Equivocation and Eternal Sunshine

Overcast and sunshine
each at thes ame time;
paradox of living
all the while dying.
Fair is foul and foul is fair,
a still day; breeze in your hair;
a masked, naked face;
a smile, slowly, being replaced.

(oh, oh-wuh-oh-eh-oh-uh-woh-oh-oh) x4

Hands yearning to pull (push)
you up (over) from the edge.
Heart beating wildly (falling still)
as the Earth continues freely (without me)
our bodies are not vital (we move the worlds)
to the order (with our hearts)
of the universe (with our minds)
our words mean nothing (everything)
they cannot change things (they can fix us)
for the better- we're staying broken (for our health, we can heal.)

We can heal
We can die
We can feel
We can try
The very depth, and width of emotions
is a pardox: why feel when most bury themselves with
money.
power.
drugs.
the hours:
running...
down the drain.
(we can heal, we can die, we can feel)
We are alive (we can try)

Free

Above and beyond all reasonable doubts,
held fast and kept on, two hearts beat without
lack of motive; faith holds true and firm.
Justly devoted to a soul that seems to stand by her word.

Bring me evidence, because I've never been tricked before;
bring me conscience: clean, elementally pure.

Snake in the grass, avoiding fires I've set
to smoke the serpent out beyond a shadow of a doubt;
a lingering motive; can faith stand true and firm?
Still devoted to a soul; hanging on her every word.

Webs of lies, spindling like drapes over windows and doors, softening the corners of shapes.
What is this but a fog, shrouding reality in a mist?
I didn't think I'd ever get through it.

You pull me out, beyond all reasonable doubt,
you cast it out: the snake, thrown into the river to drown;
you put stop to fears: like cankers on my soul-
if this lasts for years: it won't ever be long enough.

And like the sun, you burn away the fog
so that I may see the trails that I've walked,
and what lays behind is desecration-
what lies in front is a true foundation:
to build a life on, to build a home upon.
To keep confidence stored
within my confidant.

You saved me.
Believe me.
Pulled the fangs from my body,
washed the wounds and stayed with me.
You set me free.

Prism.

A gray sky keeps solace at bay;
keeps a peaceful soul from comfort.

The blue sky, in memory, brings a smile;
keeps happiness on a short leash.

A smoke-riddled horizon fills the heart with fear.
A tree-filled horizon brings memories, so clear.

A different view from a different world:
a different pair of shoes to fill.

Preach, jest, and command so many things
of those who know no better,
and to those who do not care at all,
without acting in the way of the words being said.
Acting just as selfish as anyone else,
just as useless as anyone else.

A poor soul, pouring time down
a dark hole, watching it run all the way down.

A gray sky calls the kettle black,
pushes the mind over the edge
with no hope of coming back.

A blue sky calls the kettle clear,
pulls the mind back to safety,
whispering, "There is nothing to fear."

A world torn apart by nature;
a world torn apart by nurture.

We are the latter of the two creatures.
A world full of consumers.

Why bat an eyelash when there is something to buy?
Something to save up for?
A job to go to?

Why pay attention when its hard to afford survival?
Hard to believe the Bible?
Hard to keep the eyes closed?

Why give up what is yours when its the fittest fighting for survival?
When the money stays in your homes?
When you steal from those who rebel?

Why give optimism when your world is just a prison?
Just a routine of wakefulness and sleeping?
Just a solid life of taking?

A world torn apart by nature;
a world torn apart by structure:
worlds torn apart by disasters.

The Shepherd.

Some would just as soon eat their young
than cry wolf out loud,
rather than asking for help with some
problem they can't face.
Without
a little help, a little hope.
A pocket full of pills,
or a tightly-noosed rope.
Others would cry wolf before trouble even arrives.
Before the culprit commits the crime.
To make haste of the imperative,
to lay waste to the incentive.

Why cry 'wolf!' when you are the wolf?
You'd just as soon kill your own
than let your weakness be known.

Why scream 'run!', when you are the sheep?
A tattered fluff of white on the hillside by moonlight.

How could you know any better?
How could you know any better...
when you were never taught a different way,
when the sights you'd seen were the same you've seen today?
The same old scene, as old as tales can be;
an enduring tale received through tradition;
a classic tragedy.
Around the fire, you would learn of the wolf:
feared in the night, but banished in the light,
as if you were unable to be harmed;
and slowly, you become the sheep, going along to get along,
unaware of the real dangers in your life,
of the reality of the wolf's charms.

Its smile invites you.
Its tail hypnotizes you.
Its eyes enthrall you.
Its mind entraps you.
(Oh, what big teeth you have!)

But don't give in, despite the misinformation: you are strong;
don't let the words in your head, echoing, tell you any wrong-
because the truth is: every heart has a power of its own,
unable to be tapped into by outside forces joined together or risked alone.

