i am older now (obviously)
and certainly feel it.
i am wiser now (probably)
and certainly feel that too.
however i am still not old or wise
nor do i know how to write a poem (although i now have several years of literature study).
all i know is that the older i get the more insurmountable the future seems
as it unfurls before me, limitless and suffocating.

today i write less than i would like to
as i let the words
slip through my fingers,
as they tend to,
because i'd rather regret not speaking,
marking my silence up to foolishness when i am older,
than say anything at all.

Doing the same thing twice
and expecting a different result
Some call it courage
others, foolishness

Why do we believe we’ll emerge new
Same script, same actors, same bait
But a new will, a new mind—
suddenly making all the right calls?

Will we stare into what once blinded us
fight what numbed us—or
shake off what sticks,
(still) fall into the same holes?

Perhaps when nature softens-
A degree warmer (against blitzing wind)
A letter that arrives (right before desperation)
A word that didn’t drop (as the last straw)

You’ll find a way again
to give like how you’ve self-taught—
remembering that forehead kiss
as a trace of being loved.

Or perhaps the truest thing  
is how courage and foolishness
are two sides of the same leaf,
lit by a different light.

I see the endings in their birth,
The wilt curled in the bloom,
The echo in the first soft word
That hums of pending gloom.

Yet on I go, with knowing steps,
Down paths that twist and burn
Not for hope, nor fate, nor faith,
But just to feel the turn.

It’s not some tragic grandeur,
No noble, aching art
Just a quiet urge to prove myself
The fool I knew at start.

~
This forbidden city
walks on water,
keeps all the undesirables at bay,
it's always a balancing act.

Oh, blighted court
of Catherine the Great,
thy friends are having a hard time,
but horsing around, no less.

Enlightened by summer drugs,
and busting out of
their tops and castles,
thongs on thy feet,
and thongs on thy bottoms,
this zenith and this nadir
come in colorful collages,
everything else is a flash of flesh.

Sped along by
frequent bloodletting,
there's a revolution in
thy teenage mind,
a looking for the hidden
and interested motives,
but no one can live
their life on the skis.

Rulership of heart is far
from recreation,
but you raised
a smile to sin,
until all we could do was
shake our heads and laugh.
~

There are a lot of mysteries, anomalies and such,
things that seem to have no explanation why they are.
One of these (above the rest) that makes me wonder much -
is how the foolish crowd is made of people who are far
 
from being foolish on their own. Yes, people who are good.
Yet somehow when they’re in a group, mysteriously they change.
It’s something I suppose just really can’t be understood.
Yeah, something that is general and it’s nothing short of strange.
 
For every group of size (the more there are, the more it’s true)
is full of gossip, foolishness, and cold judgmental spite.
The group does things that what its members on their own would rue.
Collectively I guess they lose their sense of wrong and right.
 
And this anomaly has been the case throughout all time.
It’s something that will surely drag you down, if it’s allowed.
So maybe it is time to get yourself out of that line,
and make sure that you’re never part… of the foolish crowd.

Was it obligatory
Or stupid - to call out
  A man - yet his doings
  Proved mere - point in
    Scheme - was his ambition
    Ruling stood cold -
    Peering in - to disobey
    And to conquer -
      Ones mind and ones soul
      Fears and freedom - at last
      Boredom - has moved
      One peculiar sight
        The girl in black
        And her blossoming
        Dreamers' kite
          Cutely eye-rolls
          Thin fingers and
          Shoulders - striking
            Pale - she smiles

They say that the truth is a hard thing to take,
but maybe it’s time that we see
that we as a people are nothing but fake,
ensuring that’s how it will be.
 
We stand up demanding there’s tolerance,
doing so with our fists in the air.
It’s truly the oddest dance ever been danced,
hypocrisy beyond compare.
 
We claim we want peace, but we seek the next fight
as we keep our guns close to the door.
Convincing ourselves that we stand for what’s right
when the truth is we’re actually just bored.
 
We say that we want to be free men,
while we ride our past into the ground.
We claim that we run from our demons,
but we really just keep them around.
 
And we live our lives waiting for the next offense,
needing others to kindle the flame.
We’re a common collective without common sense
like the scarecrow not having a brain.
 
So, let’s go on pretending we live for the truth
but the truth is we’re living a lie,
for each soul who actually lives for the truth…
we find a way to crucify.

What in the world are we doing?
Who are we trying to beat?
It seems like we live our lives running,
as if we are losing our seats.
 
We never stop building up towers.
We never stop spinning around.
We never stop piling up into piles
everything that we’ve torn down.
 
Is it that we are pursuing
happiness, like the old phrase?
Or are we chasing the concept of such
blindly straight into the grave?
 
Somebody please in all honesty
look me right square in the eyes
and tell me the lifestyle we base it all on
won’t ultimately lead to demise.
 
It’s happened throughout all of history,
each nation eventually falls.
So, history repeats and we all lose our seats...
chasing happiness into the wall.