In the microcosm
Of my mind
A plethora of emotions
Race through

As the pendulum swings
My heart becomes
The sand in
An hour glass
That quickly empties

In the pits of my soul
Sorrow screams
As faith listens
Attentively

Sending her legions
To fight the demons
That stirs my insides

Perplexed by
Shivering Weakness
That overpowers
Me

 PART I: GARDEN IN THE SKY

Exploding supernova in a Western sky:

Mystic dark portent, or the evil eye?

Seems every hour another star in our galaxy dies:

Tell me, where did all the Appleweed take root

In our garden in the sky?

Like faceless marionettes in some grotesque display,

Contorted caricatures from some frightening play;

Sometimes, it seems that all our dreams of Passion’s endless spark

Are lost in green, or torn in twain, we take

Having experienced the world
I can still say,
I wish to become a teenager
All my life's way,
The angst
The fear
The heart throb
The hastening heart beat
The sweating,
The petting,
The lapping of feet
Oh what we all miss today
Is that kiss
Stolen away
Oh miss,
So smilingly
We all at
And
With other teens did play,
If I were to be granted as a wish
I would ask of that angel fish

I
Singular, alone.
A transient being ,
wandering the earth.

Connecting with some
disconnecting with others.
Assimilation of recollections.

Fated as a race to enter and exit, solo.
meanwhile waiting for the other half
of the equation..

The purpose of life is to
Forge the eternal connection.
Spiralling out only to return,
shelter from the cold.

.
shadows
cast by a hot bare bulb
in night's sweltering limbo
lured me to the edge
in sight of "something other"

despite the heat
the limbo, lonliness,
and general malaise
I dared not step into this "other"

a step, I am sure,
that would have been
the final step as me,
the me I know as myself

I stepped back
...no, jumped back!
startled at how close
this "other" was
and is
still

in the cold dark before dawn,
water for coffee just beginning
to boil,

frost forms on silhouettes
of nightmare’s dream.

kettle whistles silently
from dusk light kitchen,

dream continues to bleed
a drop at a time on the clean
breakfast floor.

light is breaking fast now,
i see it through the window,

falling on sleeping winter tree limbs--
bleeding dreams of their own,

It's late November, cold and gray
last warmth of autumn gone away
most of the trees are bleak and bare
their festive garb no longer there

Each step descends on festive litter
alerting squirrels, making them chitter
the crunch of dry leaves quietens all
as denizens flee from each foot fall

The wind blows in puffs like breath
unsteady and as cold as death
the chill creeps clear down to the bone
am I here in these woods alone ?

.
redemption?
...from what?
I am a man
and if you say "in the image of god"
I say "I am that I am"

repentence?
...for what?
my will is free
where is the freedom in guilt?

awareness understands
the predicaments of man
newer mind does not demand
reparation from the old

no acts of contrition shall be imposed

the only sin is sorrow

We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person. -William Somerset Maugham, writer (1874-1965)

We're chained to the post
Prometheus at most
tedious forebears of a terrible task
trying to love those who love us best -
even though the passion has past.

Throwing stones on the pond
the ripples ever widening the effect
on the center
Continually expanding and dividing
our responses changing,
but impasse is a formidable mentor.

Uniqueness of Ones Soul

I ain’t quite sure
What is a real soul?
All I am aware is
A man is fully whole,
If he has an active heart
A rife, brain, not only garbage
It has intelligence
Then the heart pumps
Blood into its periphery
Feeds it only from outside
As only pulp and electrical
Neuron guided senses
Reside magnetically
And
Majestically inside