Don't give into the arid, hazel-green light
reflecting from the eyes of the wolf
as the sun begins to give you sight through daylight,
don't let it talk you into its mouth;
and if it should wraps its jaws around you: struggle until you get out.

You're not the prey, but the hunted:
there is a difference.
The prey are caught; captured;
the hunted: are only chased after.
You may feel the teeth abrading the surface of your skin:
but be thankful, at least, that you can feel, and that the wolf cannot win.



You are not the sheep, but the Shepherd,
a voice going mostly unheard,
and the Shepherd watches all, and watches with great interest;
aware that the strength in mortal beings is worth the tactful distance.

Keep In Mind.

It's almost like sleep has no meaning, it loses its grip on me and leaves me seeing
the light of the world altered by night, as the moon rises high above me tonight.
I'll ask the trees if they ever miss their leaves, if they feel any need to know the concept of greed
beneath the sky turned from the brightest blue into a lamp-black canvas.

The whispering sigh of the wind rushing by, pushing drifts of snow through the streets,
keeps me hopeful when the sun's rising looks millenia away.
And the barren trees still speak to me, despite the lack of leaves: they still sway.
The wind is their voice, and in that wind I hear a fragile voice say:

"If you're terrified of what's to come, because you cannot see around the bends:
keep in mind you're not alone, and at the very least you have someone to hold your hands.
If you're worried that the world won't slow, or you won't be fast enough,
for you to get to where you need to go: keep a level head and keep your chin up.
There's no need to worry about those things over which you have no control;
it happens to everybody: getting overwhelmed, getting sick, getting old.

Keep in mind you are not alone."

Mountains and Bridges, Shaman and Witches

Together: mountains are mole hills;
apart: our tears are like oceans.
Bridging gaps without haste.
Tight-rope bridges being replaced.

Nails are loose, struggle is strong.
Nevertheless, we carry on.
Rivets and iron do hold
more tightly than we could have known.

Witches and curses, shaman with voodoo,
consequences adhered to by youth;
supersition without admisson.

Talk of betrayal best left behind.

Trust thrown away!
(Through their admission!)
Lies make them famous!
(Through their admission!)
A moment of weakness!
(A thoughtless condition!)
*Through their admission!*

Snapshot.

The sun sets and lights the skyline like a torch,
a moment seen over a thousand times before,
and yet it stops me dead, as if it were the first time.

The artist me is struggling to come out,
but all it ever sees is beauty where there is doubt.
Where shadow trumps light, it feeds from the image;
an apt oversight, where ignorance becomes priviledge.

The scientist in me is in the same boat,
but instead of seeing beauty, it tries to rationalize love.
Where the water reaches the shore, where sand touches
the grass, the pebbles and rocks: it screams
'These things have come from the past!'
And beyond all it sees, lies emptiness,
so much for depth;
a stillness behind the playhouse curtain,
atuned to the rational, useless- not adept.

The child in me cries for comfort from cold,
and when the world starts to breathe:
it takes shelter in its hole.

The self cannot judge itself without harshness,
a blind discomfort to all that is contained within the conscious.
"Let's talk you!" "No! Let's talk me!"
A supple young shyness
overcast by the slyness
that all may yet hold,
we're all bows without arrows
until someone comes near,
and threatens our dear hold on ourselves:
what if we lose ourself in another?
Does that make us a weapon
for one brother to kill another?

Bows turned to arrows;
sticks turned to knives;
coals turned to fire;
curiosity turned to lies:
we're all capable of evolving-
evidence has been found-
but this does not me we have to
continue to break the very ground
with our hammers and chisels;
drills and shovel heads.
Some of us are victims, others are culprits;
some of us are living, while others are dead.

American Nomad.

From A to B we take flight,
daring ourselves to live life.
Pencils down, the test is through.
The basics of comfort are lost to you.

Home is a box between the streets,
a narrow place where the buildings meet.
Test was failed, the trap's been set.
Money and power far above your head.

Work/ every/ single/
day of your life,
just to find
a scrap here and there,
a meager shelter to share.
Work/ every/ single/
day of your life,
just to find
another cross to bear,
a little comfort;
two hands making a pair.

When winter comes,
a fire is all you can ask for.
When summer shines
its burning sun upon you:
all you can ask for
is a bottle of water,
or rain to cool the skin,
until autumn blows
its sallow, germ-ridden wind.

And pray for spring!
Where frost starts to melt,
the flowers are a shelf
for hope to lay its weight down!
Where bees start to buzz!
Where trees start to bud!
Where life can be loved!

Hold on tight,
don't be weighed down by the winter snow's weight,
don't be blown over by the winds of autumn,
don't be burned up by the suns of summer.
Hold fast until spring
and the renewal it brings.