Tag Archives: prose

Pieces, Shards, and Moments

Moments lie scattered like pieces of a broken mirror.
Reflecting shattered remnants on a dusty floor.

It’s the sharp images that cut thoughts into a fragmented one.
Meanwhile I stand fixed on how many pieces I’ve become.

It’s never been as easy as me, or I am whole.
The I’s never really have anything but others they’ve stole.

Then the exponential value of all I am leaves me to wonder.
How many are you that watch
with silent eyes asunder?

The noise is deafening with thousands of us screaming,
Screaming to be heard within the silence of dreaming

So I’m lost, there is no one voice, and now I must think in silence.
The quiet aspects we ignore
leaving certainty in suspense.

All around are noises and silent eyes, words and looks reveal
what others have in mind
to lie, cheat, or steal.

So shattered I lie, shards of me
pieced together with scars,
and reflections of hope
In memories afar.

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Rhythm of the Storm

Thunder on a tin roof cancels out the patter of thick raindrops beating a content rhythm. The staccato roll of memories fill my heart with a thud. Memories of you reverberate with us.

Lightening strikes as a glimpse into yesterday through a half empty bourbon bottle. Smoke drifts lazily towards a creaking ceiling fan wobbling to it own rhythm. Tomorrow doesn’t exist and now fades with each flash of lightening, leaving darkness in its wake.

Lost, me and the world, just staring into the distance entranced in times long faded into the myst. Here becomes there and now becomes then as I drift to the rhythm of memories drumming to the beat of the storm.

Soon the rain stops and the winds carry us away to distant horizons. Drops of us break free and fall to the earth silently. We are no longer a force. The thunder rumbles in distant memories as the lightening exposes the horizon for glimpses of maybe.

Then silence screams and the bourbon swishes within the bottle bringing sleep, rest for the lonely. I drift in and out of consciousness like I did love. Then I realize I’ve nothing left to fear but dreams.

Clouded Mirror

I’ve gazed into the stream
Watched my reflection
Drift away unseen

I’ve stood in the winds of time
And watched the world pass by
Making no sense or rhyme

Ive stood in the rain
Flooded with emotion
Void of pain

I’ve see the darkness within
Through the cracks of lightening
Flashing across a soul too thin

I’ve felt the thunder in my bones
Bring back memories
Thrown like sticks or stones

I’ve become the storm to love
Riding swollen streams
Under dark skies above

Life is reciprocal in tone
Darkness for light, evil sees good
And yet I walk alone

Where is my reflection
What reveals me,
Suffers my intention

So I assimilate the sublime
Like a cloudy day
Brings memories of sunshine

To reflect is giving myself away
revealing so little
Of who I truly seek one day

Until then I’ll ride the storms
And show you who you are
Taking different paths and forms

Storm

The storm, wrestled and temporary
All around the swirling vortex of emotion, the calm sits eternally. Like a promise to believers who can see past the clouds into the heavens within us.

It’s hard to see your way to the center where silence whistles and warns of the next step. The eye is clear and light shines through a center only you can see, only you can feel. Confidently I stand knowing that just the other side of the swirling debris and dust is what’s left, life.

I must move with the winds of time avoiding the edge of chaos. The wall of thundering clouds surround this pristine space where you can feel the color of the wind and hear shapes that scream with the force of eternity, but here I’m a universe. Here I raise my heart to truth joining a legacy of humanity.

But here I’m alone. Lost to the horizon that surrounds the earth with hope and wonder. A respite from the turmoil created by lesser beasts seeking to thrive on the emotions of bowed heads and bruised knees. Death comes slow to the one defeated by fear.

Separated from the sounds of liberty and the smell of victory my words have no meaning. I must escape the sounds of silence screaming within my heart. I must walk through the fog of debris and torment into the the light of day, through the glow of night into a new day. A day of reckoning.

This demarcation is a birth. A new beginning where the past becomes silent, once again leaving now to hope for tomorrow. I only know and think what the future can be, what now will produce. I must close the book and remember throughout time that pages are a past that fade with time. A collection of privilege passed on through genetic inferiority with the hope another man will prove their indulgence was valor. Now we control truth.

So cast your lots free. Set your burdens aloft. Hold nothing but the light of day as a path through the night. Walk forward with your head held high knowing that now is forever and yesterday never is. Here you can gaze into tomorrow leaving fear and ignorance behind for the beauty of hope and truth.

