The evening air is still—
Black ice it lies in waiting—
Walking with the cold
I watch asphalt exhaling.
If winter had a home—
Or frost a day to rest—
It be within this heart,
It be within this breath.
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The evening air is still—
Black ice it lies in waiting—
Walking with the cold
I watch asphalt exhaling.
If winter had a home—
Or frost a day to rest—
It be within this heart,
It be within this breath.
Most things can’t be unsaid,
though in my heart—
under the mess I’ve made—they
can be understood, in time
with patience and surrender.
I’ll always surrender.
I just haven’t got the skin,
I just haven’t got the heart
not to know better.
If we can accept ourselves
in life, and that in this life
we’re living, the right way
and the wrong way, mostly
aren’t ever in alignment
with our true nature of self,
rather it’s often
sideways we must go, sideways
like the pebble in the stream
knows only one direction,
and that chaos when reversed
reveals itself as precisely
the way it ought to be.
The things I can not change
remind me why I’m here.
They are but the souls
reminder—to stay the course.
I flipped myself
like a coin
then flipped again
just to see
if heads or tails
would land twice
like a pollinating
honey bee
I figured if I had a
50/50 chance
I might as well
take a look see
and feel what lie on the
other side of dying
rather than spend another
long day trying
to convince myself
I’d be better off another house wife
crying
into coffee
or screaming into laundry
relying on the offerings
of innocent smiles
casting unintentional
shadows on my coffin
of denial
marred by my own
self loathing
which like a
preacher’s devotion
I took such pride
in approaching
solitude
like a potion
endlessly encroaching
on my own
well being
I admit I was broken
so I flipped that coin
heads
then I flipped myself
tails
and discovered
this notion
that
heads or tails I was going
Going
Gone
with the wind
not a rolling stone
or a tumbleweed
not a nickel or dime
not a honey bee
no I was a wreck
cast far out to sea
but that’s just the thing
it took all that to see
moving West wouldn’t be
all that easy for me
no nothing is lucky
nothing is free
except the glow of bonfire
in the dead of tree
where dancing shadows
take form and
I’m just
understandably me — hell
it’s already 1:03
and I’m hungry
but
I’ve got no food to eat —
so call it in the air
no
on second thought
I’ll just let this one be.
just because you can get everything
doesn’t mean that you should get everything
because everything
doesn’t really mean everything
when it’s all you’ve got
We spoke a lot out there about how different folks live their lives,
about the idea of success and what it really means to feel comfortable in circumstance,
about family and virtue,
giving back and taking more consciously.
We say the things up there
on the mountaintop,
which are hard to say among the crowds and noise of the working world’s downturned head,
but no less we come back down renewed.
Imagine
there are two sides to every story,
sometimes three, four,
most times there are twelve.
It depends,
on who we are, who we’ve been
and who we’re trying to be,
like auditioning for a role.
And it’s easy to say,
that you never tell a lie,
or that I’m always wrong.
If I were to believe that,
if you, are so able to believe that
then, clearly
somebodies a liar.
Unintentionally rude.
Little disheartened sighs.
Incapable of speech.
And worrisome.
Fearful of what, exactly, is unknown.
Trying not to incite confusion.
Attempts not to quarrel only create greater tension.
Anxiety.
Disdain.
We do not want, but accept these things.
In silence,
there is no argument but a stalemate.
Like a fruitless game of chess.
On egg shells,
we walk,
stiff kneed,
toes clenched,
trying not to crumble.
Trying desperately to surrender.
Our sympathy and concern,
marred by our inability to grasp the others discontent.
We slowly close our eyes.
And wake in the morning,
anew.