There is a certain understanding
In the misunderstanding of mankind.
And it’s this misunderstanding
that propels us forward, like a ship
of titanic proportions does not idle
but cuts through waves, and flows
with The Tides of Mankind.
Home » Posts tagged 'morning' (Page 4)
Tag Archives: morning
Untitled for Ariel & Jack
Oh, how the light
Always manages
To see through
The dark.
Flirting with Death
It’s much easier to lie
in the afternoon light,
steady’s the humming
bird that takes flight.
Oh whispering wind
forgive me tonight,
how flirting with death
has been a delight.
The Road Between
Sometimes all there is to do is drive
and drive, and drive, and drive until
you forget to where you’re going,
you forget from where you came,
and you remember there’s no difference
except the road which lies between.
And when you don’t got the wheels
or means or place to stay
you walk, and walk, and walk until
it all makes sense enough to go away.
And you remember not to worry so much
as in all walks of eternity
you’re a part of this one, and the heartache
pain and blame is all just slapstick.
It’s a grand ole comedy of magic and men
who’d drown before they’d ever dive in.
So the next time I, see-you-me,
I hope we’re swimming in the Milky Way!
Travelers through time and time forgot,
our elephant minds remember.
Our Current Social Dilemma
We went from public displays of affection
Straight to public displays of everything
Now leaving nothing to the imagination
Embracing it all, then apologizing for it after.
It’s like some convoluted social stream of consciousness
That forms a figure eight of disingenuous pandering
One which tastes to a choir of social unrest
Like change, its value null, when in reality it’s all just
As sad and dull as high school sex.
Cat and Mouse
Two squirrel play
a fun little game of cat and mouse.
Both scurrying up the tree,
diving face first from branch to branch.
Like little cannons they shoot
back and forth between tree limbs.
One wagging it’s tail, the other
feigning ignorance, like two lovers
they quarrel, never knowing really
who’s cat, and who’s mouse.
Or what started all this in the first place.
the bliss of ego-manic thought
There’s something happening when
There’s nothing left to lose—
The apple of the eye
Is begging for the truth—
I admit, it’s possible but
The language that we use—
To disengage, it’s all the same
Our fears of being used.
There’s something distinct in the
Absence of yourself—
Like when you manifest
Your love in someone else—
He’ll seem incapable but
The patterns that you choose—
To disengage, it’s all the same
Our fears of being used.
Now there’s a sinner and saint on the corner of the block
One’s got a rifle in hand believing that he’s God
They’re both wrapped warm in the bliss of ego-manic thought
To disengage, it’s all the same
Believing that it’s not.
Funny eh!
Funny eh!
How when you put yourself to sleep
like a baby, you sleep like a baby…
A Prayer Before Sleep
Jack searched the neighborhood as if he’d lost something.
Looking up and down the street, crossing sidewalks, he meandered auspiciously as if he’d forgotten where he was going.
Jack found himself in a state of neither here nor there.
The chill of February hung round his shoulders like a thin shawl.
It was his morning walk but to what ends—to what means?
Tires squealed in the distance.
Birds began their daily routine.
Automatic lights turned themselves off.
And what emerged from the tree line? Sure enough, as it had so many times before, the sun.
Jack knew that it would be long before the sun warmed his chapped fingers but at least it shed some light on his path.
Nothing was right or wrong, indeed, it was too early for such nonsense.
But still Jack did all he could to remember what he was looking for and why he’d been so eager to rise this morning before his alarm clock could shout obscenities to his ear.
It was the reflection of the sun off an old car window which caused him to touch his brow, where when removed, his hand revealed a thin layer of blood.
He couldn’t remember how or when he’d received such a gash, which the window now showed, laughingly.
Realizing where he was, he’d found what he’d been looking for, though it was as fragmented, cracked, and littered as the sidewalk that led him home.
Before entering the thought of knocking crossed his mind, but why? He lived here. This was his home.
The house was silent except for Jack.
He laid in bed as if it were the evening and since he wasn’t a praying man, he sang softly to himself.
It was more or less what praying had done for any other man before him, and would do for anyone else who’d find him thereafter.
It was then he turned off his alarm clock and shut his eyes.
THE END.
Confirmation(in the form of being)
Tell me his name
And I’ll give him your word
Though to an illusion
I can not confirm—
Within him lies many,
Within you lies more—
His name’s but of flesh and bone.
So tell me your name
And I’ll give you his word
Be it not an illusion,
Something I can confirm.
Words Of An Average White Male 