da Vinci - study of skull

I'm lost in there
battered between form and function
existing in the guesswork
institutionalised by containment
figured out on the block
measured by what takes up space

every layer perfectly in place
to provide freedom to conform

I merge and merge again
despite being part of no plan
unstoppable in my inexplicable existence  

tip out my untapped potential
lay me on the table
busy yourself with dissection
broken up into components
I can do no more
cannot be put back together

an empty head
with no view of itself
an offered up cadaver

(any day of the week)

The scent of salted ocean air tangled in the grains of sand.
Waves collide with the water ahead,
creating sea foam—stretched like melted marshmallows in July—
drifting ceaselessly toward land,
just as we, humans, move endlessly
toward a life yearned for—
one we may never fully hold.

Waves, large and small,
mirror the tribulations caused by those near and far,
echoing the force of tidal waves
that leave us aching in their wake.

Still, we lament them—
gazing at the light above the water
while never truly seeing the waves themselves.
We neglect the face of distraction,
yet contemplate it, unconsciously.

It is nice to spend time alone
but it is also nice
to spend time
with a warm hand
a warm voice
on your side.

Sometimes I wonder,
Who would be a better friend
The wind or the rain?

The wind, who was adventurous and fun
Who was there to celebrate all your greatest moments
And especially the happy ones
The one who made you laugh before you cried
Who never knew how to comfort anyone
But still who always tried

Or the rain, who was more silent and reserved
But who’s advice and especially their friendship
Was one to be preserved
The one who is there for all the moments, even which are bad
Who doesn’t try to cheer you up
Instead tell you that it’s okay to be sad

Chains unbroken
cling for life-
an endless shadow.
Like Prometheus
on a desolate cliff,
you ask yourself:
is this a sentence
or your will?

Suffocated
I can’t breath
Held in his vice grip
Controlled

LET ME MAKE MY OWN DECISIONS!

bursting with repressed
ME-ness
I need to BE
(not controlled)

There is no perfect way, to live this life, every day,
Changes will come, and they will pass,
Nothing in this life, will forever last,
Every one’s  trail, curves, many ways,
Somethings , we are to experience, were planned before,
Our first day.
No one’s life is perfect, throughout every year,
For our soul to learn, and grow, we carry it through,
A mixture, from days of smiles, to cloudy moments,
Where we shed our tears.
Accepting  reality,  knowledge, our parts in this life, with age,
Will change, even though, your on the same stage.
We are each to mingle with, all types of people, traveling on our way,
If your lucky to be free, beware of habits, where you limit the growth,
Of your soul exploring, to only certain hours, of night or day.
The clock on the wall, many follow every day, was created by a human,
Some people enjoy, another person, telling them what to do every minute,
During this life’s stay.
The first clock was a pendulum clock, created by, Christiaan Huygenes,  in 1656,
Most humans would not survive, trying to live, as they did, in those lost days…


                                The Original tom Maxwell  ©  07/21/2025 AD

A siren’s songs
A woman’s fears
Drown the world in peace and tears

A siren’s cries
A woman’s ashes
Drown the sea with sounds of crashes