Kicking pine cones , hands in pockets with my favorite scarf on ..
Outfitted like a business man with something important to decide ,
a lawyer testing a juries intellect , like an important subversive agent with a clandestine government ...
Walking the fence line , dressed to save the world someday , my flashy duds turning heads , yet their only clothes , and clothes never did make the man so they say !
Fancy leather gloves , gold cuff links , cashmere sweater with well planned schemes ..
Upscale hero with a prominent address , four star restaurants , high end assets ..
Caviar and red wine , penthouse vista .. Fancy cigars and first class tickets ..
I'm still Cocoa Cola , cheese and crackers , homemade biscuits ..
Forever overalls , laying hens and sour mash whiskey ..

Each morning I awake
with a renewed hope
that my walk, my sifting
through the day
will become seamless
like the dreams of my nights
that flow from place to place
without barriers, or hindrances
to empathy, to understanding
Like the water seeps through the soil,
as the breeze blows through the leaves
in my dreams each of us
fully gather thoughts,
feelings and desires of each other
All relationships ensue
unescorted by impediments
My fear is that
few others dream this dream
rather haunted by
nightmares that bleed
into reality, nightmares
of violence, poverty, despair
of pockets of hell
growing around them
on this earth

I hate the fear
I hate the way it boils in my belly
Climbs up my throat
Tries to make me scream
I hate that way my heart trembles
Hate the way it shakes in my chest
I hate this feeling
called fear.

I used to keep my heart on my sleeve
so naive and easily deceived
any lie told to me, I would believe
my mind fought what my heart perceived

trying to find all of the right signs
I hid my heart and tried my mind
then within those dark confines
I've come to find that my heart was blind

where the conformity sees a

(blank page)

we see scarlet letters and ink
of hues unimaginable . those
who don't know what it's like
to fight origami dragons, thin
as wafts of ***** smoke, the
wings of which having the po-
wer to knock their worlds to
the next millennium and the
flaming jaws to crush chrod-
mum skulls to powder . those
stars of their scales tell tales .
of woe . the beat of their heat
like a tribal drum from Hades
but all the conformity sees is

(blank page)

we see billions of suns already
extinguished . wraiths of cloud
wrapping around the tip of our
pen . we see . android humans
and human ai's cannot . we are
given a unique ability as poets
we make something blank into
beauty . ugliness . banality into
exquisite expression . cheers!!!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/2/2016