Hillsides

The rain come down as it does
The light nowhere, not here, maybe saved to be borrowed for tomorrow
Ominous grey covers, shrouded in cold clouds loving the loud bangs of thunderous rumbles
A man soaked in his black winter attire, wired to his mind the unkind flavors of seasonal surrender

Drenched with every step, wet in his walk up the hills of beauty
A person without duty, bound only to the body truly
Unruly marches for pinnacles to be reached
For mountains to be conquered
For each step to be pondered

But rain so heavy, so formed, so ready
to topple him over
in a walk so unsteady

He continues, as with dusk and dawns
Thrusting himself onto great mountain tops
Unable to stop for a view amidst the lush hillsides and mountainside lawns

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Corners

They march in silence
In scenes of commotion watching
Wondering where they fit
Sitting in darkened corners
Silence plastered on the corners of their lips

Alone again amidst the crowds
Without the making of sentences among the loud
Shrouded in isolation
Dignity filters away to the ways of the disavowed

Spare a thought, afford a word
Broke in company
A joke unheard

Left to their vices
Countless of the lifeless breathe away
Tired and sick
Wishing yet to live on another day

The Windows of Yesterday

Do you remember cold days of December?
The passing seasons of daydreams without reason
Looking out through the windows of youth
Wishing elsewhere not daring to deal with truth

A change will come, has come, and the people have gone
Where might they be? They may come back before long
Wait and wait until they no longer return
Moving on with today for tomorrow cannot be earned

Gazing out into the phasing out of life as it is known
Radical changes and rearrangements in the name of growth
The world is not how it began, how it was, how it will be tomorrow
With less time for sorrow peering out the windows of yesterdays borrowed

Culture

Tense as petrified wood
Bare bodies shudder in shivering states misunderstood
Dense in thought as autumn leaves returning down to their roots
A native man never spared the diversity of his unholy truths

Confined in booths of skin where people no longer mirror
Tempests of terror and the fear of other tiptoeing to not commit racial error
A habitat in eras where purity of skin is akin to success and material good
Never have we left a state degraded by where the imperial once stood

They have moved on and left us where we belong
So long, scorn, and see you tomorrow for you are not yet a bygone
By the names of our winding rivers and fermented livers refusing to move on
A new dawn tattered and torn, a pawn of hope like the Pope kissing new born before sending him down life’s sliding slope

Timeless Defeat

Defeated in purpose by these minutes of surplus
Curses in bold cursive birthing verses frantic and nervous
These pages refuse to serve us, unnerve us in truths and fervor
Left to murmurs of what was before time crushed all upon its surface

Rest assured peace shall not be found
Bound by the rotation of earth and repetition of a world perhaps less profound
Down in our dumps, the thumps leave lasting lumps on our days now numbered and numb
Dumbed down and smartened, disheartened and sensible to a world so duly darkened

Ticking clocks blunting shock stacked upon the building blocks of man
Span wide standing tall with a ball and chain to refrain from pain staking plans
Deafened by mind, threatened in kind from behind walls of the jilted and blind
Yet life finds time within these moments to test what is left in the best our lasting lines

Surfaces

Scratching surfaces
digging in nails
to peel, to cut out
to rout appearance
casting an eye on your inner

A prized winner
skinned, opened
to show the losses, the bruises from brunt of effort
behold a package, perfectly wrapped for pleasure

Growth

Bills gutting the thirst of thrills
Drill into us adulthood until we are gone for good
Cram and claw, jam and saw pieces of discomfort until raw man is overwhelmed in awe

His moaning jaw complains no longer
Stronger in his back, stacked with straws and scars
From afar, he fits
Seldom he sits
Omits reference to self and others
Slowly disappearing into a life so covered

To live in love

The passing tragedy that is the life of others
Is not ours as intact as the first kiss between lovers?

How it is, without a broken heart, to touch lips sealed under moonlit covers
smothered, unconcerned under guises of one another

What it is, to love fully

But those cruelly detached from cupid’s arrows
the marrow of human motive
bound to lessons in humility
living life single in sedentary silences bound to frigidity

Love does not touch all, does not clutch on for long
Does not take us where we truly belong
Does less right than it does wrong

The unopened letters sealed under statements of sentiment
will they open into the arms of others or die away into dust
met with earned distrust
to thrust away the ways of an affection so often unjust

Failure

Lose to gain, the sunlight to rain
Maintain composure, light as leaves grieving the season’s closure

Humans stripped, dignity flipped
Boxed in, shipped out, cut loose, gutted by truth and left out

Fail until the strangled wind in your sails cries foul in your name
Brush off your shoulders, roll over boulders and move aside mountains in toughened states of growing older

You will succeed, you will be great
And the game shall end with a fully chalked slate of determined destiny and acquired fate

A Hopeful Dawn

A hopeful dawn rising in the earth’s distance
layers of fog accumulating; the light not wishing to shine through today
saving the sun, making way for mist
insisting on lasting into the high noon
shrouding us in our steps
clouding around us in the warmth of our breaths