“Will I ever find my voice?”
The echoes bounce off buildings
collecting dust in a silent aftermath,
white noise is circulated through
indifference to what is defined
as treasure on my path

Searching from inside a trail of starlight
barely visible from lack of focus;
my wealth is discerned from
these quiet moments

So I must part ways with conversation,
and leave the skeptics
who glare their eyes
as if walking catastrophe is my niche,
the title of a book they read
page by page, words swirling in a mirage
about the never ending assumptions
of being careful, careless, or lost

A scripture of doubt is chiseled within:
"is this a vessel with any real destination?
Or has your meaning been defined
by a faulty lens,
spectacles that showcase nothing more
than a means to an end?
Or maybe you just have to stop caring
about who you might offend”

Chasing attention in stride,
everyone seems concerned with
empty things half the time
flourishing in every room at the center,
we speak out and judge
from perceptions that don’t matter,
pushing bad behavior like shills;
are we all climbing the same endless hill?

It is circumstance laced with denial:
we will get tired of being so busy
of spinning in mindless desire
and artificial normalcy,
tired of looking outside ourselves for
what will induce today’s new ecstasy

It’s easy to forget dry land
when you’ve always been at sea,
maybe there is still common ground
in living out our wildest dreams
and holding onto authentic truth:
don’t lose touch with this search for
the fountain of youth

I used to identify with this idea of self
but it’s become an empty canvas,
a memory of romanticizing help
from being attached to words and panic
like they are the resolution to this
normalization spell

Coming to terms has kept me awake,
knowing that perceptions are lies
and with this continued heavy weight
from seeking external answers
my eyes will forever stay open,
devoid of the internal ocean

Burnt out from each day
maybe I was meant for the night
if I’m still finding ways to shake,
still saying good morning to the stars
wondering what this all means
and where the answers are

But here is good enough
to contemplate
while we humans
peddle our ignorance,
shy from possibilities that are endless,
afraid of simplicity
that is timeless:
ignoring nowhere
when it is somewhere,
though we mustn’t bask in fear,
no one ever arrives late-
if suffering occurs from attachment
then letting go must be
the way to stay sane

Right?

I’m still seeking luck
with my head down
in the grass, maybe another
four-leaf clover
will show her the hope
in our beating hearts,
because the symmetry
that connected
what’s broken apart
runs deeper than
the stubbornness in-between
all the bullsh*t mistakes
that I keep making

Her scent somehow still
hangs in the air all around,
and instead of sharpening
my blade
it’s starting to dull out
until the rest of my body
aligns with my head
that is still looking in the grass
for that clover
that could be a symbol
of two lovers
who might last

Maybe it’s only me
holding onto something
that has already slipped
through my grasp:
like grains of sand,
time is shifting
and sifting through my hands-
it doesn’t seem fair
but if there is one thing
I have learned
it is that everything is fleeting,
luck runs out, and romance
becomes a story
forgotten in the past

I remember the grass,
my fingertips twirling between
the blades,
and the rays of heat
as they give life
to keep the past
in the present-
a dietary aid
to all,
with trees to provide
some shade

I had forgotten
because I hid inside
four walls that weren’t
just physical
but of the mind:
closed off to nature
and the care that
my loved ones deserved

Gradually,
the seeds have been sown
for I am outside again
learning about hard work
with hummingbirds
that mew in the wind
and bees buzzing
as they collect their due
from this life giving earth,
the one right underneath
that I always forget
to appreciate,
but will forever
find my way back
to her
and her healing ways

How does one love here
eternally,
when it is seemingly
ambiguous
with no happily ever after?
Evasive to perception,
yet somehow within us
only to be without,
never to stagnate
unless we fill our cups
with doubt

Ineffable, we’re all ****** up,
spiraling-
was this inevitable?
Lacking in honor;
devastation, She may instead
choose to watch the world burn,
we animals have
come unglued
from the fabric of
our own humanity-
lest we forget,
we are animals too

And we’ve disconnected
from the alchemy
beyond senses dull touch,
because access starts
from within
to be with out,
yet most of us sit around
reveling in drugs, lust,
and doubt

Compassion
lacks an identity,
it only exists to give
so what is it that set us
up this climb
of forced actualities
that are actually
meaningless?

We circulate an eternal
notion of control,
pacing concrete
and calling it purpose
instead of settling
into our dark abyss
and finding acceptance
underneath the
surface