The Mystery.

| April 29th, 2008

There is a thing that is near memory. A thing that pulses and pounds within the human heart. It ebbs and flows with the tides of our blood. It spikes with the tingle of forgotten nerves. It dews in every tear, draws with every breath, and flits away with every smile. There is a thing that is beyond remembrance, and sensation, beyond that what we know, what we can grasp. There is a thing that echoes in the depths of our dreams, and hides behind every thought that we make A forgotten thing, and yet remembered for a time when we laugh or sing. When smell the odors of home, or touch the patina of our lives. Life and death play out a thousand dramas within a land, a feeling, a world which we can never know, but know is ever there. There is no time, all moments compressed into a single heartbeat, all places within the immediate. Passion, sorrow, salvation, despair. All things and nothing and the shadow of infinite and yet fleeting moments. All poets seek it, and fear it. They flee and follow it. And yet none know what it is.

Freedom to Rant.

| December 27th, 2007

We are all bound by the scope of our lives. Bound to bounce maddingly within our own bell jars… unable to understand, to contemplate that there is more out there for us. More than just the boundaries that we may place upon ourselves, or the boundaries that our placed upon us.

We are more than our paychecks. We are more than our mortgages. We are more than our jobs. We are more than our arguments, our anxieties, our addictions, our compulsions.

We are not moths enslaved to the light of our dreams. We are not children who believe in absolute justice, encompassing fairness or delusions of grandeur.

We are more… If we choose to become more.

But we each must make a choice.

We each must step into the wilderness, the unknown, the uncomfortable, the known.

Break out of your paper prisons!

Break out of your glass houses!

Break away from your race, your culture, your potential.

Break away from the judgments placed upon you, the expectations that surround you, the life that confounds you!

Break free!

You are not beautiful, you are not unique, you are a cog.

You are not a prophet, you are not a savior, you are an object.

You are not a loser, you are not an outsider, you are a number at the bottom of a balance sheet.

You are nothing more than what you are unless you choose to become something else!

We are a generation lost, adrift, forgetful.

We seek community but atomize our society.

We seek our definition in that infinite darkness that lay between us.

Divided, we are conquered

The miasma of unchecked consumerism has us in our grip.

We are slaves to our own desires.

Gift of the Magi

| December 27th, 2007

I have one gift.
One, sole, lonely gift.
I wish I had more that one talent.
I wish that I had another talent.
I’m still searching, waiting, watching for any ability.
For any strength.
Beyond my one gift.
My gift is a curse. My gift is a cure.
My gift is a kiss of sweet sorrow.
My gift is painful
My gift is tiresome.
For whatever gods that grant gifts
Whichever of the muses that stand over the newly born,
Decided to give me the gift of solace.
The gift of understanding.
The gift of love.
They find me, the broken people.
The people who’s lives need mending.
People with broken hearts and shattered dreams.
Those who need a human flame to warm their lives.
They find me.
I try to be callous and cold.
I try to push them away.
But my eyes betray me.
They know I will listen.
They know I will hear them.
They know, beneath the swagger,
and the smirk.
That I will give them something.
Something, which is all they want.
My energy, my soul.
All I have in this world.
All I have in the next.

I will dream their dark dreams.
I will share their pain.
I will listen, and hold them.
I will love them, as much as I can feel love.

And I will smile, sadly.
When the triumph, and when they fall.
Because I cannot fix anyone.
I cannot grant wishes.
Fate has taught me, again and again…
That good intentions lead to grave consequences…
Grave consequences.

I am no martyr.
I am no saint.
I am no therapist.
I am no shelter

I can only share.