Stare at the walls
The floor is in motion
This is where we make our stand
The doors are the gates
Portals to a world that’s crashing
We had the strength to move the mountains
We let them eat it all away
I’ve got to get a hold of my self
I can’t keep screaming into the pillow
Paranoia creeps its way into my mind
Somewhere
I’ll find my heart
The beating of the pulse
The burning in my lungs
Escaping breaths
Come swiftly, rest
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
There is never growth
Where the ground is not readied
Untilled soil
Is never ready for change
Descale the heart
Raw and afraid
Is the only way to listen
The only way to pray
Feel more than you think
The fear felt by others
Making your own heart race
Your feet in the same place
I suppose we all have visions
That we carry to the dirt
High minded goals and creative urges
Most of which never come to be
Patents that are never filed
Books that won’t be written
Dreams that leave with the oxygen
From brain matter, in the end
Are the thoughts we have
Those which crossed other minds before?
The only difference being
We take the time to write them down
While the older mind wrote down others?
Every now and then
I find a balance
Optimism that’s paper white
Not yellowed by time
Or wrinkled by tears
My mind inside a paper lamp
Lifted by a breeze
Carried by the wind
I don’t want to come down
From that glowing height
Forgetting
Is a drug
A crutch
And a curse
It serves its purpose
Remedies the past
A prescription painkiller
A memory marauder
This crutch steadies the brittle
Weaponizes the worn out
Welcomes the willing
But it is indiscriminate
Tosses out the baby with the bath water
What’s broken with what’s whole
Until it’s all a wash
And nothing is dirty or clean
My art isn’t inspiring
I’ve tried that
It isn’t me
My hands shake
Most of the time
From negative thought
Do I write for catharsis?
Or is it wallowing?
Are those any different?
I try to stay positive
But my writing turns dark
Like an unwanted sunset
Though sunsets are often beautiful
I’m just as much a force of nature
As that oceanic blitz
Just as hit or miss
Sixty percent water and forty percent pain
The embodiment of the thunder and the rain
I’ll always be this way
A torrent and a grace
Obsessive and compulsive
But secure in my own space
I’ll always be the breaker
You’ll always be the shore
You need the calmest waters
I’ll always want much more
Maybe there’s a wrong way to do this
And maybe there’s a right
So wrestles my mind
As you lick the honey from your lips
Sweet-mouthed and sugar-eyed
I’ll wonder from this point on
If you made the right choice
Between my voice
And the words of other boys
I never got finality
I see that’s the problem now
Left hanging like a severed branch
Thinking it may still grow
One good gust and it was over
Every new day brings us closer
To finally letting go
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