Like the Moon.

Modeled after what, I could not tell;
the moon's construction a mystery.
Harboring signs so hard to read,
months spent wasting time and energy.

The tide comes in and goes back out;
the only purpose able to be conceived.
Pressure changes as we spiral 'round
the sun, itself; our center of being.

Every thirty eves, the sun reveals the pale cataract of the moon,
sealed together like a button or a pearl,
smooth in appearance, but just as rough as any other world.
So quick to judge, we once saw faces
with the passing days and the seasons,
discontent with our own graces,
we created demons in the night sky to blame when
all was not well, and amiss;
when we couldn't sleep,
when we were pissed;
we made up phantoms like any child,
and then chased them away with our lights.

And all the while: we built our homes with steady hands,
superstition running rampant through all the land.
And each day we saw a part of ourselves slip away,
and let those pieces fade, into the wind and the sea;
in favor of machines,
in favor of logic.
In favor of rationale instead of promise.
In favor of equations and solid "proof"
instead of creativity and love and truth.

So like our moon, we've revolved into shadow,
the sun missing us entirely.
And while in this darkness, we have lost the will to inspire
both one another and ourselves; and we're growing tired.
But, like the moon, we'll become ripe and full again;
give it time, my beautiful family...
just give it time, my friends.

A Rareity.

Money is short, but someone's pockets are lined.
Although, my pockets are empty most of the time.
It never ceases to amaze me how I waste my time, and the money I've earned and taken, with thanks, from my job, and those I love.
It's a joke.
Good grief, I've given up so much of my time, and so much that I've earned in the sake of escaping what I've ran from for so long during my days on this earth.
The world.
There's no escaping reality, no matter how much fiction I watch on the t.v.
No matter how many different books I read.
No matter how much I do of anything.
I've given up on giving up;
it's time to learn, and grow, and improve
my very being, to uproot my very conscience;
to provide my soul with a tourniquet, and to up the dosage of fresh air and lovable memories.
For purposes unbeknown before this very day, this very minute,
I have tried to turn a cold shoulder on life.
Now, it's time to come out from the inside,
and ride my bike.
To play my instrument of choice.
To keep a steady hand in endeavors from a moral, obligatory, and financial standpoint; in all different manners and aspects of my life.
Time to keep a straight course, to plan, budget, and succeed.

Time to grow up a bit.

Spinning Blue Marble.

Whatever happened to the bond between
mother and daughter,
father and son; sisters and brothers?
Was there ever anything there to begin with?

This Earth is small, on the surface,
but so much goes on below our cities,
and our streets;
so much between the meager hours
of 12 noon and 3pm E-S-T
happens beneath our feet...
and above our heads,
and how much of it do we realize
is happening, without losing our heads?
There's no cause for aggression,
no cause for attacks in the name
of preservation.
Sure we all need to do our part, to keep this planet from falling apart,
but if there's any sort of order in this universe,
if anything is ever planned, ever guessed at, ever seen:
then whatever does that planning, should it possibly exist,
will do as it will with us; as it sees fit.

No matter how we treat ourselves,
no matter how we treat each other,
it is important to stand by family,
to keep close to mothers, fathers, daughters,
sons, sisters, and brothers.

There's a world out there.
A whole world out there.
There's a world out there,
just beyond that door.
A whole world out there,
a rose unfurling without prejudice,
without fear, without judgment,
with only nature's grace.
There's a world out there,
a whole world out there.
There's a world out there
that can say it's not ashamed.