Oct 2016
Part 1
When profound things leave us because serendipity seizes control and teases our soul,
few actually see it and believe in us....it takes its toll.
Our walls grow high...
Wise to all those sly predators that shared our space but ultimately never bettered us.
Likened to a wild bunch of criminals and nuns you sometimes share fun or lunch with,
then again spin adrift.
So we stay put...only peeling away the day-to-day’s fraying gray.
Though we have heightened steeliness to infernal charms,
We sometimes ignore internal alarms,
Oft' ending up-in-arms instead of in the arms of another.
Battling each curse from crib to hearse,
We continue to play anyway, but hold our cards close..
Somehow coasting on borrowed form and verse.
Still too afraid to lead with enormity.
Still too proud to follow in conformity.
We become shells and ghosts to project “normality”.
Still hoping for more,
Still revealing our core,
Still practicing what we’d say with one more chance to settle the score.
Refusing to sink, either our genius always on the brink of changing the world and more...
Or burning down and gutting out our current hideout and surrounding small town or place of clout.
Still reeling from the lingering devastation of past lackluster unreciprocated non-appreciation knockdowns.
To keep from being corrupt,
We fold our coldest stories up,
And box them up under a "never the right 'write' " pens and pencils cup long filled up.
Smiling a little, we continue through this long season's harsh climate.
Subconsciously buying "Dried" sage because "Rubbed" still seems to intimate.
Tragically tied down by the tiny tech gadgets flooding our data stream with faster updates;
All just to dazzle and daze us into a lazy malaise on our busiest of days.
PART2
More and more we wait.
The "what-if's" we contemplate.
The more we try to create something great, then hesitate, none too late
The more this inundating system of “Likes” rates you,
The less your gated fate or guiding faith makes you "you".
The less your justification or inspiration moves you.
Yet uncompromising and alone, you continue and make it through.
No one could ever guess from your crisp pants' fresh press. I digress.
Oddly, all it likely would take is one ego caress from soft smiling muse in sandals and a summer dress.
If you could only get this distress off your chest, fall hard for a new muse, give your defenses a rest
endure the re-birthing process and all the possible hot mess...then...
Never again would you have to guess or obsess.
The sheer potential magnitude of you at your best.
An open floodgate of uncanny, uncaddy personal success.
You would never again feel idleness or unrest.
But "who" you ask, would be caring, tough & daring enough,
willing to share all that stuff through such an arduous process, off the cuff?
Who has such pure heart intent, without the fluff?
A Muse who speaks out loud for you, never a mumble...
Is strong and humble, but not rough and tumble...
Who heeds the needs of your soul's rumble...
Who pulls the "new you" close while your old limits crumble...
Is fair and daring when you're sharing how bizarrely you sometimes raise the bar...
Joins your rare ****** to close down the bars while thoughtfully considering how fragile your scars are...
Who encourages you to shoot for the stars...
Sees the truth of who you were, hope to be and the screams in-between.
And by her sheer presence, becomes all these things for that new man and him alone.
Cause of she, he will achieve and be more than he could on his own.
Whoever that girl may be and until then,
I mend a tightly woven,
slightly broken,
rarely spoken,
unawoken caged soul for one more shinny token to spend on this world alone.
By R.Craig David-Copyrighted 2012
When profound things leave us because serendipity seizes control and teases our soul,
few actually see it and believe in us....it takes its toll.
Our walls grow high...
Wise to all those sly predators that shared our space but ultimately never bettered us.
Likened to a wild bunch of criminals and nuns you sometimes share fun or lunch with,
then again spin adrift.
So we stay put...only peeling away the day-to-day’s fraying gray.
Though we have heightened steeliness to infernal charms,
We sometimes ignore internal alarms,
Oft' ending up-in-arms instead of in the arms of another.
Battling each curse from crib to hearse,
We continue to play anyway, but hold our cards close..
Somehow coasting on borrowed form and verse.
Still too afraid to lead with enormity.
Still too proud to follow in conformity.
We become shells and ghosts to project “normality”.
Still hoping for more,
Still revealing our core,
Still practicing what we’d say with one more chance to settle the score.
Refusing to sink, either our genius always on the brink of changing the world and more...
Or burning down and gutting out our current hideout and surrounding small town or place of clout.
Still reeling from the lingering devastation of past lackluster unreciprocated non-appreciation knockdowns.
To keep from being corrupt,
We fold our coldest stories up,
And box them up under a "never the right 'write' " pens and pencils cup long filled up.
Smiling a little, we continue through this long season's harsh climate.
Subconsciously buying "Dried" sage because "Rubbed" still seems to intimate.
Tragically tied down by the tiny tech gadgets flooding our data stream with faster updates;
All just to dazzle and daze us into a lazy malaise on our busiest of days.
PART2
More and more we wait.
The "what-if's" we contemplate.
The more we try to create something great, then hesitate, none too late
The more this inundating system of “Likes” rates you,
The less your gated fate or guiding faith makes you "you".
The less your justification or inspiration moves you.
Yet uncompromising and alone, you continue and make it through.
No one could ever guess from your crisp pants' fresh press. I digress.
Oddly, all it likely would take is one ego caress from soft smiling muse in sandals and a summer dress.
If you could only get this distress off your chest, fall hard for a new muse, give your defenses a rest
endure the re-birthing process and all the possible hot mess...then...
Never again would you have to guess or obsess.
The sheer potential magnitude of you at your best.
An open floodgate of uncanny, uncaddy personal success.
You would never again feel idleness or unrest.
But "who" you ask, would be caring, tough & daring enough,
willing to share all that stuff through such an arduous process, off the cuff?
Who has such pure heart intent, without the fluff?
A Muse who speaks out loud for you, never a mumble...
Is strong and humble, but not rough and tumble...
Who heeds the needs of your soul's rumble...
Who pulls the "new you" close while your old limits crumble...
Is fair and daring when you're sharing how bizarrely you sometimes raise the bar...
Joins your rare ****** to close down the bars while thoughtfully considering how fragile your scars are...
Who encourages you to shoot for the stars...
Sees the truth of who you were, hope to be and the screams in-between.
And by her sheer presence, becomes all these things for that new man and him alone.
Cause of she, he will achieve and be more than he could on his own.
Whoever that girl may be and until then,
I mend a tightly woven,
slightly broken,
rarely spoken,
unawoken caged soul for one more shinny token to spend on this world alone.
By R.Craig David-Copyrighted 2012
