Lockdown

Silence reigns through the streets afresh
dust particles carry aimlessly across the city
empty plastic bags, surgical masks, dirt
searching for concrete to settle upon
drifting from street corner to sidewalk

The atmosphere is weakened to static
air drained of its potency
an occasional stranger crosses the road
head lowered in pursuit of an unknown destination
a place that they are increasingly uncertain to reach

We are covered in our protections
jackets, masks, gloves, half prepared for it all
shielded from the elements through the strength of experience
the world stays true to its eternal promise
to never remain the same for long

The good old days appear more the brighter
the future a bleak prospect of ambiguity
minds waste in a slow simmer
fixed upon the sights of society’s skeleton
the bones of our foundation shivering for all to see

An ode to spring

Spring rears its head
within the entrails of eyesight
the clear signs of the season refreshed anew
soaked in the splashes of gleaming sunlight

Pedestrians gathering in their glow
for a show of seasonal beauty
the weather warms to degrees most pleasant
to start the cycle’s endless duty

I run my fingers over the skies so clear
every inch of blue an opening into the infinite
touching the trees and grass so vigorous
the season of growth continues to define the intricate

Through the cold and wet darkness
we emerge prevailing in seasonal shifts
I wipe my eyes clean for freshness redeemed
novelty proceeds with winter a few miles adrift

The embattled

The wings upon our backs are frayed
battered by the storms of sentence
refusing to disappear into dust
still unwilling to return
rejuvenated with touches of hope and trust

We cannot carry on
with the burden of weighted flight
living and learning
rejecting the disappearance
of our ability to balance left with right

Blindfolded is the march
upon the edges of a cliff so steep
we are unsteady at the highest
these wings unbiased
the heart of the journey is ours to keep

The steel beds of winter

Upon the beds of grass
are the simple reliefs of solitude
each sleepy moment
a victory entrenched in nature

The horizon of old trees
cold preserving life
holding onto the land
steeped in wintry night

I sprawl without care
in the throes of the season’s grasp
gazing at the stars through frozen breath
back stretched against the hardened mud

The constellations in the sky are vast
sprinkled without order
winter seeps into the surroundings
whisking away passing breath

I lay in the arms of the season
coddled by wind and ice
silenced by a sequence of heartbeats
and the reflections the moon recites

Creating

Within the hands of creation
are jewels laced with infinite wisdom
experience bartered for paper
produces stories of endless possibility

The thoughts churned into refined words
raw emotion exchanged for concise sentences
the art of constructing is layered in delights
words are the engine of vehicles loaded with insights

The pen is made with intentions of expression
not to be confined by the weights of suppression
to build a world requires patience and imagination
upon the fingers of artists are often stains of perspiration

Days spent in solitude for the sake of art
hours upon hours labored to perfect what we start
dreamers and doers blend deep into the mixture
working with care to create blends of the right texture

Creators wish to work magic with a sway of the arm
honing and perfecting works loaded with charm
the guts of practice are patience and dedication
with hopes of reaching new heights of artistic elevation

State of the union

The words upon my chest entangled
holding closely to the heart
tear sentiments to destruction
a world obstructed
ripped apart  

The papers of our existence
have been burned
thoughts packaged and caged
meaning trampled
flattened, forgotten and spurned

Faces upon faces
lost in the fray
a détente fallen to pieces
the human understands
despair descending upon the day

The burial of society
no longer bemoaned
owning up to failures
no more virtuous
the weeds have taken root and grown

Within this wilderness
I gasp and clutch a crushing weight
I tussle with futile words
addressing the absurd
eyes wide open in such a solemnly state

The pulse of silence

Are not the saddest of songs
the sweetest of melodies?
In the darkest of times
a remedy for the soul

The kindest of words
the smallest of gestures
go a long way
whispered into the unknown

In the absence of sound
the accompanying silence
puts an arm around your shoulder
begging for patience

When words are stifled
homes are void
the humming of the world
paused without notice

Opening the windows to the universe
the tunes filter in
plugging into our hearts so blue
to beat in harmony so true once again

A journey

This never went how it was supposed to
through the ups and downs on the roads of life
through the ins and outs of circumstances
we knew little to nothing about

We felt our way in the darkness
our hands gripping for the switch on a bulb
to show us the light in our ways
and expose the paths to understanding

We planned every detail
only for it all to fall apart
We improvised in the worst of times
only to find the brightest of days
trapped in the clutches of destitution

The ideal self never manifested
misery prolonged
never lasting long enough to overcome us

Our toes dipped in the pools of hardship
while our fingers touched over the surfaces of bliss
We gathered ourselves through the days and nights
a step at a time through peace and fight

The shape of my heart

The heart begs for its many needs
one after another
for comfort and care
for much it cannot truly bear

The torn pieces of the soul
float around the body with blood
engulfing the entire being swiftly
swallowing pieces of our emotions so sickly

The determined pursuit of desires
wishing nothing more than to touch tomorrow
wanting what cannot be afforded
yearning for satisfaction not accorded

Mirages of our wishes satisfied
hold many brightly colored oases
when bruised and beaten to batter
the heart often finds what truly matters

The burden of experience

The wheels wishing surrender keep turning
circling the earth with strength
Here I sit upon the lawns of the prodigal
hoping to conserve a piece of myself

If I could climb the tallest of mountaintops
wade through the deepest of murky ocean waters
I would have little but cold and wet skin
as a memory of the experience

The steps taken to tread the world
to rid the self of misery and misfortune
leave blisters upon the hearts of the travelers
unnoticed by the bodies of the suffering

I am numbed to the touch
to the feelings holding onto the grave
for those who brave the darkness of the forest at midnight
are those who see the trees as clear as day