Author: lbstowe

He wants out for a couple days…certainly not forever.
No one mentioned the word escape…saying that’s never clever.

He knows the outside can kill you; it’s not a good place to live.
But cooped up for what seems a lifetime…something has gotta give.

Even a prisoner has furlough…even if under guard.
He wants to see past windowless walls…a walk around the yard.

Yet, his request was recorded & edited against him.
They made it sound like he asked for freedom…that costs life & limb.

His plea for leniency woven into capitol offense.
The keepers have it all on tape…the poor man has no defense.

So sad that books have lost their sway.
Pity our minds have gone astray.

We’re no longer seeking out tomes.
Bookshelves do not line our new homes.

Our love of language has soured.
No more shaped by words devoured.

We debate with false reference.
Shallow is the new preference.

Impoverished in our thinking…
Our ignorance, now, unblinking.

It’s nuts to me you’re still asleep when half the day is done.
I wonder whether you’re vampyr, hiding from the noonday sun?

The day is bright, but fading now; I greeted it at dawn.
Are you crepuscular & twilight; like dewdrops on a lawn?

I’m winding down the afternoon while you’re tossing on your cot.
What does the nighttime have for you that the broad daylight does not?

You are fond of interactive screens dividing you from life.
Don’t you hear the high-pitched reveille of the morning wood’s fife?

Our ships will pass, as our cycles align, once in a blue moon.
If it happens when the sun is out; I wonder if you’ll swoon?

Happily ever after? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding.
Linear living don’t work that way…neither does Fate’s bidding.

Thru an ocean of time, you conceive routes bereft of sorrow?
Today can’t be conceived absent yesterday & tomorrow.

Do you really desire stasis in amber stone forever?
Joy knows not of vacuums & without grief…love’s no endeavor.

You think the measure of your being is naught without a with?
A desert’s sandy grains crave water; though rare & nearly myth.

Why seek to fill your holes with someone you just have not yet got?
Be ye whole in who you are…& that includes the things you’re not.

So easy to not be patient; much quicker than silence & wait.
Never bothering with details; just hunger hunting for its sate.

Blind to any bigger picture; tunnel vision for winning now.
Closed off from any longer games; only this next move & its how.

The ease of pulling out plugs; the swiftness of life with a gun.
Forget even seeing the switch; the barrel sight shows what you’ve won.

One is dead & one left alive; the simple binary of war.
Just living one second longer; this is short-sighted vision’s core.

But, why fight for time & for place; when the battling expends both faster?
Why not stop chasing our shadows; & concentrate on their caster?

The fuel of life is often fear & resistance.
Oft disguised as needs & ambition’s insistence.

Whichever one  works & motivates us forwards…
Be it candy covered or painted in swearwords.

The goals that we lurch for, however we arrive…
Evaporate instantly & still, we contrive.

Confecting new goals from the ashes of the last;
We hold on to nothing & hold onto it fast.

We lunge for our freedom, for fairness & for breath.
Yet, silent secret, we know the finish line’s death.

Such fuss over a ring that has not rung.
Breathless for a ding that has never dung.

Why be a toad when you can be a prince?
Why wait as a frog for desperate kiss?

So much worry over love not promised.
Wasted wanting for stories dishonest.

Overthought chance; romantic comedy.
Underwhelmed by fact; therefore tragedy.

Don’t hang your hearts & souls on what could be.
Choose here & now; wake from dreaming & see.

Overexposure is an inoculate notion.
Just a little poison in every drop of potion.

They will refuse this vaccine as a sacrilege.
They’ll even burn the healers for assumed sortilege.

For what will they use to set spark to our effigies?
Paintings & pages of expressive necessities.

After pyre smoke clears, herds will be weaker & bleaker.
Not having been armored by the novels of seekers.

Many creatives will willingly martyr themselves.
The rest disguise & hide…
 hoping for free future shelves.

Don’t scurry squirrel, don’t hurry wren.
It’s me, I’m your faithful forest friend.

You see me daily; I know your name.
I would never think of you as game.

Don’t scamper chipmunk, don’t scatter fowl.
I am no hunter with fang wreathed growl.

I know your stripe, your quack & your song.
Be not afraid; I won’t keep you long.

I just want to hold your gaze a beat…
Nod & acknowledge your native seat.

Yes to reincarnation…I just don’t think you have to die.
We can build ourselves many times anew with a fresher lie.

A shell of deceit becomes a truth if only we would molt.
The fight for growth that carapace cracks is personal revolt.

We strive to make our falsehoods true…these cocoons that we outgrow.
Who’d believe a leggy worm who claimed the sky was his to know?

We use some credit claiming goals that are only just in sight.
The forebears of aeronautics never saw a plane in flight.

My theory is this…theories are truths that haven’t shed their lies.
 To die just shy of validation makes dreamers no less wise.