Jan 2014
He's been through this before
Writer's block
No, not that
But the feeling of it
Applied to life
As a whole
All's dank near the dream
The dream
That which we all have
Dreams of our lives
Dreams of our lies
As we abandon all good and evil
In our search for stability
What we seek
shining nameless
walking out of the world
we chase it
visualize it
black on glowing grey
the green light deferred for a grey one
It walks, then runs.
From these dreams
the witness
turns aside
constantly
throughout his life
the witness runs
the distance grows
the impossibility is perceptible
We know what is happening
We are all witnesses
yet we do not know the solution
so we watch on
the arid climate of our world scorched by our own infallibility
our race
the one we share as inhabitants of this earth
the one drawn as a cartoon image of itself
drawn in its own image
redrawn, modernized
The traveller waits on the shores of our beach
He beckons to the shadows in the distance
He calls out, warmly
like a father to his son
He calls once more
He calls no more
The traveller waits
I wish to call out to the traveller
I wish to exclaim
'disguise not your battered soul'
I wish to comfort
But I cannot
I am in the distance
My limbs will not carry me in that direction
I am in the distance
amongst a flock of martyred guns
in our digital world, a blank text box is a blank page.
we need not think about what we will write
we need not think.
yet we are human.
Writer's block
No, not that
But the feeling of it
Applied to life
As a whole
All's dank near the dream
The dream
That which we all have
Dreams of our lives
Dreams of our lies
As we abandon all good and evil
In our search for stability
What we seek
shining nameless
walking out of the world
we chase it
visualize it
black on glowing grey
the green light deferred for a grey one
It walks, then runs.
From these dreams
the witness
turns aside
constantly
throughout his life
the witness runs
the distance grows
the impossibility is perceptible
We know what is happening
We are all witnesses
yet we do not know the solution
so we watch on
the arid climate of our world scorched by our own infallibility
our race
the one we share as inhabitants of this earth
the one drawn as a cartoon image of itself
drawn in its own image
redrawn, modernized
The traveller waits on the shores of our beach
He beckons to the shadows in the distance
He calls out, warmly
like a father to his son
He calls once more
He calls no more
The traveller waits
I wish to call out to the traveller
I wish to exclaim
'disguise not your battered soul'
I wish to comfort
But I cannot
I am in the distance
My limbs will not carry me in that direction
I am in the distance
amongst a flock of martyred guns
in our digital world, a blank text box is a blank page.
we need not think about what we will write
we need not think.
yet we are human.
I'm a fan of The Great Gatsby, so I included the obligatory "green light" reference.
I'd be interested to know who people think the Traveller is. There is no answer, only inference.
Writing for me is a way to record in a perceptible medium my feelings at a given moment; one of these feelings was actually how awesome the poetry of Sari Sups is. She's on Hello Poetry, check her out.
I actually wish I could write poetry in her style. But I can't - I can't rhyme either, I can only write in my own style. But I prefer reading hers.
I'd be interested to know who people think the Traveller is. There is no answer, only inference.
Writing for me is a way to record in a perceptible medium my feelings at a given moment; one of these feelings was actually how awesome the poetry of Sari Sups is. She's on Hello Poetry, check her out.
I actually wish I could write poetry in her style. But I can't - I can't rhyme either, I can only write in my own style. But I prefer reading hers.
(Strongsville, OH)
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