This cannot continue for too long
An ending shall develop
To which all will lapse from
And then reborn
Like Spring of an ancient rhythm
Moment in time
Reflecting on the sweet sound
Of a trickling creek
Joined by two trails
That are worn by wild game.
When I sung the rhythm I had heard
When I awoke to what my soul knew
I damaged my ending that grew so tall
Deepness I had lost so well
Closed a window, let go my hold.
When I walked so heavy footsteps
I yelled my name in vain
I sunk my teeth into giant fir
Wilting at the corners of
My jagged sharpened heart.
When I sat and stole two moments of
Silence gathering all around
I witnessed a closing balance
That took my mind away
Leaving me with ten thousand spaces
Previously occupied my mind
Held now for emptiness
No depth that I could feel remained.
I’m going to crawl out sideways
Like I’m carrying a hard edge
My rhythms backbit the scene
So I was ongoing madness descended
No matter the words that I spoke
Two syllables released my mouth
Gravelling and loosening
With a steel shovel reminding me
That a cold soup is awaiting my return
And a method of grandeur
Has gone forbidden and exhausted
And dormant as dogs fall down.
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.