Imagine it's all a faze, that it will all fade
Stop.
Cease.
Halt.
END.

Dirt filled shoes, and grass weaved hair
Fierce eyes that won't free their gaze
Fierce hands that won't grasp the emptiness they hold.
Fall for shame that consumes the pride
that's willingly left up for grabs,
Bare.
Vulnerable.
Marketed.
Ready to be diddled, fiddled and bargained.

Hold them coins high
Watch them turn to ash
Feel, as the wind filters through your fingers
and from your hand, the I-couldn't-care-less set of mind
take its place among the synapses that are
cut and restrung,
erased and retraced.

Fall for shame so that you know your chest cavity center piece
still feels as it should,
when worn on your sleeve.

Maybe, if you can regain pride
If you consume shame
If you kick of those shoes and kiss the dirt
Gold will become like coal
And the wind like a string of pearls.

Put me in your pocket
Among keys and old receipts,
Let me be an item that’s safe to keep
Safe to know I’m there
And so keep your mind at ease,
Let me leave a mark on your leg
That you still feel when you turn to sleep,
Let me bounce as your run
In the your favorite nature scenes,
Let me feel your finger tips
As you habitually check
That I’m where I’m suppose to be,
Safe in your pocket
Among keys and old receipts.

The next to empty train
Roars through the mist of dawn
As it passes the lakes and elves
The dark and mystic pines
-forests that once told of horrors
To keep the ones like me
From crossing the line-

This box, this crate
A testament of the modern man
To whom which it serves
It is somewhat of a time traveller
When it breezes the land
That years have made its own

And yet there are scenes from my window
That I know are proofs
Of exceptions to the rule that reads,
“time will take its toll”

All the brooks and oaks
And even more so
Every bolder and stone
Convinces my heart and soul
That I need not be marred and scorned
Broken and torn
By the thistles and thorns
And all the bourdons that the lions
Of this glass world
Convict me to *****

Since there is a side
To the manic and indecisive puzzle that is I
A side of realism and cynicism
Thus I am well aware of my mortality
And the scarcity of the time that is mine

My existence is an indirect unwritten vow
To never bend my back and bow
To never fall in line
And receive my share of coals
To fuel this machine down the rusty tracks
In a race against nature or God
A race to prove one or the other
Or even both wrong
A race we’ve already lost

I’ve run with haste into the thistle
I’ve gone from the start to the end
And skipped the middle,

I’ve proceeded blindly in devoid of wit
I leaped o’er the fence into the paddock
And found it full of ****,

I’ve fallen for lust and grace
And whilst idle, drunk, and still
It’s all simply washed away,

My vessels built for calm seas
It handles nothing more than swell
And prefers the quiet soothing breeze,

In a sudden and heavy pour
The serious and sobering rains came
And stranded me on this desolate shore,

Miles to the east and miles to the west
Two ways for me to wander
And I’ve no idea which is best,

Indecision is in my nature
So I’ll instead build sand castles
And leave the choosing up to later.