Dimly the light above
me flickers,
feeble,
like my heart.
Dust sparkles, diamond like
in the fleeting beams
of cold lights.
Antiqued books, with yellowed
pages and worn leather skins,
cratered by clumsy fingers,
line the dark oaken bookshelves.
A fine veil of dust covers their
naked skins.
The walls, they were once
beautiful, exotic vines crept up
their lenghts, punctuated by vivid
blooms.
But now, now they bare
a natural face.
Garments pealed and faded
blooms rest,
fragile and wrinkled,
at her feet.
A dark, gray room
in the final throws of death.
No life survives,
no light...
no pulse...
no thing, nothing save a
single
red
rose.
Summer
Spring
Winter
Fall
evermore she blooms.
Her thick oily petals
are smeared into the glass.
she was there
before I came.
She will be there
when I'm gone.

I preach a sermon unheard of those herding
Filling the ever-expanding sky with a lesson worth learning
But willful do the people of the ground need to be
To pluck the thread of true happiness and glee
To bend the frame of minds, and alter the realm of their own time

Many collapse their own airways in fear of other frequencies interfering
But can we not see our voice is the only bearing in this mechanical clockwork we're fearing

Humble voices worth applauding hide behind the voices
Passive to all, in procrastination they fall
The reality of loss can only sober one briefly
Till we return to binge on our shallow lives so deeply

A predecessor forgotten imbues nothing but doubt
And all confidence you had will soon disperse
If you don't take a look at who you are and converse
Comparisons unneeded, will only leave you wrought
Your inner-being forever saught

A flock will the sapien always be rooted to
Wingspans of all lenghts suited
Every flight pattern a breeze transcended
Only in this will you find that you grew
Only in this will you find that you flew

Under a rock
In the messiest river
You have given me
A power jam

It is red
And shiney
And it burns
With passion

If you hold it closely
You'd see the cracks
And feel the endless vibration
I always think it might break

But the red rock keeps it's structure
For every time I tried it
It has yet to fail me
It has shown me new lenghts

I am terrified it might fall into little pieces
One day
But as you promised
It always held together

I'm not quite sure when I first realized I had this trait. The trait of which I speak is honesty, or to put it in a veranacular phtase, "no *******." Bullshitting is a sin against yourself;  it will rot your soul. For as long as I can remember, I have been unabashed, outspoken, unafraid to reveal my true self. For me, it is
exhilirating, reaffirming. For so many others, it is at best annoying, at worst anger-provoking. Most people are afraid to be themselves. Indeed, they go to great lenghts to disquise who they truly are, how they really feel--a kind of psychological make-up to conceal their real selves. Doing that puts them into their own prison. Bars have a dual function:  it keeps a person locked in, un-
consciously self-protected and "safe." And it keeps all others locked out, thereby ensuring no threat of scrutiny by others. But this duality keeps
the person who will go at great lenghts to create and maintain this illusory safety frozen forever. To be open, to be forthcoming, to be always my real
self, is for me liberating. It matters not to me what anyone thinks about what I say or do or am. What does matter, and will always matter most to me, is what
I think of myself. For if first i cannot be true to myself, I then cannot be true to the infinite Cosmos and everything in it. I am willing to die than become an apostate. I would rather be dead than be a liar. Before the firing squad pulls its triggers, the head might say to me "Stand a little to the left." And I would oblige him.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks