake and for ours

The Sphinx said: “What goes on four feet in the morning, two feet in midday, and three feet in the evening?”

Oedipus said, “The answer is ‘man’. A man crawls on all fours in the morning of his life, he walks on two feet in the midday of his life, and he uses a cane for extra support when he is old.”

Curious beautiful shinx. Your riddles like needles are strung through my heart. They beat on me yet I seem to depend on them.

Do I answer them until my death?
Do you desire that I wither away in your presence?

I do not know. I will one day. I love you my shinx,

Curious beautiful shinx. My intoxicating mystery. I live and die by your riddles. I am a broken reflexion of the pondering man that started out before you.

I am an echo of an echo of myself. Stuck. Struck by your frozen beauty.

Sage prairie breath
Plain wisdom
Golden teeth of grains...

Unfinished

Petit homme, petit homme
Forte en bras
Pied Sur Terre
Endessous des ailes
Bien bien bien
Combien de fois faut ils jette votre Couer au Ciel pour etre attrappe par les anges

Petit homme, petit home
Forte en bras
Pied Sur Terre
Endessous des ailes
Bien bien bien
Combien de fois peu tu ascended au Ciel pour attrappe votre propre Couer.

Petit homme, petit homme
Forte en bras, retient votre couer
Pied Sur Terre, rest ici
Endessous des ailes, protege par Les plume
Bien bien bien
Bientot la Ciel viendra vous visite

I will not throw precious cargo into the shallows
I will not try to save my own ship
I will cry tears that might save us all

They will drain my soul
They will fall down from heaven
They will raise the waters

Enough to fill an ocean
Enough to rise all the ships
Enough to save my precious cargo

I am the one that walks through the wreckage and offers a helping hand.

Unfinished...