Born on an Overcast Day

Freedom…Just another word for nothing left to lose.

-J.Joplin

born on a cloudy day 5.jpg

 

As the season’s merge…

I cannot help but think of how it is with us.

The inherited panic and fear.

The constant need to disappear.

Just when a trail has been laid…

Just as time has been weighed…

Our over shadowed life becomes displayed.

And, with that knowledge,

we continue to bear the fruit.

An oath to a world of soiled roots.

It is an overcast day.

Guess, sometimes it has to be that way.

Civilized words for a shut book.

Theology has yet to devise a means in which to get you…

off the hook.

No matter how much I scour my mind…

with the salts of the earth…

The winds of change have not stopped.

They take comfort in the calm before the storm.

Yet, they are never completely gone.

And, so the story goes,

some hostages are held by fear and dread.

Others by a custom-made bed. 

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Not Absolute

 

Off the cuff, with emotions locked.xtra-door-ajar

A dead-end street to which I only see defeat.

Many ask…many greater and wiser than I.

‘When will the sadness end?’

To which, there has never been an absolute reply.

In the dainty house.

Down off the gravelled road.

Discrete, earthy…hidden.

Not a word of…

love as though it means something to someone…

give as though it requires no reward.

Be…when others have broken your heart’s sword.

With every attempt to cast away doubt.

With all the moments I have felt inside out.

With this picture perfect home…

At last, I must go it alone.

I can confide that the insanity has left the well dry.

The calls to a wedding for young love.

The rants and raves of doors that will not close.

The mysterious lack of sedation that hangs from collages on a logged wall.

Little house down the road.

Impeccable with country-style.

Alit to the eaves by autumn leaves.

Do not second judge.

The road ahead is meant for only me.

xtra-broken-glass

Born on an Overcast Day

Freedom…Just another word for nothing left to lose.

-J.Joplin

born on a cloudy day 5.jpg

 

As the season’s merge…

I cannot help but think of how it is with us.

The inherited panic and fear.

The constant need to disappear.

Just when a trail has been laid…

Just as time has been weighed…

Our over shadowed life becomes displayed.

And, with that knowledge,

we continue to bear the fruit.

An oath to a world of soiled roots.

It is an overcast day.

Guess, sometimes it has to be that way.

Civilized words for a shut book.

Theology has yet to devise a means in which to get you…

off the hook.

No matter how much I scour my mind…

with the salts of the earth…

The winds of change have not stopped.

They take comfort in the calm before the storm.

Yet, they are never completely gone.

And, so the story goes,

some hostages are held by fear and dread.

Others by a custom-made bed. 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.