Lived in the Fray

I have learned to be…

smacked down

shut down

thrown down

put down

that is where I place a frown.

I have learned to…

look up

be different

speak my mind

look for my own interpretation of kind.

Listen to what I say…

do not hold hate

do not plan to act on a different date

I maybe nearing the end of a frayed rope…

but even with all these splits ends…

LOVE must be the only message that I send.

Holding Hands with Madness

Tell me,

Would you understand if we did not hold hands today?

Loving would be simpler, if I did not stumble over the words…I am afraid to say.

You see, the madness pepper sprays the sanity.

The sanity…handcuffs honesty.

Honesty in the end, uses her nails, sharp as a coyote’s pointed tooth, to pull wallflowers off the wall.

You see, I am not feeling myself today.

Something, I am sure you already knew.

Madness is just something I go through.

Walking in Sharp Sand

An inter-sanctum where I live…
not for you
or
you
or
you
to forgive.
Platitudes and platitudes of discourse
I cringe, though not a one will know
The gifts you’ve given come with an interpreter’s silent force.

Hell’s yard sale from below.

One that marks another in brotherly love of those who remain…
with often a valedictorian refrain

I could hold your hands from outside the wired gate
When those above us reflect on human quakes.

To you,
to others,
I am but a precious mistake

Pageantry for Hate

You asked, ‘I do not understand…this pageantry for hate…’

And, more so, I heard the question…’really?’
As if, in disgust over how peace could be what I may have been feeling.

In an instant, the night raged on…doubt deep.

My fitful sleep…to keep.

Thus, I had lingered on your words today.
Watching as the roots, the limbs, the earth…felt the anger of our decay.
Avenging angels dressed up in their poetic make believe.
Babes with pacifiers, made of leather and recycled politically correct discussions.
Nibbling little infants feeding on store bought garden variety weeds.
Oh, the young, filling the void not the need.

Drifting back from the path in which I came.
The grove of 3 leaf clover, recoiled and fluttered
Nature blew about your sake, your self sanctimonious title…your fiery heart’s name.

My footing wavered over stone and ledge.
Focus, on good, focus, focus…
I began my pledge.

Death is spoiled on the old…or, so I am told.
Perhaps, I am just beyond bold.
Yet, I could not shake what might be easier if displayed.

Storms set deep inside the soul.
Rumbles of angst upon the horizon.
Wolves parading in opaque fur.
Screams in the night awaiting to be heard.

All of this and more, my dear.
As humiliating as stumbling down a wooden path.
Old and used…forgetting where you began at.
Wasted energy
Letting bad karma take the lead…
down a road of… nature’s way of showing off our misdeeds.

Lying and Dying

There are lines to this scarcity.

Hidden obstacles filled with joyless doubt.

Now that I am in…the dead air is coming out!

A covert world we all must go thru…

and, the question remains…

‘Will I have the courage to go without you?’

The grass beaded with dew and the…aromatic earth…

does not quench my soul as it used to.

Lying and dying have become art forms.

A certain style giving unto…laughing…crying.

Courage in the blinding light of day can whisk the unthinkable webs away.

Nonetheless, the night…with its sporadic fits of sleep…

Still begs for valor’s retreat.