5/8/2019
I used to think I was doing good,
Then came, something to compare myself to.
If you only understood,
That has its ups and downs as my goto.

In one hand, I know where I can grow,
But in the other, I’m such a failure.
I inevitably will either plateau,
Or crash, or find my savior.

There are three outcomes I see,
Only one seems favorable,
The other two look so unfree,
These facts are surely averrable.

Thank God I’m among such quality people,
His will is the best place I can stand.
Not just stand – run! Even up a steep hill.
He’s put me here and I’m guided by His hand.

I will always look pretty decent,
If I compare to the right ones.
This is not new – not recent,
A tradition, on and on it runs.

Balance, a difficult achievement.
Either I’m feeling low or high.
My mind feels no bereavement,
But my emotion, I can’t quantify.

Side by side, I always scrutinize,
Am I on level with their standard?
The oil tanker of my pride, capsize.
As I drown, drag me landward.

God, If I compare to you, though,
I fail every time, incessantly.
An inimitable aspect ratio,
I fear I am done – dreadfully.

So why do you reach down,
And cover me with righteousness?
Not a lie, your reputable renown.
Ignore those whose words are libelous.

You show mercy to the worst,
When we humble our pride.
None are too far accursed,
We are righteous, you decide.

COATS OF RED

I thought I put my demons to dead,
drowned them in coats of red,
but really I just put them to rest, in bed,
I guess the real battle begins once you've gone sober,
cold stone, another day older..

Daybreak
Sunlight washing over me
The end of senseless tragedy
Letting go of pain

Dry spells and misery
Inflaming all my past regrets
For a while, lived sight unseen
Another mile, on a vacant road

Never thought It'd feel this real
Like I could a life in memory
It's been a while since we parted ways
But all those days still seem clear to me
I know the future is fixed in place
But it never felt that way to me
Ever longing for simplicity
Never feeling real

Secluded out here, In the passing trees
Wreathed in light of gaias halo
Through shadows washing over me
In the calm, quiet calamity

Another fantasy I can't fulfill
Or live up to, as evidenced
Imagination of the heartless soul
I never can forget
Nursing wounds that could never close
Something crawling up my throat
To watch the rain fall inside my head
From my bedroom floor

Don't wait
Why would I lie to you?
As ash peels from the coals
That bittersweet hanging rope
Don't you want to let it go?
Cause it's never getting better than this
There's no going anywhere next
Think of something you love
All things you held close

Daybreak
Sunlight washing over me
The end of senseless tragedy
Letting go of pain

~

dark early pre-dawn

body suspended between the-dark ochre earth tones of night,
and the teal pealing notes of warning of an impending morning,
signs aborning, me rising with urgency of the leaden half deaden,
torn from the bed casket to venture into a different kind of twi-lights,
nature demanding both intake and outtake, a restoration of balance

but first a bumbling wobbling, the body as carnival bumper car,
installing soon-to-be-bruising for later examination-exhumation,
lurching from handhold crevices in the walls like crazy cliff climbers,
my balance disturbed, eyes try  tearing apart the sticky glue of night,
my sense of direction keeping me from free falling into green glass
edges of glass tables, barely, and not always, red cuts evidentiary

“my balance disturbed” words fresh formed, and a poem expulsion
required to balance the unjust scales of spirit soul and the body cage,
patch an negotiated agreement between warring cousins, just a
twenty four hour ceasefire to retrieve the wounded and the
corpses unfounded in the small copses of false shelter,
like my ancestors expelled from Spain, making escape to be
strangers in strange lands, or remain hidden in place neath disguises
of clothes of new poems, prayers for old and new gods

this new poem comes quick like a young man making first love,
for the poem has been written by thousands nights of practicing,
so ready for quick retrieving in a smattering of a few minutes,
expulsion expulsion
what a perfect verbiage to capture the night terrors, the differentials,
the procession path between what was and what will be,
when my balance restored and this poem’s completion installation
in the body of my work, as a nail disguised in the works of my body,
entering by command of the pitch black gods