Tag Archives: prose

I Hope!

Hope is a double edge sword tempered by fear and sharpened by faith. It matters not what we know, or learn, or experience. It only matters that we feel we deserve the possibility of brighter days and calmer nights.
Tempered emotions see through feelings of doubt. It’s the trepidation that guide each step silently through the crowds of reality. Desolate figures strewn throughout rubbles streets boil grease slicked water for a blessing.
Looking for a sign through hundred yard stares, hoping, not sure whether the sun is beating down on your back or shine down on your life. Then rain washes away the doubt leaving you shivering with the reality that hope is lonely.
Lonely in a sea of faces and exhaust that pollute the air revealing your soul in grey shadows on graffiti drawn walls. Your thoughts dwell behind the fragmented words that leap off the wall with anger. How can you lose hope to the point anger is soothing.
In this twisted state of emotion you sit in the filth of one hundred souls shedding their spirit for noodles and a God who gives that one chance to cleanse your soul and stand tall in the face of poverty.
It’s not the grime or the hunger that hides hope. It’s not the clothes or the state that sees hope is possible. It’s the mind that says “one more step is a step closer to something, and something id better than nothing”!
I hope!

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Free Spirit

I choke on plastic words creating packaged sentiments of empathy or condolence. Lies slither through cracks in the walls of closets and basements like smoke through an open window. Where do you live in a reality where nothing is real.

To know the truth but carry it buried in the pocket of a smoker wrapped in wolf’s bane for fear of it catching wind. For fear that the others will know and suddenly the scrim will melt away like embers in a moonlit breeze. What would we say, now naked and free, no cloaks to hide our intent. How would we continue without truth layered in embers, but blazing with glory in the dark of night.

These facades have taken on a life of their own trapping us within characters we no longer recognize, but can’t escape. Trapped, breathing though porous masks that suffocate a souls yearning to be free, dying to be released. Is death our only truth and birth no more than awakening to contrived realities dished out in plastic stages of development for the benefit of the play.

We fear nature for its truths. We hide in clothes, houses, and careers dreaming of freedom from it all. We dream of The freedom to be wild and human, compassionate and forgiving in a world without lies.

We fall to our knees looking up to a God who doesn’t recognize us because we hide beneath layers of decay for decades serving a different purpose. A faint pulse beats under a black heart starved of the blood and air nature demands. No one hears the rhythm or feels the life that screams to be judged.

I can no longer breathe the air that’s so polluted with purpose and intent I gag with each breath through constricted lungs. How can I free my soul to meet my spirit before the last breath leads me to a land promised by a bat wearing a doves feathers. I want to live before I die.

I want to overcome the clothes I’ve been given to wear as a child that fashioned my tunic for another mans dream. I want to overcome banners and parchments that hang on dilapidated walls and rusted poles. These shackled dreams of men kept me from wandering free where my God would show me mercy and resolve like Job and his ashes.

I have faith that though I was removed from God at birth I can feel His presence in the absence of the humanity I reside. Everything here is gray and steel, stale and stagnant like ponds of nuclear waste in a forest of deciduous trees permanently dormant. It’s the distant shrill of one lone cardinal that affirms my hope.

My banners are fabric, my honor is defined by laws, and my faith stands alone surrounded by lies. I am made to think. My places of worship have locks and flood lights illuminating signs with catchy slogans selling faith for tithes. It is in the wilderness where truth awaits, where God reveals his majesty, not within rooms decorated for posterity. A forest of mirrors reflecting man’s arrogance and contempt for God’s power and presence is just a step away.

So now I live outside myself. For my body may be imprisoned in this nightmare, but my mind is free to travel the earth searching for a handshake or a hug with the warmth of blood.

My hood drawn loose I walk narrow paths avoiding the noise and smoke from distant fires. My path is lit with the spirits of those gone before me. The spirits of men who walked alone with the weight of the world on their mind. I see with my heart and listen with my mind for signs of life, but the world is static and I was born robbed fluid.

Angela

I’ll write till I die with a pen in my frozen fingers and never find the words to express how anguish pales in comparison for how I feel about missing your childhood.

It’s past sad into a realm where violence is emotion, not an action. I feel the lighting strike my soul at what we lost on my account. I’ve spent years thinking and erasing the futility of my pain, it’s selfish, but hopelessly true.

I have no right to your sadness or forgiveness. I fell aimlessly grasping at what could have been while I free fell through memories only I share. On the other side of the veil I screamed at smoke figures of impossibility.

I’ll always be stuck in that space with your memory. The images are no longer important, the feelings are what haunts me. Indiscriminately they strike like streaks of lighting across the ocean between us, and I wonder if you see, or even look anymore.

