Each morning’s steps
Each routine task
Each day hours slip on by
Yet each day wanes,
Loses it’s time,
To begin again another.
How does this rhythm
Speed up so
How do we slow down time?
How do we fit
Each task we wish
Into one full day
So that the next
Anew and awake
Shall meet a whole new list.
Have you ever had the chance to leave your mind?
Take a running start and leave it down there
Magic in the heart and two more memories.
Makes me wonder where you’ve been gone so long,
Followin’ a path that weaves and lifts
Hollys and ferns and lichen too;
Rhythm and your blue and jubilant see
Fire in the palm of every river in you.
Happy is a guess I never dreamt for me,
I took another train through desert and stream;
Golden hours awaited at the end of a dream,
Though I never dared come again here.
Lonely is a story best served in the dark
That smells of an old wine and gold bound book,
Flipping to a page that never looked so good.
Words don’t make sense, misunderstood,
And a hollow in the voice that spoke to me.
Gibraltar in every step at the foot of the bed;
Carry it again for the weight in my head
Is following a noise at the tip of my tongue,
Carry me alone, so I’ll suffer there instead.
Walking hides my feelings,
Like a good turn on the wrong road.
I’ve shaven all my eyebrows clean
And recited fifteen lines of poetry
From Edgar Allen Poe;
So I don’t lie here alone
As dusk settles
I lie here with Gothic mansions
And morbid expressions
Upon cobblestone roads
And lampposts casting awkward glances.
Faint sounds infiltrate
My active imagination
Chanting spell bound rhythms
Into my sandy shoes
Lightly dusting the ferns
That play havoc
On the rose of my thought
Exploding into the diary of this pain
I have left behind again.
Dare these wings to fly
Though they ache like grace feels shy
And the good calls lonely
With each sunset it watches,
Walking away from pennies on the pavement
While holding on to nothing
– No resemblance of life.
Can a rhythm be found?
A pulse of life struggling
With iron clad hemispheres
Buckling down a goodnight.
So there, can flight be had?
Geese migrate South
As these trees set in
For an evening of dew
And a pale awakening
To ancient songs of return.
Pointed shoes and unknown teams
Wizards of unknown degrees
Who fall in line with questionable ranks,
Lawless rascals and witnesses
When the song returns to its true tune
Coyotes howl at the full moon
Without truth to be defending
Sprawling out amongst bullfrogs dancing
Does the rhythm carry itself
Between trees of varying thickness?
Through the trails amongst the seeds,
Down the hill and into the distance.
Why are you settling into rhythm dance?
Columns of smoke off in the distance.
This isn’t the county fair,
Tickets are not up for sale.
Can I wield you more?
Master of a well tuned sword.
Can I stand up tall
Can I hold this stance?
I carry this rhythm down each dusty road
With my candle, ever bright
I am the carrier, strongest arm
Leader with my hand over heart
Standing tall and holding stance
Boldly believing, and that is tall.
How do I succeed at following rhythms?
Time passing while my heart beats
With unspoken visitors enabling
Each pitter-patter footstep leading
Into a little hole I don’t know how to close any more.
I watch bluejays easily get mad at
Unflinching sun poking through spaces in a wild canopy
And woodpeckers at ease as I whistle a hello,
Vigorously and meticulously rummaging through
Every year of hard protection.
Will I find answers in these rhythms?
I dance in firelight imagining all of my ancestors
Which brings comfort to my solitary circle
But never ceases evoking deep pangs;
My wild soul, accompanied.