a natural cycle

An eternal ode to gratitude

I have often believed

that step 15 of the story

is where S and B sat

sitting, smiling, relentlessly believing

in I, me, myself, the we

today I sit again

by a pile of the dead

waiting for them to return

in fade and memory

hacking at solid ground

when the canopy of stars
has been made
sandalwood turned to sky
all lights have dimmed and blazed
just right, just then
my hands still reach somedays
feel ready and justified to claw at
more than I can reach
more time, more bevel
if today I could have the power
to stretch forth two hands
and reach somewhere
change someone
hold on to something
then everything will be all right

sanyasa

  

they arent the sands of time

or the ides of march

I think they are the tides of time

I have, a few stones saved

as the tide swells 

into a thousand years of memory

between the years

I have endless despair

as I fail my parents

my loves

and my children

but now, right now, im busy

failing me

the music swells

and a few hands

guide me into the bright light

I turn around, and theres even a few

for my sins

pulling me back

not many I remember

from the last hundred years

beside me flowing

are so many children

how many children

is too many?

peatalok

 

this here are the elvenar

you cannot trust their words

but their hands are true

that there are the ashadar

you cannot trust their words

nor their hands

but their ears are true

clockwork

 

put courage to paper

and song to voice

these sounds outside

they are blips and beeps and constant 

consolation, contradiction, confusion, command

they are made by the damned

a step outside maslows graveyard

how many condemned

do we own?

must we own?

can we own?

who here rations the divide

between the lines and beyond the pale

can it be hells waiting room 

and not the wall

who here is tracking for their own doom

convinced, and utterly convincing

they are the damned