Category: Poetry

Impart

I hope that one day I’ll be wise,
walk slowly through the trees,
and listen to the breeze
as it bustles leaves upon the path,
clearing way for another truth
that took a lifetime to muster.

It hits me, with simple, clear conviction,
putting a stutter in my stride,
but nothing more dramatic than that;
a wry smile,
and a small shake of the head.
“Where have you been?” I say,
aloud.

I must get home. I’m burning up!
I am a man who holds a great secret;
for that is what truth is before freed,
before having the chance to pass it on.
I’m desperate to,
and I’m terrified of my death finding out
before I’ve even had the chance
to write it down.

Suddenly, I feel so mortal –
eating spaghetti in an expensive shirt,
red sauce and chinos;
I’m fixated on the threatening stains,
making them ever more likely,
of course,
like swerving into the headlights
of oncoming traffic,
like becoming weak-kneed or unstable
as you peer over a sheer cliff.

I faced death many times on the way.
I greeted them each, politely,
with a tip of my hat,
never slowing down
or holding their gaze,
for fear they’d engage me in conversation;
that’s how they get you. I’m sure of it.
“Haven’t you had enough yet?” they say,
an outstretched hand beckons.
“Come; it’s time.”

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Enamored

It’s easy to feel enamored
with well-written roles,
with well-lit scenes,
with their talent and their beauty.

But I understood the difference –
a love of fame is not the same –
I could never look upon your face
and ‘sometimes forget your name’.

It waits for you in the quiet

Quite the realization;
that it cannot fill the void,
provide endless inspiration,
or fix what you have broken.

Do you notice how quiet it is,
how still,
when you put away your phone,
when the weekends come around?

The motion-blur deceived you,
for all-the-while you were sitting still,
waiting, still,
hoping, still,
that something else,
someone else
would direct your next position.

Strife

There is no joy in a life of happiness,
void of strife or dilemma,
concerned only with maintaining your high,
and protecting against the lows.
You design it so:
a universe whose arms
wind tight around your core;
a black and heavy hole
that you cannot understand
or see, for all its hunger.
Forever you may feed it,
but you’ll never feel it shine,
or hear it laugh,
or thank you;
for there is no joy,
not in anything you do for you.
Not in anything you create.
Not in anything you destroy.
Unless in doing so you find
the truth, the joy, the meaning in life:
to solve the hard problems,
and end other’s strife.

Stay young

We grew up too fast,
got serious jobs,
moved in with our sweethearts,
got dogs,
had kids,
and grew fond of wine;
forgoing the hangouts,
the night outs,
the coffee and bars,
for early nights and HBO,
and shows where people our age
stay up,
have fun,
hang out,
stay young.