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Tough enough
         To shrug it off
But weak
          For wanting to keep it.

An idea that needs
Replacing - or updating|
You can give the *******
Lion a hug.
But the rabbit would only
Get agitated

Let wisdom taint your
pristine vision -
And look.
There is no one hundred percent
for you to take comfort in.
It all exists in unique states
And your assumptions - Automatic responses,
get you no where|
                           Near
                           A Person.
Not sure if my alignment will save properly.
This is how I feel on the bus. All these people avoiding strangers.
If I could but see
Through the eyes of a lover,
Cause the world is sickening,
Thoughts cloud my mind.
She sits there smilin'
Cause I love her

Cause some how It's fine.
In her eyes, not mine,
The problems in the world, and after.

While I sit confused,
She sits amused
And near to laughter,
But holds, to plainly say,
"Is it sadness you're after?"

It strikes me silent,
Though the thoughts do not relent-
Until my last breath/regret.
And it's finally clear-
                                     It didn't matter.
It was not kindness,
Nor was it some version of altruism
That stirred them to help me.
Looking back I am almost certain now
That all of their charity was brought together
By that guilty feeling they have in the pit of their stomach,
Whenever they catch themselves being self-centered
...
For just a second.
A generation of watching movies,
                      of standing still
                          studying film.
Staring still images into dust,
              appreciating what they could have seen
                  themselves.
What class of people
          are those who would sit,
                 couch-stricken?
Suddenly they are risen - - socially-
                  Because they think.
A generation of praising emotions
        over hard work
                          and sweat.
         Why do we not value
                   the lifestyle
              of the living stone?
My mentor spoke to me of two rivals,
Once, they had been friends in some distant past.
But the years have eaten their love and made grudges manifest.
|The two shattered into broken glass

To my wise master I asked only one,
One question... In all my range.
One question I asked:
“What changed?”

In the outskirts, at the home of my daughter
Where you can stare at the stars or passing cars
None more brighter than the other,
We share memories of my grandmother.
In the photographs, she looks so much younger.
Not frail, but a fighter, lover and saintly|

To me, she asks plainly,
One question, and one question only.
Sifting through the ages of years past:
“What Changed?”

At the kitchen table, feeling inadequate,
My lover screaming and frustrated,
I recall memories when we had been intimate.
Times when movement was made for desire and not duty
|A calendar of nights left in confused abstinence

I interrupt.
She delays rage.
I beg,
“What Changed?”

_

In the last few hours of night
The dawn reaches me at last.
I had locked moments-
Literal seconds of time as the truth.
But it was always changing
In flux and morphing.
Turning into something new
Just for a moment, and then on again
“What Changed?”
Everything.
Always.
Today is a stream on a still day.
The water moves, but only just.
No land eaten, and nothing rearranged.
Not stagnant, but nothing changed

Yesterday is a roaring torrent.
Landslide filth that washes out progress.
Inking pages to sepia tones-
with better days owned by the ghosts and bones.

Tomorrow is a shallow frog pond.
Stench overwhelming, and constantly avoided.
Build your cities downwind-
out of sight, and out of mind.
Come to your future ignorant,
and yearning still for yesterday.
Where a man goes
Often in repose,
Alone in candle light.-
Right. By his own designs...

He doesn't have to answer,
Can drop the role of dancer
And take just whatever.-
Endeavours he has on his mind

As fully as the coming breeze
Breathing in how it frees
His thoughts and ambitions.-
Intuitions resparked because of this...

Where a man goes
To lay down his axe, he knows.-
That in the moment when his body quiets.-
Riots cease and he can dream.|
That no one or thing,
Regardless of the news or excitement it would bring,
Cannot shake him, wake him or.-
Roar so loud as to be noticed.

This is where a man goes in fear.
Where when poverty and idle living, and beer.-
Cloud body and mind.-
Grind hope to crumbs.|
And stand on the perch of desperation,
Alone in fear and perspiration,
Dying for something to do,
Viewing savings turn to dried flies.

Returning always to where a man goes,
Delaying what he knows
To be all too true.
Do or die, or start anew.-
I think it's been a full year since I last wrote something.
An anonymous reading: https://soundcloud.com/user608182312/where-a-man-goes
An old man falls down the stairs.
And this is the end of his life.
Listen to how pure that laughter is.

In the man's eyes; Hope glistens...bare
As he counts back the years of strife.
It's finally the end; his whole life leading to this|
                                                                             **  Zenith.
Part one of two.

— The End —