Mining the underside

I'm re-evaluating my footing, and the shoreline on which I stand,
watching waves slide in and slide out,
slide in and slide out
over my imprint that changes in the shifting sand.
I collect all the shells that are strewn on the path,
empty of life but beautiful to look at,
beautiful to remember, to smile, and to laugh...
and I am aware of what I have become.

I'm as frightened as I ever was, and as confident...
my failures persist on impromptu visits,
as if I needed a reminder, and my heart repents
for beating in strange rhythms like this.

But I must dig into the walls of this cavern,
and the collapsing sand that fills in the hole,
because the tide is coming in again,
as it always washes in again.

Life, Death, and Everything in Between

Born on a Monday night, died on a Wednesday morn.
Reincarnated with every breath, each release,
Every transition a person can make at warp speed.
Done once, twice – fine for a while, but then
A third, fourth, fifth – accelerating, spinning
Sixth, seventh time – to realize it’s only the start
Of this cyclical pattern of self-resurrection.

Met on a Friday night. Dined on a Saturday.
Roses ensued, as did wine and pet name for me.
Conversations swirl about in non-sequitor interests.
My heart overflowing with the sea, lips turned from the river.
Your eyes covered from the sting of the coming eclipse.
We flutter like locusts on a field of ourselves,
Doing more harm with our song than hanging silence.

Fell in a Tuesday room. Left in a Thursday box.
Wrapped hastily to give to any begging hand
But then stop and wait, burning time like a match
Blow and it’s gone that quickly. It weighs down
After a while on these limbs, these bones, this heart
Only to discover a force within to spark light
To engulf this box, this room, this frame, this clock.

Born in a fever’s grip. Died when my hands stole its breath
Fought for sophomoric gambles, like my wager first time around
All for survival to see if the late show is better,
Yet Darwin never vouched for his neighbor’s estate.
It’s all a game to test one’s will and strength.
Go over the bridge, slide under the poles and plunge
Deep into the streams that only empty in the sea.

Of God and Man

Illumination, but not enlightenment,
from such brilliance hailed in dark hours -
Sophomoric assumptions of thoughts well-spent,
but conclusion in controversy sours.
Technical mind, commissioned cogs and wheels,
serving progress like an avenger
of the archaic mills and faith that steals
common sense, so say the faithless defender.
And if God be real, where were our hours spent?
Would He mind that the illusion was thought grandeur?
Science has overthrown that Intelligent
Design; still - what proof have they to be sure?

(inspired by the recent auction of Einstein's "God" letter)

The Trouble with Bleeding

We purge ourselves of sinful indulgence,
Of heartache, neglect and regrets we’ve not welcomed.
Flash in a dream what we were in a past life;
The heaviness weighs like an impending sentence.
To all that we’ve seen through the eyes of the Devil,
And all that we’ve done in this life we’ve unravelled,
There’s some spark of light if we’ve known love’s existence,
There’s truth in the heart that no man’s mind creates.
Spirits entwine playfully in the absence
Of rules and constructions of other men’s games.
We bleed ourselves trying to live for tomorrow,
To survive and to find the labyrinth’s gate.
Innocence lost like spoiled confections
Years long ago at the least chosen moment.
All these things rush like blood to the membrane,
All of these things I cared not to say,
Washing me clean to myself as I once knew.
Let it rush through now – I’m calm and awake.