I thought about two ideas
to write about and I
didn't write about either.

One had to do with
sidewalks and people--
the plundering
of personality
that happens
even when you walk
where it should be safe to be.

The other
was about technology--
that inside our veins
instead of polysaccharides
was the wires
to our electronics;
that stitch themselves inside
to keep us plugged in.

Maybe it was the in-toxicity
of having to try and fail
a persona that perpetuates
underachievement

or a rebel
that displays rebellion
by not rebelling at all.

My mind is the lackluster
of copper compared to silver--
its dull ensemble
may be its greatest achievement
a replication of someone else's words
because mine
lack the quality to be appreciated.

And my information for poetry
is irrelevant to the real world--
because these are analogies
they are the rhetoric of argument

the imagination of 'youth'
and from my age
deemed to lack understanding
so I cannot be president,
hardly can I speak,
nor should I be listened to.

Never label a politician as an idiot;
even if the label is true.
Chances are they still know;
better than they do.

Someone's speaking rhetoric - do they want
an answer? Maybe not and when you ask them
they seem to have forgot, in denial and afraid
of being on trial; biting sarcasm reduces one

To a spasm, two into a chasm and three has 'em
in a box, cornered like a nervous runnig fox
I'll hold off and have some compassion - I think
today I've given all my ration: greatness is

Born from tolerance, modesty, knowledge, intuition
and honesty but most important is knowing when
to administer a degree of each - am I good enough
to teach this homespun philosophy - of course not

Keep your thoughts to myself, don't bore you and me -
come back one day when you have your PhD

We spit rhetoric in rhyme,
Who will save us this time?

I write loose lines in cryptic notes
for words hence lost too soon on lips.
Harken thus my silent voice
through print and pen; verbose ad verbatim.
What be the measure of a man?
His silent struggle,
unsaid yet deafening,
through words unspoken behind wax masks which
melt with the flicker of his tongue?
Or is it the boisterous facade
and the ashen humour amidst cold cares
despite solemn disposition?
Alas, I am but both
yet no less than a rhetorical entity
against the calamitous catastrophe-
the harsh cacophony of careless whispers.
With the weight of worlds weathering down,
overslung on downcast wings
I seek the world through visions made in slumber
and dreams cast with open eyes.
Yet is it too far to hope
for a better day burnished
from demons passed
or the fair maiden
behind gated walls moored
on drifting clouds?
Yes, poignant hope, but hope nonetheless
lest hope jests in pittance
of a better day for the yearning fool
as mere dreams forever on the horizon.

Poetry is a dance
Of woven words
Crafted from the intricate print
Of memory.
Like that of a widow's woven art,
Patterns unveil the melodies
Of our hearts.

Then may we indulge in the fabric
Of love,
And dance upon fair dewdrops.
May we spin the initial swirls
Of sweet silk,
Beneath the shimmer
Of the resplendent moon.

Till the thread coarsens at a core
Of wearied entanglements.
The ghost of silk glows far away
Haunting the distant margins
Of our memories.

Scorch this knot
Of coarse wire,
Lest the dance of rhetoric will cease,
The fine fabric of love will sever,
The melodies in our hearts will mute.
Burn this knot. Blaze it with
the endurance
Of timeworn love.

The dance beckons its final stage,
Where we ignite the warmth
Of familiar eyes,
Lure them into a new dance
Of wordplay.

We are all but weavers
Spinning satin spheres
Dancing in discourse
To the symphony
Of our hearts.

When you are in the chasm
And the words are hollow
Only, wrapped in rhetoric
Even the echoes become inaudible
How do you express?
The irrepressible agony
Shattering the soul
From the stones hurled at you
On the verge of crumbling
And shattering into many pieces
Holding onto the jagged edges
And hiding in some crevices
Finally, into the oblivion
Swept away by the wind of apathy
Deep into the chasm
Engulfed by the darkness

tell me, upon returning...

"Returning from where, I've been right here?"

...did you gasp for breath?

"I no longer fool myself into believing that breathing was ever an option,"
-thought my hand out loud
"I merely close my eyes and concede myself to the asphyxiation."

love

*"...is my darkness of eternity."