Category: Poetry

Some of the wounds in life just cannot be healed.
The best we can do is forge ourselves a shield. 

Crucibles that burn away imperfections…
Leave us a shining aegis of conceptions.

Choose, over weapons, to wield strong defenses.
Inflicting your own pain deafens your senses. 

Only for your melee will your hurt go numb.
When smoke clears, it’s back; a throbbing double sum.

So we heal & we scar & we shield the rest.
Reject the norm of hurting others the best.

“Nature abhors a vacuum”…I’ve always heard.
But I disagree; in the form of one word.

Space, un-included from that dime store logic.
Universe, mostly, vacuum cosmologic.

It’s false wisdom to make a blanket statement.
More so, when they call for reason’s abatement.

Just because a saying has always been said…
That is not enough cred to not use your head.

So, before you pass down your faulty premises…
Add the facts to your pithy alchemises.

I dream every day, through a page put away.
So, my night is understood.

I share them with you, when they’re processed & new.
As you might expect I would.

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I distill my brain, in order to keep sane.
It’s what I do with what’s dealt.

The things that I dream, come by bright vivid stream…
Oxidized to feelings felt.

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My heart beats loudly, while speaking so proudly.
I heed it within reason.

Yet it once held sway, over all I would say.
But then, it was youth’s season.

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Now, my wisdom speaks; for what my soul still seeks.
It’s my heart & brain’s vision.

One wanted passion; one wanted to be safe…
Between, my soul’s decision.

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Yes, Wisdom, listen! To voices in frisson…
My heart, my brain & my soul.

Then take to my stage; day after night on page.
Please! Be the voice of their whole.

 Turn to every new chapter with a fertile mind…
& leaving the last one I digested behind.

Looking for plot points which have not yet been resolved…
& for new terrain that the story has evolved.

The best bits of a tale are chaos & suspense…
& wherein I am robbed of any knowing sense.

When what you expect to be a zig, turns zag…
& then my fertile mind, this yarn’s got in the bag.

Towards the end, mind racing, doing all the math…
& what awaits but surprise; a twist in the path.

If the telling is deft, I am kept on my toes…
& unsure, but hopeful; trying to presage prose. 

Trauma is as real as lying & love…
Crippling your mind when push comes to shove.

Always waiting for a surprising in…
Blindsiding your life with memory’s din.

Circling the drain; all cognizant thought.
Here again, time on the couch, life has bought.

As real as then; it all happens again…
Indelible trauma opposing zen.

It’s something to you & nothing to them…
But I’ll do owt to fight trauma’s mayhem.

Here we go uphill again…forgetting the easier times.
Focused on our hardship now; life sour as lemons & limes.

Sweat bleeding through like an open dam & looking soaked by rain.
Again, I push for my own sacrifice…opening a vein.

Heartbeat pounding it’s swish in my eardrums; fighting for my breath.
Fighting thru to reach the other side; still here, just shy of death.

Of course, I’m fine & flush with blood; endorphins making a round.
Euphoria comes & troubles melt-I’m high but still earthbound.

Then hardship’s pain evolves it’s form in trade for tired & sore.
After that, a heavy sleep & waking sure I’ll survive more.

Vigilance is the order of the day.
To newer horizons I plot my way.

The most we can do is to do our best.
But once you excel, put limits to test.

Check to see if boundaries are pliant.
Claim new land past your fence; be defiant!

Open up paths you’ve not trodden before.
If your record’s routine…record some more.

“Practice makes perfect”; but I disagree.
Perfect’s not real; just better by degree.

Aswarm with emotions at any given moment.
Anxiety, both my fear & my joy foment.

Feel it all as life engages me in badinage.
Varied in temperature like an ice & fire barrage.

I’m open to it all accepting life as it is.
Weary from heady days thinking I was master wiz.

Now, I keep a weather eye for currents that serve me.
Inside my concession lies the key to living free.

Knowing the chance of change & rain are reliable…
Makes surfing life’s pliancy a plan that’s viable.

Just providing alone does not a good parent make.
It only imparts that one’s gift entitles their take.

Shelter alone is not the definition of good.
It’s only a convenience of money & wood.

All children well fed cannot be assumed to be loved.
They very well may be fed by a servant white gloved.

Most children’s magic is that they reflect what they’re shown.
In their true words & kind deeds are good parents made known.

I could go on…insight making my history clear.
Yet…I’ve defied circumstance through each formative year.

I was never a mirror for unhappy adults.
I was fire upon my gene pool & that got results.

Fresh manure to feed the rose.
The opposites we juxtapose.

Two in love but open to more?
Still building homes on shaky shore?

Bandied freedoms while pruning rights.
Active mornings after late nights.

Own the future with squalor now!
World’s on fire; yet, wondering how.

Life’s for living until it slows?
The opposites we juxtapose.