Reflections of Us

Reflection across this linear existence. Beyond the cracks and scars there is an image, the man you carry into hope. Or maybe a monster you hide in the mist or fog of fear. Who is me?

This reflection protects us from ourselves, because one day the mirror won’t be enough. The distortion will fade, the illusion will dissipate into you. Only then will we understand that I is not a singular expression.

I is a prism. A tense refraction of hopes, dreams, or fears. Not now, or yesterday, nor tomorrow can define us. We are many inside broken hulls and silk threads, the world is too destructive for the illusion of freedom, too ravenous for one man.

It’s the moments hidden outside time or space that random acts of bravery hide. Legends that span the horizon never revealing their depth, looming across time for those willing to shed the cloak of humanity and shine.

Mirrors, horizons, fear; man was meant to be more than a reflection of another’s reality. Never confined to roles or robes that capture his spirit like a mirror in a dark room. That moment when the light, the mirror, and the reflection blind us with light is who we are.

It’s the hope that when all the colors and moments come together we’ll be blinded into that singular person that is the origin of us, human. Matter, memories, and moments recreating perfection, if only for a glimpse.

I hold that light as a moment in time. It reminds me that I’m you and you’re me. It reminds me that I is a luxury reserved for the silence. I is a reflection with the world looming behind me, waiting to define our moments.

Human

Captured by time and the expectations it leave me defiant. So I crush my clock into pieces I can’t count and turn my back on praise and scorn. Now I know nothing.

Crossroads and crosshairs converge and a lucid moment finds me standing in the midst. The moment where I walk out of the mirage no longer breathing lucid air to fuel your illusions. No longer scorched by your secrets.

I stagger and walk for miles and hours not remembering where I’m going or whence I escaped. I care only of the sound of muffled footsteps dragging my solitude aimlessly across asphalt and dust. Little plumes burst with each footfall keeping time with my breath, until both stop in silence.

Lying here looking up into the sun I see a glimmer of hope in the black spots that dot my mind with despair. Then I hear the silence and suddenly time and space have melted into here and now, and I realize true freedom is one breath and the only space that matters is within me.

Forever no longer matters. Here is a moment and a breath away from there. I’m finally me, here, and now. My own heaven dead to the world, but alive to my self and all it’s glory, human.

Working Poor

Here we don’t chase no nationalized dream, we run from the reality that those folks chasing the dream run right over us, until it’s time to vote. We don’t have time to dream. Life is too short. Cold weather and sore backs won’t even let us sleep long enough.

We don’t need a hand up or out. We’ll be fine if you just keep your hands out of our pockets and let us keep the money we earn.

Keep our hands free from your fake bracelets. Leave us alone to wave goodbye your peddling laws for the drugs you sponsor. Stop pretending you wanna shake our hand when you’re really shaking us down from our homes to the trap disguised as a convenience store, into the hallways of your schools designed to steal our children’s minds. Keep your hallelujahs, we have our own prayers, and they’re free!

I’m sick of folks attacking the poor. They want something in return for every kindness. You demonize our mothers for a few stamps that fund your economy. You want to trade their piss for some block cheese. You musta forgot all those hypocrites you got for neighbors who got jobs handing out that cheese. You don’t understand the “10 for 10” at your poseur grocery is funded by the subsidies they get receiving all that state money. You don’t understand how many of your neighbors are gonna be movin if we decided to not spend those stamps.

These idiots don’t even know how they benefit from our decision or misfortune to live poor. They don’t even understand that “Targey” they shop at, or that Japanese food joint they enjoy on their lunch break was possible because the company that built it hired temporary laborers a few days a week cause they’d lose money putting those folks on a payroll. They built these homes and businesses on the backs of those kids sucking the milk from those vouchers.

You enjoy those nice positions you got outta hustle, not effort. We ain’t stupid. You locked out everyone who mis stepped and relegated them to poverty so that lazy bastard you raised on microwaved popcorn and video games could have a chance. These entitled little shits couldn’t last a day in our world. They’d be back on your couch in the basement complaining about the tv reception.

The working poor in this country carry the nation. You ain’t building high end homes or businesses without us working to save you dollars as sub contractors or under the table labor. Those taxes you talk about paying that make you so special are made because low wages enable you to keep the flow of money rolling.

It’s cool though. Trading piss for food ain’t a bad deal. Hands dirty from work cleanse the mind, while hands dirty from deeds poison it. Understanding this ignorance from the ground up gives us experience. We nod and smile as you further your dysfunctional ideas as something progressive or conservative. The view don’t change from down here though, all we see is asses.