Home » Posts tagged 'talk' (Page 2)
The Devil to one
is God to another.
It’s a cycle continued
that is, until
we stop looking to the sky,
stop burying our trauma,
and look our neighbor
dead in the eye,
without retaliation or judgement
and listen, to one another’s heart
which beats to the same rhythm
as a newborn babe
that is, until
birth begins
its earthly decay.
Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation.
To seek validity is but a farce. It’s like aiming to make a splash in a rain puddle.
A child learns early on whether they care to admit it or not, that their choice is theirs and theirs alone. Nobody really cares more than it takes them to realize, eventually with age, that nobody really cares.
Sure, a mother cares deeply, but only as far as it interrupts her well being.
A father can break his back many times, but only as many times as it serves his cause.
Progression doesn’t come from an audience. Progression comes from within.
Progression comes from love, awareness, and nurture.
And although social media tells a different story from reality, we seek it, crave it, we often need it, but do we really?
Perhaps the greatest lesson we can learn from posting our day to day lives, morality, and hardships is that we are all equally as alone as we are the same—myself included.
Not too long ago, there was a time, it seemed, the world was much larger than we could ever imagine.
Driving cross country felt then like an achievement whereas now—after doing it more than a dozen times—it feels more like a routine I’d rather not admit.
Mostly it’s this that scares me.
Desensitization. It’s this that makes me wonder.
What’s the point?
The point is to treat yourself with the same dignity you would a stranger—a child.
The point is to look beyond life’s blessings, with eyes wide shut, and understand that all will be regardless of whatever validation you seek.
We can learn this by simply looking at a flower bloom. We can understand this by accepting that although, it may seem, the flower dies, another will take its place, as equally and wholly as beautiful as its former.
So whatever you decide, decide knowing, you aren’t as separate as you feel—we are all one.
Listening in
on a socially
distant therapy
circle, I hear strange
certainty fading
with each spilled sip
of coffee, squandered
on psychosocial thoughts
in alignment with
the universe
always.
Halogen yellow bursts
of light, turn signals
burn bright, through
white lines of Topanga
Morning sunrise, her and I
up all night, we rise
like silhouetted tree
under the belly of LA sky,
gaze upon a sea of fog
clouds, shower faint
hallucinations of
spontaneous future
Travel
The only road block
between yourself
and happiness,
is you.
When I was a kid—after bedtime—as quietly as I could, I would crawl from my bed, onto the floor, then elbow and knee my way down the hallway to lay in the doorway of my brothers room to watch his television.
He’s four years older than I am and, well, I thought he was really cool.
One, for having a TV in his bedroom. And two, for probably knowing I was there but not saying anything.
Whatever he was watching didn’t really make a difference but it was comfortable there, on the carpet, with the blue light flashing.
A dark bedroom can be pretty scary to a child, especially during a thunderstorm.
Now that we’re older, we speak when it is necessary, but not all the time.
Probably less than either of us cares to admit.
He’s a busy working husband and parent while I’m pretty much all over the map.
Though when we do talk, it’s a meaningful talk of mutual reflection. He provides me with information from four years down the line and I remind him that I’m listening by offering whatever small insights are on my mind.
I thought he was great then and I still do now. No matter the distance the bond between two brothers is strong and unwavering.
Basically what I am saying is I look forward to the next time we’re able to watch a little TV, crack a couple jokes, and just hang out—without any pressure—even if it means the carpet or floor, that’ll be enough.
Love is a language
a well written play
worn like a curtain
pulled closed on a stage
the cheering erupts
thrown roses at bay
behind a closed curtain
life’s finest display.
I knew I wasn’t kidding anyone
I just never knew how obvious I was
Until they told me and then, well
I just felt a little dumb, but glad, really
to be in the company of friends.
For once I’ve got nothing to say.
And that’s o.k.
Or, no…(insert breathe here)
Best not talk about it.
Best leave’er be.
Besides it’s 6:00am and
I can’t sleep so you tell me?
See, the sun’s still going to rise
and I’m still going to run
and Allen’s still going to love
everything and everyone.
And now that I believe again,
so it is, as it was, as it’s always been.
Light and love, light and love, light and love.
Make my bed
Spread the sheets
They are white
They are clean
There’s a nestle of bird
Who sing softly and sweet
There are bills
To be paid
Overdrafts
To be made
But I’m conscious today
Knowing that rot can wait
I have given enough love, I’ve wrestled with the thought
Spared quarters like rain to a cynical saint
I’ve got no time to spare
All this death in the air
Has me feeling quite good, transcendentally great
Forgive me but truth is
Artistic illusions
I’ve no cross to bear climbing trees and it’s clear
That I
start to see past
The sun and moon
The sky opens up
There’s nothing left to do
This closure’s my mantra to you.
Wash my face
Clean my teeth
Knock on wood
Once a week
There’s a pub inn Philly
Where I dug my own grave
Comb the depths
Of your hair
Try and act
Like you care
I’ve been watching your play
Mixing tonic with pain
You have given enough love, so much work to be done
Put your suitcases down, for a while and remain
Like a park bench in autumn
Or leaves that have fallen
I’ve got proof there’s a cure, you just gotta find yours
Forgive me but truth is
Artistic illusions
It’s a tale to be told, when you’re young and your bold
And now I’ve
Got to go back
To the way I was before
And now you’ve
Got to go back
To the way you were before
This closure’s my mantra to you.
Words Of An Average White Male 