So it seems here, now, in the mornings clean light, where all that I can do is observe—in nature that surrounds—human nature take its course.

I spent a good portion of last night, mooring with the tide, tied to emotions, most of which surely weren’t mine to suffer, though, like a good little buoy I did all I could to stay afloat.

But what causes a man to harbor such feelings of faithless dread.

Sympathy? Empathy? Selfless, selfishness?

Isn’t it funny how even when no one asks us to suffer, we often choose to suffer.

Could it stem from guilt? Plausible, though I think not. Depression? No, because I could still move. Trauma? Not in this case, as it had nothing to personally do with me.

Perhaps than maybe deeper, beyond the physical self, far from age or reason, like roots grown deep within the soil, always there yet invisible to the naked eye.

So then what?

Let’s take the current state of society in which the mind is placed.

We are and always have been reactionary beings, jumping to conclusions without fully taking the time and energy to understand or explore where these irrational compulsions come from.

So the year is 2020 and we are still at one another’s throats.

Not a day goes by that I don’t get a phone call whether or not I am willing to vote. Not a day goes by that I don’t see one side of the argument ready and willing to cut the other’s throat. Not a day goes by where I don’t get the impression that peace is just dependent on war, like an inside joke I just don’t get the humor.

So it’s within this grey area that I swim where both sides of the equation continue to expel these deep seeded emotions from within.

Had it not been for the open minded, tirelessly educated guidance and good nature of a mother, I may have gone another way years ago, though still I stay afloat while the undertow continues its torment.

So it seems here, now, in the mornings clean light, where all that I can do is observe—in nature that surrounds—human nature take its course.

I know who I am. And I know my intentions are good. Sometimes our actions speak louder than words but for most of us, words just don’t seem to be heard.

But that’s no reason to destroy what you can’t control.

So for those who cannot express or explain this current state of extremes we face both alone and together, I suggest this: be a beacon of hope.

Because what we know today, with or without our help, will surely change tomorrow.

So even in my darkest hours, I know, hope will never falter, light will find a way, and tides will turn, if not now, then surely another day.

Alone and writing.

Her guiding light

What I cannot see

in the dark of night

within myself

is another’s plight,

she finds me there

her guiding light

my luminance

in the dark of night.

My twin flame in the dark

Now that I have found you

My fear of letting go

Like willows that surround you

My love blows to and fro

No longer does your sorrow

Need explanations, no

I long not to disarm you

I only wish to show

What lingers in those bright eyes

Your memories I’ll share

With cherry kissed tomorrows

My true love I am here

To brighten up your morning

You brighten up my heart

The broken wick you lit now knows

My twin flame in the dark

it’s dark living in shadows

Living in the present

got you long lost in the past

now there are only memories

but how long will they last?

Like waiting for a moment

that since already’s passed

it’s dark living in shadows

of those which fear has cast.

Do spells exist you wonder

indeed I’ve seen a few

that stranger in the mirror

the stranger he is you.

So tell me of your sorrow

belief is up to you

you just grow older darling

regardless of the truth.

lightening strike.

When your eyes well with

the sorrow of yesterday

and it feels too dark to see,

tilt your brow upward

just half an inch

and look a little closer to see

that lightening strike

tomorrow.

sad suburban father’s

There’s a black cloud hanging over

the boys playing in the park

While they argue who is correct

mothers watch them from afar

Now there’s Billy screaming loudly

clawing at this boy named Mark

Who his mother she is absent

somewhere screaming in the dark.

It’s a Sunday what a fun day

boy let’s pass the ball around

He’s a shy son name is Ricky

staring at his father now

He is pitching like a Yankee

throwing hard with all his might

All the while there is Ricky

scared to death screaming inside.

There are blue jays singing robins

bugs and inchworms puffy clouds

On the playground there are children

swinging madly laughing loud

Cause it’s Sunday what a fun day

to be playing in the park

Except for Ricky, Billy’s mother

and Mark crying in the dark.

Now the children they all line up

ice cream bells ring all around

He’s a kind man I mean probably

he just smiles at the crowd

Screw-ball sundaes chocolate cookies

candy gleaming in his hand

For the children ask no questions

they just stand and stand and stand.

Now the mothers call the boys in

from the awful looking cloud

Billy’s mother reprimands him

as Mark’s mother has a cow

Oh your father she is shouting

Ricky hears her from afar

As his father whips a fast one

knocking Ricky to the ground.

There are stars now spinning circles

sending shivers down Mark’s spine

While his father who is furious

warns him hell boy you’ll be fine

As Mark stands and sees the dark cloud

fill with light ready to burst

Cats and dogs rain down around him

he thinks what’s he who’s on first.

So the moral of this story

is not what keeps you in line

It’s the people in the park who

I do not wish to define

They are people who like people

look quite normal in the park

While the sad suburban father’s

dingle dangle in the dark.

It is a musical

Locked in a windowless room

there is no time,

only the faint sound

of what I imagine to be

cars passing by, and the ho-hum

of emergency vehicles,

truck tires and angry squeals

exhausted pipes, clinking steel

turbine engines far off zeal.

It is

a musical,

here in the dark

outside, I know, it’s everything but.

the dark of day

Like an archer without aim
I’ve shot myself so many times
into the dark of day.

Like a horse’s leg gone lame
I’ve broken mine so many times
into the dark of day.

Like night and day the same
I’ve hid away so many times
into that dark of day.

Though a dear friend it became,
farewell the night
which lit the way
out of
the dark of day.