Though the cord is indellible
The road to elsewhere
Cannot be walked
I’ve longed
To explain my wishing
I’ve wished
To understand my longing
For a place I don’t know
And remember having been
Only in memories
At once clouded and shockingly bright
Like a clearing in a wood
Now unchartable
If it were
It is no longer
If it weren’t
It is no matter
Homesick for the nebulous
Nostalgic for the never
Yearning for a poetry that was lost
We are all gods
In one hand holding creation
In the other, destruction
Fist closed, blood seeping through finger gaps
Unable to hide the truth
Of which hand we prefer
We are not God
That is amalgamation
Alchemical assimilation
The wise and the violent
All things to all people
Vanilla, lukewarm, dairy-free
Now, the gods claim God
The promise of power
Through subservient facade
Though chosen, set apart
Still they favor the hand
Gripping the sword
Burning all the bushes
They are what they are
It hits you all a sudden.
A kick in the fucking teeth.
The idealism you were born with
Just ignores your reality.
You believe things can change.
It’s more than simple hope;
Invasive visions of futures
That, if they happen, happen slow.
When the silver lining
Is all that lines your pockets,
You’re always left spent.
Reframe the worth of energy.
Giving up won’t bring you down.
The picture you’ve been painting
Doesn’t recharge you anyhow.
When the silver lining
Is all that lines your pockets,
You’re always left spent.
Maybe I’ll give up on you.
Maybe I’ll give up on this.
Maybe I’ll just breathe for once.
Many days I feel like a worn blanket Tossed around and only used for picnics Used and abused, but thankful for the company Relieved someone still finds warmth in me Even if it's only fleeting Once or twice a summer
One more mile to go
A short distance on this road
I’ll take this on my own
I’ll tread the dust alone
The forest is claiming lives
On the side of this road
Stare past the trees
Look to the skies
There’s joy in the stars
What a paralyzing notion
In the commotion
The scrape of a leaf against the sidewalk
Rough, cruel, even inhumane
Yet somehow thrilling in the breeze
It is the knowledge of what something represents
That is stronger than the impression of its actual form
A person who cannot speak or gesture
Their mind firing on all cylinders
Often viewed as that fleeting, long-dead leaf
Yet filled with the color and beauty of autumn
Falling on ears that cannot hear An understanding of the spheres Is null and void "A life mis-steered" The voices of forgotten seers Learned beyond their years Lessons from familiar tears Are cast aside by crowd-sourced fears
A facsimile of faithless nights She was the tyranny, you the rights You can’t forget your blinded sight When she lit the room with dim gaslight The hand was dealt but she slid one more You were eyeing futures, she the door The truce became a seven year war The hill you died on were the vows you swore
I’m told you felt the clothes I wear. I’m not sure you inhabited them differently. Was it without a stain on the collar? Is that the way it had to be? I‘ve read your eyes became a well. Loss grips the strongest of hearts, Changes the heartbeat. Blood and water wrenched apart. I know of your fury towards the takers, The highborn, the one percent, The prophets of profits. A zealot in name and comment. I don’t believe that message is red. Good news is more for living than dead. Points are missed when focused on ends. It’s the moral arc and the way it bends. The here and now, the strings and waves. Eras of mystery buried by days. The hum of reverence, the turning of the dial. Eucharist of body honors the way.
Maybe we’ve taken a long hard look at ourselves
Seeing with dry, burning eyes that this is not who we are
Or is it?
Cynicism is the tissue that surrounds the scars
Conspiracy is the gauze that fills the void
Is optimism a shattered virtue?
With enough substance to make out the shape
But not enough to piece it together?
OVERVIEW AFFECTED 