I know it’s just selfish pain looking for broken souls in the darkness of past storms. I know you’ve tasted the sunshine of life and I watch now from afar as you soar through darkness and light seeing sunshine and moonlight with the same joy; and then I wonder if your journey ever really included me. Maybe I was just part of the scenery along your path to a higher journey.

It’s here I understand the age old adage, “if you set something free…..”. You may never return, and if that path is too dark, I’ll continue to look for you in the light of day and night knowing I once held the most precious thing in the world, my child, and now she is free!

Modern Madness

Truth is real as reality is true
For those who enquire
Bidding ignorance adieu

To move along in the realm of subjection
Denying what is objective
Is a grammatical prison

So move past the post modern
Into a new reality that’s old
As the books you burn
Where truth is real and told

This ain’t no microdot mishap
With melting doors and walls
Oozing memories like sap.

It’s that one exception that gives you away
The one I have to ignore
To believe what you say

That’s the point of no return
For sanity and coherence
The truth of you
And a trail of ignorance

Echoes, Shadows, and Words

Words create shadows of meaning that echo through our soul
So what is unspoken suffocates
Our thoughts exacting their toll

Sentiments hang in the balance like branches in mid winter
Cracked and clattering gray like old bones that dry and splinter

Are words felt better than said, like a winters breeze
Or heard without a listeners ear with burdens to ease

Like screaming in the wind at dusty crossroads
The crow sits stolid on wires of irony with eyes that forebode

Can you really hear me in all my seasons and glory
Or do you listen with your beliefs creating your own story

I’m not you to create like summer sand castles in the sun
Spending hours dreading shadows and the tides that run

I’m constant like the mirage between you and the horizon
Melding into mountains and asphalt giving you pause to question

I see your intention like hail raining down on a crystal lake
Your words glisten with an edge that cuts for your sake.

But from here I walk alone through forests and time
No worries or words for a world with no rhythm or rhyme

I leave you behind just beyond the echo of my footsteps
Leaving clouds of dust where tears fell in earnest.

Family Myth

Family is an agreement that love is paramount, time is precious, and honesty transcends self.

Blood is not thicker than water, it’s made of water and flows freely together. Water is the essence of life that beats through our veins and fuels emotions to sweeter heights. Without water we have no pulse.

Absence does not make the heart grow fonder, commitment makes the heart beat towards the memory and hope of another, loyalty minus the exceptions.

Without water blood coagulates, it ceases to flow. A heart that beats dust leaves ashes to fall, and withered limbs reaching for a love without color.

So now I’ve learnt to create moments, behind memories and just beyond hope I feel with my heart as my hands lay silent, ever looking for that moment words pulse with color.

My heart beats in all directions like a starburst reaching out to darkness, or disappearing into the light. No matter though; I can always close my eyes or look at the sun in memory of us, because family beats in our heart and rests in our mind.

Garden of Tomorrow

Don’t mistake me for the workin man
I ain’t down with wages and death
I’m not following another mans plan

You fell for the dream
Cause they caught you sleeping
And you bought the farm

Now you’re afraid to awaken
To the reality
Of what has been taken

You’ve swallowed a lie
And refused to hack
It was easier to follow
Another mans track

Now you look sideways at your prodigy
Wonder when they’ll realize
You’re a sleep walker
Traveling as a man in disguise

All those dollars you paid to a lie
You saw a doctor, who saw a dollar
Now you’re sick a tired
In a medicinal stupor

You forfeited youth
For a lie
And your dignity
Was your high

You’re the American way
Just short of truth
And captured by the day

I know you had that moment,
That moment where the reality superseded the dream
And you looked around at all you’ve collected that’s turned gray and sags with the weight of years and ignorance. Then you were vested in futility.

Suddenly the guy who has nothing redefined wealth and you’re bankrupt by all accounts. You had no sense of what is more,
or less sad.

I see you, I hear you shuffling
Down creaky hallways mumbling
About “back in the day”
When you were weak stumbling
Along behind another mans way

You never stood tall
Bowing down to fools
And applauding other men
Using you as a tool

I created dollars with my mind
Making sense with my hands
Looking after mine in kind
Sharing dirt and sifting sand

We grew strong folks like weeds
That don’t swallow lies for dollars
Or sell their legacy for another man’s pockets full of influence

Revolution will come one day
And all you’ve fabricated will return to green and dirt where you’ll rest
Eternally in the arms of a lie.

It will be our seed that flourishes
In the garden of tomorrow
You got too greedy, too consumed
With the rope we afforded you