For it is in your hands,
the soft sweet sensual
nature of her demeanor,
a smile that fades in mind.
For it is when we do know love,
the ache inside our body
is enough to want to
stop the motion of life itself.
For it is in this my tears,
I try with all the strength
in my soul,
to understand the freedom.
For it will be forever,
my heart in its organicity
always bleeds a tear.
For it is the silent melody
of a broken heart,
with no mend,
only a haunting silence.
Easier this way,
a silent low
wishful in some secondary manner
allows the primary
to forget just where reality belongs.
Oh to have that passage,
the one where
all worry, concern or reason
would suddenly matter
not at all.
Too far beyond the norm
to have to wonder
if there were reason to ever want
to belong with …
She is the beauty in his mind,
as the haze will eventually,
leave no remind
beyond the initial recall
fade to black.
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.
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.
Inside my surface, I’m afraid to go,
in there where passionate embrace
exists a monster of deceit,
part of me that always leaves me,
in cold sweats after a morning
waking in a nightmare,
not yet knowing,
I’m glad to be alive,
not where from I just came,
somehow I never let the truth reveal,
an internal pain,
this part of me that is real,
that though you think you know,
there isn’t possibly a way for them to ever understand
the real …
I know someone will say,
we all act that way,
each part of our humanity relates in the same way,
Is it true,
do you walk around thinking death out of the blue,
does your life seem to be that of a marionette doll,
the ugly sort,
not the painted elegance of a dream,
a nutcracker fantasy,
with a happy ending.
Instead does the wood seem hollow,
with a certain trip of the master’s control,
could the damage be,
the world might see.
I don’t mock the mentally ill,
If I did I’d be a hypocrite,
I’d be the one that had the will
to walk right past the sick and dying.
I don’t mock the people that cry,
when their lives seem chaotic and dry,
I’d rather be the soul of pity,
the guy that didn’t need to know why.
Yet today I do have to wonder,
how often my mind becomes just fodder,
a schizophrenic sort of state of mind.
i’m certain there are no voices,
none that I’d ever let you hear,
but I know the conversation,
the screaming inside I want to wrench
right out of my head with a …