Who tears apart, but never builds;
in summer, says he prefers chills;
proclaims “I won’t” when others will;
expects to never pay the bill?
Who tends to “no”, withholding “yes”;
predicts more failure than success;
looks to curse rather than bless;
just compliments under duress?
Who finds the flaw in beauty’s whole;
un-masks delusions in each role;
runs not to praise, at best, cajole;
and celebrates his self-control?
Who gets no joy in dance or song,
unless detailing things gone wrong;
and sits aloof, above the throng
who sway and smile and sing along?
Who in the end has only words;
an empty theater of absurd;
gray stones that never turns to birds;
and empty echoes never heard?
Who condescends, too proud to bend;
see only foes, and not one friend;
from years of living to offend;
alone, unwanted in the end?
28 APR 2017
Let vain Cassandras from their pulpits moan,
decrying what velocity the world
has chosen for its obvious descent;
and in their sermons, demonize each day
that dares to start as sunrise shattered dark.
They make the Word a flesh that only rots,
its destiny disease and graying bones;
and would deny what lies beneath such text:
a corpse that with its dying, brings new life.
Let these harangues of fire and brimstone fail;
they seek to reap by fear what love has sown,
and would for glory’s sake destroy the world
to prove their theories worthy of what gods
they cast in their own image of despair.
I will not preach the ending of the earth,
nor advocate an abstinence so strict.
Instead, I seek to understand myself;
and feed another’s body when I go.
14 APR 2007
Inside me is a shadow
that waits for days like these:
when small things blossom into
catastrophes, its seems
to swallow up the sunshine,
and linger, like a fog
there on the steps beside me
as my feet slowly move
into this house, where love lives
and life is sweet and good.
It follows me in silence
and fills my mind with fears:
that I am not worth loving
and will just disappear.
And then, it bites in anger
at my protesting self,
sapping my strength and motive,
so I can barely think.
A dark, foreboding takes me
from this fair world of light,
and in its grasp I flounder.
No hand hold to be found
nor peaceful thought of beauty
there in that place of woe.
I lay no blame on others
for this, my wretched state —
it comes upon me, sometimes
and will not dissipate
until its passion passes,
and leaves me, sore and tired.
There is no rhyme or reason,
save I am uninspired.
And is this lack of sunshine
the fault of those I love?
No, it is just my shadow,
half of what I’m made of.
28 AUG 2003
So often, it seems when we look for things to quote, we search for those negative, capricious, self-debasing, or cynical quips that reinforce our own limited, limiting world view, words of wisdom from the “great thinkers” of the past, who may have done a lot of great thinking, but always seemed to lead such pathetic, miserable and ultimately unhappy, un-bliss-filled lives. Why is that, I wonder? Is seeing the true energy that lies behind all things so difficult, that we automatically assume the world is out to get us, and that it is filled with pointlessness and constant sorrow? Why quote something that keeps you down? Isn’t that like a slave thanking their master for the nice, shiny chains?
On Quoting Nihilists and Naysayers
Who cares what Nietchze said, or Sigmund Freud?
Is your world confined by some sage advice
from dead thinkers who lived their lives annoyed
that despite their constant effort, the spice
of life was beyond their grasp, and they could
only observe what should manifest joy?
All those long debates on evil and good,
have they sought to build up, or to destroy
the human condition? Just because your eyes
cannot see the simple beauty of life,
does not mean it is not there – just disguised,
beyond the prod of your surgical knife.
Will you swallow whole another’s myth,
Or use the eyes and ears you were born with?
03 JUL 2003