Oh the heavy history of man
Who collects his wars
Long after the land is divided again,
With nothing left to explore,
And the plunder has spoiled
In the storehouses.
All these years of ink and page, and
How can these habits come to gain
Reflecting with the written word,
But that brothers in ink still have their names
And some crude caricature of who they were
Ever still remains.
We walked along, side by side,
You, following the path, and I
Leaning to peek in the canyon.
Glancing to see my presumed companion
Has run ahead without me.
You pursued the course,
And I lingered to gaze at remorse
Who is lovely from behind
While blind, while disinclined
To turn on me, to see
What I put myself up to some days.
He is cruel when he returns my gaze.
I wander the fringes of our route,
Do you go on without me, or wander about
To find me again?
I am aimless. I cannot wend
Through these dark woods,
I cannot find my way to good,
Without you as my guide.
Will you walk again, side by side?
Red Sky at Morning
And you were born in the churning storm
Following the warning.
Violence in the wind,
You board up your windows,
In limbo again
While the tempest rages-
Your most-valuables
Barricaded in cages.
Red Sky at Morning
Blink away your warnings.
Red Sky at Mourning
These are your days of turning,
Unfurl your sails, still forming
Warm yourself in the light of day,
Put your face into the tide
Get your strides underway
These howling winds will pass
You are seaworthy, and your hull
Will remain intact
Red Skies never last,
The sun’s fury sets
This too shall pass.
Tired mind, why can’t you sleep?
You are safe within my head;
Wall of bone, your ivory keep,
Now put your rowdy thoughts to bed.
Hush now, before the day arrives
And all your tasks fall on your pillow.
You are wasting one of your daily lives
Riding the nightly billows
That should be rocking you to slumber.
The monkey cannot weave its tail
Back through each familiar tree,
Each leap and fall, each land and fail,
Back to the ground to see
Which rotted branch in stride
Giving way when grasped
Conspired thus to guide
Where it would not have cast.
Man alone can clasp his tale
And trace collisions in his course
To speak to Time, to take her veil,
To taste the very breath of source
Leading him from there to here
By his zeal and hesitation,
By his fancy and his fear
Transforming his path and destination.
Wake up.
Wake up and face the day
Time is a paper boat afloat
Slipping ever further away
From your dancing fingertips
Seize whatever corner you can
One day it will sink deep
And you will regret each wasted hour
Submerged in dreamless sleep.
Wake up.
200 strides from where I began.
200 steps from there to here,
Pushing away 200 times,
200 times of falling near.
200 footsteps I have made
Trudging through the muck of time.
200 little victories-
200 footprints left behind.
Part I
I’m just half a moon away.
That’s all the time it’ll take
Before the shadows that fall to day
Slip off the moon, the lunar gate
Opens to you again.
Half a moon to see you smile
The hidden surface is a child
Playing hide to my seek while
Counting down. I’m wild
To see you again
In just half a moon.
Part II
Half a moon since I saw you last,
Time revolves, ahead and past,
Now half the moon has gone away
And half the world has gone to gray.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained
But I cannot change
The angle of repose
Adding to the top, as high as it goes
But everything tumbles to the base
Constantly spreading to fill its space
I pour my noblest thoughts at peak
One by one, the highest strata seek,
But they mostly spill back to the ground-
Still, nothing sought is nothing found.
Science is a fascinating religion.
Somewhere under the ideas and opinions
The activity of life functions regardless.
We poke and pry and prod all this
Hypothesis by hypothesis, shade by shade,
Til we can hardly absorb the spectrum we’ve made
Of complementary to contradictory theories
All following wherever the evidence leads
Searching for the deeper, clearer truth
And struggling against the consensus view
Whether met with censure or acclamation;
It closely resembles Protestant reticulation.
viewingcamelot 