I wonder if they know,
his mind was quite unspoken,
when a revelation
of sanity would steal his passion.
Sitting alone again,
sitting again in the quiet of an evening,
wondering just how this happens,
wandering throughout the many avenues,
the mind will take this forlorn
this human condition,
a travesty one might suggest if only anyone else
really cared as much as
the real victims that exist around
all the time.
Ever do we wonder about the soul,
when lost in the critical masses
of exceptional reasoning.
Inside that depression piece,
seems to speak its own mind
when no other reasoning
comes to mind.
On a given day,
no matter if it might be local,
perhaps across the world,
there is a reason,
if in the beat of our audible pulse,
the heart can speak,
and she will honor love.
Absolute stillness, a quiet,
has its own foreboding feel,
footsteps of an animal,
ever soft, nearby,
eyes will look, though concern,
only for affection.
Back to silence,
ticking in the distance,
an eternal reminder
how quickly august has arrived.
A person might smell the fear,
a wonder of purpose.
If there were a music,
to bring me somewhere,
I would choose its tantric
to hide this anxiety,
though it is the will of the mind,
a trapping of this questionable
Is it all artificial,
this world we live in,
a thorough timeliness,
to a clear definition.
I wonder out loud,
a heavy gasp,
air traffic overhead,
I realize now just why,
sitting in the comfort of my home,
the restlessness does continue,
without offering a solution,
only further reason to …
It is sometimes not a choice,
this element of a stationary hold
on moving forward.
A desire, a passion, a sense of drive,
asking for little in return,
yet the payoff is frightening.
While standing in the middle of a storm,
sometimes wishing to be caught,
whisked away like a piece of dust,
no longer apparent,
just a brief tug on someone’s imagination,
a sweet reminder
of a different time.
How often is it they never really knew,
a salad with every favorite spice,
the element of taste
is its final departure.
When long ago,
I first gained consciousness,
I remember this immediate sadness,
I cried for many hours,
holding on to a memory,
a lasting storyline
that after awhile,
rather soon really,
it bored my closest allies,
or so they seemed,
and I had to let it go,
yet we all know love always returns.
I suppose if I let the notes continue to
dance upon the keyboard,
I might suddenly realize,
perhaps soon enough,
or maybe …
there is a purpose in feeling,
in responding to the emotional drain,
in gathering strength,
See this is the apparent flaw,
that part that only wishes to dull the pain.
Where is that urgency
to step up the dopamine.
It is a relief,
a quiet release of air,
then a somber tone,
maybe a tear.
It’s when we finally,
or we recognize we need to.
So often in our lives,
we pretend we haven’t any more time,
look what happens years later,
we suddenly come to terms with mortality.
We are funny sometimes,
the way we protest,
create a mountain out of
a simple phrase,
then afterward, we cry.
And the beat goes on …
Have you ever really looked,
studied expression beyond a comment,
the quiet afterward,
if you could be inside that bubble,
how soon would despondency return.
I’m asking a question,
I already know the answer,
because it always returns,
despite my effort to want to move forward,
it’s the questions, the unknown,
the desire to feel wanted,
and then everything goes to hell.
Have you ever wondered if a person’s frame of mind,
is solely built upon interaction,
what if you put them in the words,
with an assurance of human isolation,
how long would they last before they decided,
nature might be the best solution.
Next time you wonder,
take a moment,
realize your impact is far greater,
than you might quietly ever imagine,
in the space of your own reasoning.
Have we been replaced?
the crumpled being in the corner mumbled,
to a jury of peers
who in quiet realize,
believe they will never allow themselves …
Yet his clothes are shabby,
the same pinstripe with a Jerry Garcia tie
pink button down oxford, and well-shined shoes,
he possessed years earlier,
during that last summit,
the day he resigned from today’s society.
Still, no one wonders where he is,
why he became,
how a life can turn beyond,
the normalcy of the human condition.
The new normal some might argue,
he might argue,
she might not care anymore,
given all the energy she spent defending
a frame of mind,
he no longer understood, or chose to wonder …
The idealism in surprise,
the beauty of spontaneity,
the sacrifice of one’s own belief system,
in order to complement
We are all too easily duped
by pretty sights,
and warm surroundings,
to such a degree of departure,
we sometimes do forget …
the crumpled man in soft murmurs.
I struggle with words,
they seem to carry on a certain storyline,
one I can never really grasp,
until the print allows my eyes to remember,
the swimming in motion ends
when it becomes the right time to let go.
I’d like to find the imagery in pain,
is it the steel edge cutting into a red ribbon,
where eyes might watch the soul slip away
in steady stream
no more hesitation,
a quiet, soothing, not so eternal release.
A friend of mine once said to me,
it is true we live our lives a very short time,
so in that span of countless hours,
we might remember love,
for it is that spiritual energy allows our smile,
if only for a brief instant,
to give us hope, a meaning and reason to survive.
I know that sometimes words might convey meaning,
but if it isn’t felt then they do become
only a semantic journey filled with imagery and pause.