she cries

sadness lingers inside
and stays for awhile

while she leaves the room smiling

cultivate

grow
mending hand
month
water and sun
erect
full of life
wilt
when forgotten
lonely
bent down
watching
flowers blossom
as
it dies

Mist

The morning dew
caution oh spring
flowers
for the wind is chilly
it'll likely cut your head off
if you are not
careful

the saddest silhouette
is the one the sings the most beautiful song
to an empty field
of desolation
in the far reaches of the abyss
where true meaning lies

the world is devoid of that mist
of pristine sorrow
of real pain and suffering and of
love

Those Winter Sundays - Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.breaking. / When In A Ballad of Remembrance (1962), the line between these two lines reads: "and smell the iron and velvet bloom of heat." While this line was deleted, the version in A Ballad of Remembrance is still a sonnet. There are other variants between both versions; mostly relating to where the line breaks.

Whenbreaking. / When In A Ballad of Remembrance (1962), the line between these two lines reads:"and smell the iron and velvet bloom of heat." While this line was deleted, the version in A Ballad of Remembrance is still a sonnet. There are other variants between both versions; mostly relating to where the line breaks. the rooms were warm, he’d call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,

who hadwho had In A Ballad of Remembrance: who’d driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love’s austereaustere Grave, sober; and lacking adornment and lonely offices?


Strong, silent type.....

brothers

cold silence has
a tendency to
atrophy any
sense of
compassion

Its been awhile

A neglected blog is often very quickly forgotten.

The air forsakes us, much like an aborted child given way of free choice.

I say to you this, and I promise you: live once in the shoes of the destitute in the arid, dissolving cactus of abandonment and tell me why you continue the obsessive compulsion to complain? You have a headache, they have starvation. You have a half-cooked meal, they have none.
Yet you continue to lament?

We lament that we have no shoes until we meet a man with no feet. Realization is abhorrently empty without self-actualization and the desire to rectify and embrace.

We travel the road of convenience - cowardice and dismissive of the thorns that pricked our forefathers. Fighting for the sanctity of religion yesteryear; now we quarrel over rights of homosexuals. Is there no shame?

We continue to be the music we hear, the television we watch, the things we eat and the things we own. Assimilation by virtue of progressive pop culture; now the onus is on losing virginity rather than acquisition of social and moral responsibilities.

Intelligent thought is subjugated to defeatism and cynical surrender. Our thoughts belie our nature, but yet conform to collectivism. Packaged to behave in a certain way;

*(disconnected)*

with core issues.

Our opinions are fuelled by misplaced preconceptions: unfounded biases used to project our versions of what we believe to be true- yet knowing how horribly false we all are.

Light is everywhere, yet we choose to be enshrouded in darkness.

The air forsakes us, much like an aborted child given way of free choice.

A neglected blog is often very quickly forgotten.

overrun

Incessant trembling, death lingers.
Gangrene, syringe and a broken promise
A sense of longing, of time lost
Not even winds will carry his sorrow
aloft he hangs from the sky, overrun and
naked