The form in which we live our lives
Breeds in the midst of demon hives.
For dogs do bark in senseless fright
At shadows lurking in the night,
And souls shiver at that unseen;
Cathartic reasons not to dream.
Voices whisper ideas, faux truths,
That knowledge has no valid use.
And when we hear, we do obey
The voice that blocks the light of day.
Lamplight dances against cave walls
And childlike wonder slowly falls.
Pavlov shakes his head in sadness,
For we, indeed, are his madness.
And Plato weeps within his cage
For all his truths leave him in rage.
Is all that we can ever see
Vague words that tell us not to be?
parched and still longing
for companionship in gloom,
footsteps parallel to mine
my roots sought the warmth
unrecognizable in myself -
as if in a dream, I recalled fleeting days
when freedom beckoned softly,
and I still heeded its call
In the thick of summer's midday;
unrelenting marriage of dust and heat
No echo of thunder amid these fields -
only soft footsteps on the fallen earth.
To be immersed in a tranquil dream,
overcome with oneness - yet not alone
A lone sparrow hides in fleeting shade
to await the first signs of the coming storm
harsher critique doled out on a Thursday
devoid of thought, donning
flimsy membranes of indifference
while rain-slicked pavement
shroud a multitude of transgressions,
and unseeing onlookers absorb
only the merest visual of
yellow brick, gone as a dream
in the winds of fleeting youth
and red brick, stilted upon vast acres
compounding with visceral wisdom
of a stain that was never allowed
she picks her way through the rubble
skipping barefoot down the black cement road
past the dilapidated house of childhood
still suspended in a forlorn dream
the sudden onset of callous pleas
an unheard requiem that plagues all else
cascades with a sharp echoing cry
down her unfeeling back
silently, the dissatisfied corpses
of these cement dreams
paling in the acerbic light
turn their backs to the cold
and awaken once more.
In this realm,
evoking general (un)ease
in the silent listener
(dis)organization of new sound(s)
accompanies the creator in his
feverish attempt at reconstructing
the(se) universe(s) within his grasp
To the unsuspecting multitude,
fluidity is halted, its meager existence
but a forgotten dream clinging to itself