Saturday, May 21, 2016


Falling, without the wisdom to catch one’s self
Nor the realization or intent
Pray the ground is patient

I felt the breeze, desperate to taste any hint of season,
I saw the colors change in rapid succession
From blues to reds and back
I was hungry, starving
And yet I couldn’t fathom nourishment
As the self collided with remnants
Me in freefall

You cross the edge of a great chasm of empty
You ache to know what makes you happy
And the indifference of the space beneath you
Insists you it’s going to be a long ride down
I wish I could explain to someone the lack of direction
Even while my direction
The past decides
And any future, or glimmer of hope
The remnants over ride
I’m not complaining
They cost me everything
And that’s a small part of the unfamiliar face
that paces in the yard
And seeks some form of comfort
A place
To escape
And when you find that self it is a stranger
That barely realizes its own desire

I feel the shadows lengthening
Must be evening
As all of my senses abide
To the absence of control
And the submission of time

Falling, I don't want to get back in the plane
I don’t want to question or complain
I am confident in the space beneath that quickly becomes the past
How slow the days, the hours
How horribly fast
Redefinining wisdom like a dull weapon
Honed on a finishing stone
We go recklesslessly, horribly alone
And all the spaces around me seem empty
And all intent vacant
Down from a sky of indifference

I hope the ground is patient