It's difficult to say when the spring finally ended

The only thing for certain
is that it did end, as we slipped
blissfully unaware, into winter and darkness.

From the highrise apartments in Chicago
to the mud huts baking in the African Sun
From the smiling skulls in the Paris Catacombs
To the open deserts of the great Outback

The wind whispered in the silence
past our giant walls, our empty monuments

past piles of leatherbound books
their pages continually flapping
as if begging to be read, just once more

The hard lines of the cities softened
as the carefully manicured lawns
grew out of check,
turning the skyline green


The human race liked to think we were driving the car
That we were in control
In reality, we were the child in the backseat
with the toy steering wheel

We expected to go out
with an awe-inspiring bang
with a roar of thunder
befitting our importance


Instead (or rather, accurately),
the planet ended silently and without much fuss

a mere footnote in the universe

So focused on your beauty
   that forgetting how...make...words

What would you do

if you found out that the truth was

that destiny was real

that your choices were predetermined

that an omnipotent being in the sky
had his big omnipresent hand
up your tiny unimportant ***

using you to act out its plan
each and every day

All your hopes and fears and special moments really did not belong to you

Those feelings of love, of hate, of excitement, of hopelessness existed only to move the story along, and it was not your story.  It wasn't any of ours.

What would you do?
What would you do?

**Exactly as you're ****** told

Every now and then
I'll wake up
with the sensation of not
knowing where I am

It's a very disconcerting feeling

to open your eyes and stare about the room
with new eyes

What is this place?
How did I find myself here?

I truthfully find it rather exciting.

Those few moments have an intoxicating intrigue.
I have a mystery set before me.
A new place, ready for new discoveries.
A fresh start

What does it say about me that
I sometimes find it rather....

disappointing

when my brain catches up to my body
and I glance around the room
that is suddenly not nearly as novel
as it was before.

Do you suppose the essence of humanity tastes like cinnamon?
Does ecstasy destroy anticipation?
Have we ever lived?
Does the hurt fool reflect by drinking and shooting his gun?

I enjoy laughing at my missing lack of wealth....or was it health?
I definitely kept steady figures, in either case

This makes no sense, but at least it kept you entertained for a few minutes.

That was rude.

The rain filled my drink for days
As I lay on the bridge
staring slowly at the stars

The space between my memories
covered my brain, leaving little room
for love, passion, or beauty

I knew my feet could still stand,
that my hands could still grasp

But I was small, far away
trying to fight the depths
of my desires.

I thought of better times
I wanted happiness

Alas

No use sitting and hoping,
thinking these idle thoughts
I suppose it's for the best
that I finally get a move on

Is there a word for the disappointment felt when looking a picture that you had taken in a beautiful place?  

The work it took to get that spot, slowly trekking through hills and valleys, leaving mementos of sweat along your path.  The moments before you reached the pinnacle, the heightening excitement.  The absolute awe-inspiring majesty that filled your being, as you stood there slowly taking it in, wishing the moment wouldn't pass.  Praying that it wouldn't pass.  Taking a picture of it, so you'd always remember it.

Then, looking at the photo months later and realizing the camera could in no way do your experience justice.  The flat, lifeless piece of gloss before you could not store your emotions, the wind at your back, the thoughts racing through your head.  Those pieces of the experience are now mere echoes, reverberating through your memories.  You realize that when other people look at this picture, they will not see what you saw.  They will see a pretty landscape.  Nothing more, nothing less.

What a melancholy thought.

There should be a melancholy word to go with it.