Life is eyed fading in shades of gray
Bright whites to dark black like the pass of a day
Now, I have a thought for those that grow old
Live from black to white, if you could mirror my bold
Even still changing in shades of gray
Ending in brilliance is a healthier way
It could seem a journey of lesson, something that would teach
As opposed to a path of death, that so many preach
From ignorance to wisdom, is the way we should live
The Idea of getting better would leave us more to give

Breath in breath out,
The exchange with mother will remove any doubt
Food and water are for the children to take
though blinded by a book, the host they forsake
Risen gods or will rise for another
They hope for a solution but don’t ask the mother.
The question was derived from a soil floor
Yet they partition for answers behind an oak door.
“Sacrifice your pleasures for heavenly salvation”…that bounty is free through earthly meditation.
Those who don’t live by a word but live through an eye… sense the rhythm of mother earth, water & sky.

Curse my age! and its delicate Vices , all I have is online consumption. Ten years back my time would be better spent with drugs and drinking!

Take to a place that’s still and your own
Do you know who you are
Open wound, too much in this life
Center disclosed, and empty of splendor
A few words delivered, as seen by the sender
Insight, distortion that invokes an image
All delights punish, a price for the pleasure
What is this curse …to suffer the mind by emotional verse
Feel the view with easy eye; somber reality there’s truth in  “in touch”
As though a drug induced haze I’ll think too much

Take to a place that’s still, in my mind
I don’t know who I am
Am I too much in this life
Essence, not exposed in sufficient distinction
Do all  delights punish
My sanity suffers for emotional verse
Indulging … though knowing the venom
In a haze-laden state with quiet eye, I’ll mistake reality for what was actually a lie.
The affliction begins, and I think too much
I have found my serenity in losing touch

I  live back always on my day
7 years aged and the day I was made.
From my bed I hear the phone ring,
The kitchen echoed the strike of a match
Cigarette, the smoke scent sounds my alarm
I knew who was on the other side,
I tried, it just didn’t work, those were different times
The teacher, the bearer of School, antagonist
I  knew the result,
he tore into my room  lifting me from my bed by my hair
nothing  between me and the strap
thrown stomach to the ground, peering under the dresser
storm windows placed behind for summer storage
the glass revealed my reflection
my eyes were wide, and I gazed into myself,
Lost in my head eyes growing strong and, in my mind, “Nothing last forever”
His holler fads into the background,
This was far from the first, but this day I became aware
deep into my eyes.
light flashed through my body on the first blows strike And I turned the intended pain to galvanizing pleasure.
Reflecting in the glass, the impact recoiled the small body from the floor, and I am stronger,
“Nothing last forever”
Not a tear dropped, not a blow felt, I’m bigger than pain, aged 7 years
The day I was made.
Now I can take any anguish, and everything passes.

This glorious life and my time laden in adventure
All from the day I was made.

In its face, you will see the serpent.
It preys on you, Your anguish, summoned by fading confidence.
Aware, the power is powerless; it still cripples the will of the outcast.
Time lost, pleasure fades in it feeding, I am so inadequate.
Protect me... protect myself from myself.
It is all I am that it consumes
I should feel this life,  just a moment’s glimpse, time with out despair.
It stills, gorging its self on myself
What showed me this, where was it learned, my serpent
Do I invent it or does it exist
I know to slay it, the weapon…me, I am so weak.
Again, I will see the serpent
Again, I will slash at it
Perhaps this time I will let go.

We are now a population addicted to security behind masks. Our intimate interactions are through cloth embellished faces, neighbors stand confident purchasing groceries with mugs adorned in prophylactics.  Here we begin the death of casual ***... on to new hobbies.