Ambition’s Race (day 819)

It is not I who shelter your conscience from the bitter truth of denial
It is not my sword that slays last hopes in fitful cries about bloody battle grounds
It is not my spells which sheath truth to avoid speaking amongst those who whisper wrongs by name
Nor is it the timbstrels who dance around the spoils of victory
That shake the knees of that noble fervor so deeply rooted in passions teeth
It is the lofty words of treachery and treason that curse the steeds of ambition’s race

No Direction Known (day 797)

I am a victim of a cry
I am saddened no desire
Your denial of pleasure
Of finer things in life
Another way

I am a truth without a cause
A burning candle without a wick
When things explode
I am the hole
Absent of memory

I am a lesson never learnt
Beaten into fibrous lush
Browned and featureless
Lost and empty
Homeless

I am the midnight street walking
A single fluorescent light aglow
Long shadows down the road
And no finger prints
Left outdoors

I am not your golden rule
Your constant stream of pleasure
Lollygagging in suns warmth
Straight and narrow
There is no direction known

CaribooHillSnowDay - 20120116 (15 of 22)