The Bane of Fullness (day 2470)

I don’t want to hold onto this enormous feeling.
A Skeptic once said the past isn’t present,
So let us believe that a fullness isn’t real
(A limit we reach where we can no longer give, share, believe),
Let this feeling take us on a tenderness stroll
Like sheer cotton shading giant pillows we lounge upon,
Meandering through ancient streets and wild forests
Where we stop at every third park bench we pass
To sit closely and pretend we’re still consciously speaking
In syllables that reason can understand and explain,
For to me your words speak in gestures only my ears
– And perhaps the dear sweet Cupid who so cleverly pinned us –
Can fully grasp at, mingled so heavily with vibrant lips
My eyes cannot escape being entranced by,
And breath mine hairs can feel so warmly upon
With your gentle yet firm fingers ever so delicately
Squeezing a new pattern into mine palm of eternity.
I want to hold onto you, the back of your neck with softest of curls
As our lips mean to share what we’ve intoned of a feeling,
Forgetting for brief moments our shooting star madness
And living a while longer by the bane of our senses.

Forgotten (day 2284)

How does one continue to live
In a place that’s forgotten your touch
In a world where unfamiliar hearts
Enslave a name that’s no longer known.
How does one let go
Of a T-shirt you used to wear
Of hair bands you’ve left behind
And a smell that used to be present.
At the grocer yesterday
An unknown woman walked by
With a forgotten fragrance
Who smiled as she picked up
A package of frozen peas.
Yet wounds are still swelling
Bruises still glow with a cold feeling
That a forgotten fabric
Has been set aside from imagination
And two long lines separate the distance
Of once was and what’s now.

Wind (day 1217)

I alter the states of my mind
To allow the gusts of thought pass
As if they had just become mingled
In a thousand cobwebs
That had secrets and truths
And memories long ago
Been buried in my parents back yard
Along side Angus, the family dog,
And Winne, our brown and white guinea pig.
This is where the present comes from,
Shifting from side to side
Hardened pieces of driftwood
And last years decaying perennials.
Wind may bend and curve my states of emotional madness,
My shifting moods and sands and magical feathers
That answer all of my questions,
But time roots all of these gusts
Into solid memories of the old arbutus
Clinging to mind when I close my eyes
And let the wind run through
These states of my mind.

Gradually Melting (day 743)

Peace has struck me down with thunderbolts
Rooted me into this earth I am present upon
Gradually melting my senses into one
Uplifting my soul, allowing it to speak
Earth and I become the same breath of life
Spread outward in sweeping omnipresent waves
Like sunshine feeding springtime
This is not motionless life
Bustling about in rhythmic substance
Carrying the tune of time about our backs
Lodged mysteriously between peace and perseverance
Crawling up walls to yell out at heights
I WILL NOT BE SILENCED
Like sunshine feeding springtime
This is not motionless life

2013.05.09 - Prince George Spring (94 of 100)

Shifting Recollections (day 651)

Guess my gold and what all that I am worth
With these eyes that tell old stories
Through wordless reminders of the past

Desire nothing, save for future
And present fades away to blackened stars
I couldn’t have forgot the tired distance
Though my heart loudly telling me it’s flat

And from there my angels come crawling out
Into the gold seats I lay out in front
Of the words I spread with blood so thick
While today’s past, present, and future
Shifts hues and recollects artifacts

Past, Present, Future (day 400)

When I embarked on this journey
Fair eyed and light footed
I felt a relief from the pressure
A release on my conscience of
What had to be coming
A change in the scenery
A grasp on the world
One last release from all that I had

Now, half way to the answers
Too far to look back
To late to begin that
Which escapes through the sunset
I feel left in limbo
I feel clawing at my back
10 sharpened nails
I feel the speed at which
The day shall return
My time shall be halted
And the space shall be old

But with the sacrifices met
Perhaps the future will push
That which cannot be spoken
Into that which shall be
With dreams does come hope
With hope does come adventure
And with the curled fingers of the future
Beckoning for me to return
I will submit to the past
Rejoice in the present
And expect nothing from the future