As we enter upon the caged world; souls
innocent to the discontent of the future, our lives
prescribed the finite paths to choose. the guiding force
being the influence of others who have settled for boredom
and deceptive comfortability. The hand moves us through
the crowded city blocks- all we see is the grime and muck
left behind from past residents whom are held hostage to the cynicism
and ego of population. It is not until we travel through the abstract,
unsettling chaos that we realize the other choice. The streets are nothing
more than our own mental constraints, and the meadows on the other side
were always there. Where the concrete building and thinking end, and the ego and cynicism
get swept away by the breeze of possibility; of uncertainty. When the sun rises, I will tear down the glass and cement walls to live and think in a new way. A way that allows people to be people;
without their possessions, without their worry and fear of judgement.
You see, a true utopia does not exist externally, only deep in the soul.
Understand that when you WAKE UP, you will walk along the narrow
constructs of noise and pollution, a path made for you before your conception.
But I, I will be on the edge of the tree line- staring at an open field untouched by the mind.
the only guidance being the spirit itself, searching for the energy of that eternal being.

its 3 am and the noise has suddenly ceased.
the light is tired as I, from a full day's thought and action.
The flowers spring toward the sun when its high in the sky, but
when night falls I know not their course of action.  Maybe they
stay pointed to where the sun used to be, hoping the light will come back
and allow their growth and comfort. Or maybe they retreat,
accepting defeat whilst giving way to the unknown.
Maybe we are all sunflowers- we lie awake at night, hoping
to sleep through the unknown and awaken to a new light.
The hardest part being when and where to look for the knowing.
Not too early, not too late.

I will finally have the time to
tell you everything, one day.
i live in the past not by choice,
maybe a misguided sense of
self, or an inability to deal
with the loud noises in my head.
it was not long ago that i was free,
but i wouldn't know freedom if
that's all there ever was.
just please give a bit more time.
one day.. i'll be waiting with the key
in my hand, and the cage will
unhinge. oh how i can't wait to
see you, smell you, feel you.
one day...

It's nice out.
I am alone here but
that's just alright. I
don't really mind missing
out on the rest of the world.
I can watch from a window
the child's happiness when
daddy comes home, or the teenager
who slams the door and walks down the road
in unattested anger. I sit here, in my mind,
wondering how I got here and how I
will leave. And so it goes.
I have always said "I don't mind
being alone, I just hate being
by myself."

It's not everyday,
not even every other.
  It's that one time every now and again
   when I stop to look at what I
    have done and what I haven't.
     The old man who holds on to
      his old lady ever so tightly,
       the dog owner who yells at his pal
        but the dog just wants to get
         the most of his time; shouldn't
          we all? Is there something I have  
missed?
            This is that every now and again,
             when I turn around to see the bumpy road
              with cracked pavement and barriers
               galore. The tree roots desperately
                try to push through the stubborn
                 pavement, but I guess I just won't let them.