A Change of Plans

‘A Change of Plans’

Theres a storm that rages in my mind
A wind thats whirling all the time
It shakes the shutters with my stutters,
Yet dormant, resides behind
The lies I paint my face to find
A peace, a place to buy some time
To calm the writhing tides insie
That erode the stairs as I try to climb.

But each step I take does nothing,
But exacerbate the suffering in which I swim,
The constant tug of war within – that crashes down
Like waves on a white flag bearing beach –
So I tread the water, but I fear I may sink,
Because every time I stop to think, to catch my
Breath, to simply blink the blank stare of defeat
Away,to try to find the strength to stay, my head
Sinks down below the crest, the water trickles down
Inside my chest, filling the emptiness inside with
A Sinister, sweet defeat.
A Fate I never thought I’d meet –
Let alone, with open arms, greet.

 

4.9.16

‘Falling From Grace’ – Draft 1 (3/1/2013)

So lifeless and small – laying down

On the ground

Something once a part of something

Grand and living –

Now just a twig.

On the ground.

Once a piece of nature’s great tower,

A tower so mighty, yet it never makes a sound.

Unless, of course, it too topples down

And lands with a thunderous pound of sound

As it falls down

On the ground.

But much more likely

The stick or branch that spends

Its days up in its tower

Will only singly fall down

On the ground

And then where does it go?

It doesn’t just lay there

Down

On the ground.

No.

The glory the earth graciously gave

Is as quickly lost as it was found,

Silently sinking, without making a sound

That branch – no, stick – no twig

Disappears

Into the ground.

Entry 3. ‘Tawe’s Fountain in Spring’

Wrote this on 3/12/2012, sitting around campus.  It’s hard to connect with all the people you would like to.

In space, you are so near,
Yet in mind, you couldn’t be more far.
Your voice wanders in ear,
Yet your words cannot escape the jar
Whose walls are so crystal clear,
Yet whose lid is tightly sealed with tar.
And then you leave, I fear
Then replaced by one with beauty on par.

I sit here on such a pristine March day,
In the openness of a field of enclosures,
Forced to see all of the beauty around.
Allowed to look upon, but never say —
In a world of wishes without exposures;
In a world of hoping for a chance —
without ever making a sound.

http://voices.yahoo.com/tawes-fountain-spring-11305334.html?cat=2