Silly Old Bear

How did I get this lost
loss
on my own,
at this age?

Silly old bear
  Thump
   Thump
    Thump

or is it,
think, think, think?

It could not of,
can not,
Be my own doing
entirely.

Where is the Hand of God?

and
Where is the remote?

The Sleeping sun

 

 

Into the sleeping sun,

Of a parabolic freedom,

I want to escape.

to the woods.

to the silence,

where words kill.

Into the melancholic evening,

of an enthralling beauty,

I want to break free.

from the boundations.

from the death and hush,

where you can’t say what you want.

Into the utopia of my dreams,

Of an euthnasic way to awakening,

I want to lie forever.

in the laps of the angel.

in the greens of my past,

where deceptions stop.

Into the night stretched to eternity,

Of an enchanted star studed sky,

I want to steal the world.

to keep them to myself.

to let them live with me,

where separation never comes.

trouble

I’m in trouble.

I’m tired.
I’m lethargic.
I could care less
about running
or goals.
I couldn’t go yesterday.
Today doesn’t seem different.
And I don’t care…that’s the trouble.

I don’t care.
Not a good place for me to be.
Trouble.
I don’t care is unsafe.
I don’t care is frustrating…no it’s not.
Frustration would require caring,
and I don’t care.
Trouble.

I don’t care is unsafe.
I don’t care is heavy and stuck.
I don’t care is sleep and sleep some more.
I don’t care is restricting.
leaden
shackles
binding
my
feet
I can’t move…that’s the trouble.

I can’t move is trouble.
I can’t move is sickening
fattening
frustrating.
I can’t move is frustrating.
Frustration is trouble.

I’m in trouble.
Trouble is trouble.

Trouble drinks.
Trouble cuts.
Trouble thinks.
Trouble hurts.
Trouble sinks.

Trouble
s
i
n
k
s
.
.
.

Doors

Which one would you choose?

What waits beyond

The light through the cracks?

Memories of past hurts

And previous loves?

Surrounded by the doors,

I need to choose:

Which one to open?

Which one to lose?

Savouring the sanguine memories of love on my tongue;

Suffering the bitter sting of failure in my heart;

Perceiving the faint echoes of melodious promises in my head;

Envisioning my life like a slideshow in my brain

Sensing that the choice is upon me again.

Should some doors stay closed?

Photo courtesy of ohad*, by a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved.

My Quandary

I need my privacy
I can’t afford it you see
Either monetarily or
In what it does to me

And Along came my Dreams

I

When the pain subsides,

I close my eyes, to get back my past

Hallowed memories burn and blur!

Life has not been

The dream I saw!

I turn every page, to see it bleed,

I turn every corner, to wish you were there

The sun is so silent, the moon burning!

The night gave the pains

And along came dreams!

II

I so wish you would come,

Hold my hand, take my breath,

Into the cages of love!

I wish I could have held your hands till eternity,

Bring you flowers, and write you poetries,

I showed you my dreams,

But,

You gave me fresh blood!

And along came my dreams

Comfort

Wrap me up in comfort that I yearn to feel
Remove me from cold, uncaring steel
That ensconces me like a cage.
Let me savor the senses of love and compassion
Drown me in warmth, fire of passion
One is that legend of the ages.

Photo courtesy of confusedvision, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved.

time

it came upon me, as a thief.
silently, stealthily… stealing
my beauty,, my passion,, my dreams,, my desires…
i was swept up from behind,
now i’m caught-
i am held fast,,
i am struggling,
but the feather like fingers have taken hold.
slowly entwining themselves around my very soul…
coiling,, choking me from within…

i stand motionless… waiting..
afraid any movement, may propel me forward
when all i seek-
is to go back…
as if i no longer have any control,
as if the fates have finally won,,
and i have lost-
all but what i see…

i close my eyes,, my mind,, my heart
i hide in the shadows
of my own thoughts-
as i feel that is all that remains
of that which i cannot see…

i dream of me then,, sometime
before i was lost-
before time, had its way…
before i was introduced
to the art of decay…

photo:

http://www.toddmessegeephoto.com/FineArtFolder/The%20thief%20who.jpg

Echo..alas tis my bosom that heaves….

Ahem…for yay, I do not write to be right, but write to be wrotten..alas tis a quivering quiver of ink and quill that spilleth my coffee, all painful, and scourging in my lapeth.  Oucheth, as I jumpeth and runneth for the mighty towel of chamois, and wipe up thine mess.  It stingeth, like words from a mind gone to mush, and which is assualted by lack of blog activity. 

Bring me ale, bring me the mightiest mead, let me drink forth thine words of love, pain, sorrow, and fruit bats.  Do thou hearest mine groans…helloeth??  echo….echo…echo(and the bunnymen).

——————————–

Just keeping it alive….and loony and not real whatsoever.

Peace and poetry and smiles,

goofball golf

I’m thinking about changing my handle to “Sunbeam”…

deep into the back nine
way off in the weeds
i am not religious
but lord i’m on my knees
i gotta put some distance
between me and all the strife
help me make some sense
of the days left in my life
the fairways weren’t my thing
perhaps it’s a disease
i always took the shortcuts
look where it’s gotten me
am i lost forever
hidden in plain view
or is there some salvation
to make the old anew