Horizons Won

Here, one of each, and each of one;
Strings of crystals and water drops.
The space between the sky and stars;
A sinking Moon and swimming Sun.
To build without the touch of hand,
To see without vision’s burden,
Not to direct, but to create,
Not to construct, but yet to paint.
Every color in, every line gone.
Every sense blind, every sight true.
To leave body behind in faith,
To melt into ether and grace.
Here, one of each, and each of one;
Strands of timeless, silent thoughts.
To see how near we stand,
Violent shifting sands,
Illusions gone.
Visions drawn.
We are
One.

Hush

So now you know,

how thick the darkness is;

how heavy it rests

upon the chests

of those who sit alone.

How lucky, blessed!

You’ve traced your steps;

pressed by lonely, growing regrets.

You’ve passed the test.

I now profess, “Welcome home, honored guest!”

Pre-pleasantries, I must confess.

You’ve nothing left, save disease.

Your estates been cleaned

of all that gleams;

windows and doors,

and all between,

but hush!

Hush, don’t make a scene.

All the glowing eyes agree:

There’s nothing worse than being seen.

I plead:
Relax your neck,
Roll back your head,
Think of how
you’ll soon be dead.

Now, hush.

You’ve had your chance.

Hush.

Valley Shade

The pain is real. The fear is real. The shame

is real. But, the future and the past, they

are not. This day, at the bottom of the valley,

between two steep slopes, is battered by

rolling threats of tomorrow and sliding scars

of yesterday. Mass wasting will someday level

this perverted landscape. But, why wait?

Why not just give up the illusion? Or not.

The shadows may shorten the days but,

at noon in the valley, the sun will mockingly

pass overhead and warm our faces.

Gone until tomorrow. Remembered always.

The Rebel

Having to become new; we detest it.

Pouting like children at the prospect

of having our toy taken away: our identity.

this sense of “me.” Our security.

We rebel, but against what?

Only abstractions of frightening futures

and chilling pasts. We build a mask

to hide it. So no one can find it.

No one can come near.

“It’s mine.” It’s personal. A challenge,

an embarrassment, a shame. Really,

we never change. We just complain

and refuse to accept that something might be better

than all the secrets that we’ve built.

Our pride.

Field Notes

It’s a mind-body connection problem. The PTSD

of a life-threatening addiction. The weight

of a depressive condition. The prison

of insanity. We have to face the truth

We have to find direction.

Having a reference point is helpful but,

it kills the romance. Sanity as a goal, a place; it’s

quite the commitment. Really kills the moment.

It simply orders, “This way to good, this way to right.”

And so we cling to our petty rebellions,

our egos and our lust. Eyeballing the fantasy

of healing and growth, while not having the courage

to ask it on a date. Too scared to fall in love.

Too weak to love ourselves.

So, the balance tips, the chest deflates.

Virtues decay.

And we’re left sitting, anxious.

Alone.

Separate Shores

Remember the night we drowned?
It was the intensity that drew us in.
We kept swimming deeper and deeper,
until the lights faded.
All I could see was your face,
and your fingers in front of mine;
floating, open, waiting to intertwine.
We were one.
Two souls fused, sinking deeper and deeper.
I suppose we thought, at the bottom,
perhaps there was a membrane;
something we could pass through.
A portal to somewhere new.
You know as well as I do;
no such luck.
Just a gentle slope leading deeper still.
Darker still.
But, we landed softly,
and I touched your nose to mine.
Close enough
to look into your eyes.
It was so dark.

But, in those glistening globes,
I saw my answer:
“No, I can go no further.”
Nor could I.
So, we sat and watched the horizon
marching forever away,
and died that night,
as the lake froze over.
The currents swept us away
to one day wash up
on separate shores.

I left my soul down there,
and I know you did too,
for I saw them;
orbiting each other,
like children playing,
as our fingers slipped apart
and our souls were lost
in the dark;
in the depths.