seconds play out as time goes on
every moment has reason
every purpose merits attention
believe in that
realize the world will cycle through
cycles, have flows and require time

Brian Hill - 2020 # 152

Ephemeral Dust, Primordial Soup
Essence in swirl,
Conscious of Unconscious
Thoughtless, Sway like a Leaf.
Under sunlight, Rejuvenation
Under moonlight, Exhalation
Vacant Plane, I wonder in Circles
Gnosis, I have to break these Chains  
Realization drenches over me
Smiling alone in the Rain.

You jammed your boney knuckles into my heart
And rearranged it into your likeness
When people said we were perfect for each other
It was all because you shaped me into who I am now
I can still feel your nails ripping away at me even as your gone
While all you feel is bliss as you shape others into you
But I believe you weren’t always like this
For you also had someone grab onto you and shape you this way
Until that was all you knew how to do
I see your gleaming eyes in the others you have inflicted
This cycle will never end

Quiet in my velvet dreams
gleaming with beauty queens
ultraviolet veneers
under crystal clear chandeliers

Awake. Never quite getting the reckoning.
Instead you're beckoning
me to your charade of promise
but I'm stuck in the forest
where you're my Charon
following me to the limestone,
dragging me back to the gates
and I know you mean well, but it doesn't resonate.

I've abandoned all hope and entered
Feeling like I've surrendered
What is it I will remember
when we get to November?
Biting my arm
in moments of harm
or
braiding my hair
with you just being unaware?

It all seems silly
like a grand facade really
where I can't see why anyone
can buy into becoming a chameleon.
Why take it so serious
when it just feels delirious?
What is it we're racing to
at the end, it's the same view.
Who is it for?
I really must make sure.

Waiting for my Virgil
To guide me through the hurdles.
He's no where to be seen
as I choke on my amphetamines.

Coastline yellow dawn,
Overflowing fountain
Untrimmed garden,
Left to Decay
Rot in the sun

Bluebonnet field,
Honey suckle sweet breeze
Left to flourish,
Their petals reach to the sky

Light step, on the untreded
Birdbath with feathers flashing about it
Dawning spring, swallowing following
Enchanted breeze, dew on the leaves

Break the cycle of the illusion
Never ending we march along
One step higher another step closer
At the end, Door Closer locksmith
I have to see beyond this

What is waiting for my weight—
for the matter I carry,
for the energies bonded within me?
What is lying dormant—
anticipating the day
when my body lays itself down—
so it may drink from my cisterns
and eat from my stores?
What will come into Being
from my ceasing to Be?

the sleeping god awakens
opening the heart gate
of unrefined love as
he watches her protect
the children of the earth

she groans in slow frustration
knowing she can't do more
bound by shackles forged
in the cold fires of disbelief
by her self-absorbed offspring

blinded by an unattainable horizon
they look to the sky for guidance
not understanding that
the help they desperately need
embraces them where they stand

so the time-bound round continues
the ebb and flow of seas and love
the rise and fall of leaders and nations
the mountains that once were valleys
in this place only circles live forever

I'm going up the hill again,
The top is my destination,
Confronted with fleeting dreams of mesmerization,
The sky is clear but it feels like rain, soil gone too,
down the drain,

I've been here before, I can feel it,
Imprints of my feet, the ground steals it,
The sky is a blue hue I do not recognize
The stars look more like flies

I approach the top and something feels off,
Stress, anxiety, and vertigo on top,
I inhale but no relief comes,
Gravity is not for friends or fun,

I get the top and I can see the sky,
For a moment I feel like I can fly,
But I realize my deja vu the lack of serenity,
I'm at the bottom in an endless journey,

I find myself caught in recycling
not cans and paper and glass
but thoughts and actions
habits can help
but being stuck in the habitual
sloshes me into a swamp
dank and stagnant.

What if I broke the cycle in half
opened myself to hidden reaches
of my mental soulful caverns?
Maybe this interruption
would reawaken my muse
from her drowsiness
sparkling and sprinkling me
with poetic stirrings.

It’s worth trying.