Shallow lands

What have I built?

When stones borrowed

And cement stolen. 

When land inherited 

And never bought. 

When plans mimicked 

And tools gifted. 

What have I built that is my own?

What cruel joke

 to give man free will 

and nothing of their own. 

Whither

She took pride in her bones. 

I asked if she liked her white hair. 

She told me with a soft breath.

Her father had it.

Her mother had it. 

She said some day I would have it. 

White hair means there is hope

With her it's apparent. 

Wither away with dignity

I take pride in my bones. 

Cross fades

Life dances in the shadows of the afternoon. The golden concrete radiates with summer brightness. 

My thoughts, louder than the music playing all around me. 

I sink into my chair.

 Melt away in the afternoon. 

Evaporate into the sky at dawn..

Reemerge as dew on blades of grass in the morning. 

The wind returns with a soft burst of silence.  

A gentle soliloquy 

Bare Feet

At the cusp of dawn

(Before the mesmerizing metastasis of suburbia) bare feet left imprints on the soft, cold sands of time. Men with nowhere to go, with nothing to aspire toward looked up in awe. 

God wore a veil of infinite space. 

Stitched within it the legends of man's new heroes. Bare feet became clothed and the pyres of warmth became pyres of glory. 

      Screaming into the sky.

An implication of desire. Crying widows.

The understated consequence of wanting. The shrill prospect of warring brothers. 

Boots now rip into the desert sand. 

The night is daunting now. 

Gods absent in the sky. Heroes; shattered into a million pieces. What is left of them obscured by the cancerous phosphorescent lights of man's ambitious monoliths    

Touch Base

Seams have formed around the bulbus tenure of lost sheep. 

My curious heart builds towers of intrigue. 

I want a new haven. 

Saintly, unworn. 

The lonely catacombs of reluctant heroes.  

The fire god sings on his day of leisure. 

The wary clouds speak his name. 

May the orange light of her misanthropic wonder shine over the sad, temerarious darkness of the night. 

Half of the cycle is complete. 

Destruction begets kindness. 

The art of war sprang from passionate love.       

 

Pockets of sunshine.

Once you look into the abyss. 

How could you look back with any sympathy? 

Once you see the deep, dark caverns of man's conscious mind. How would you then see his plight and think it undeserved.

The rain comes from the sky. 

Cement never smelled so sweet.  

 

The upright daisy

The flower birthed from the sky, 

harmonious, symbolic.

loquacious . 

In tones of yellow and green. 

Persephone's cursed fruit.  

Consumed without a second thought. 

Doom brought upon the winter. 

Darkness set for many years to come.

No one else to blame.