The ballad of trying to be
In the distance at the fork of a river
Off the coast of Canada, a grizzly stands
He does not need a mysterious forgiver
For he is too simple to do a thing wrong
Long have I longed to be known for
Faults and virtues. To sing of myself and
Leave none in doubt of veracity as I tore
A copy from the account book of the soul
To have a disease which doubts and condemns
To create a mess in the heart so dense
You wish to open the door to show your friends
Air it, get help carrying it all outside
And if showing the truth made them hate you
That would be a fine judgement and an end
You’d hope to love them still no less than due
Sunsets over the windswept cliffs you love. Be here.
It’s morning and the cosmic hand has swept
The cold dark sky and its starlight guards away
Even in the secret chambers of sleep I wept
And the sun won’t change that, yet it is warm
I dream of a paradise that I cannot reach
For I am human and would unmake paradise
At some unimpeachable place they come to teach
Each of the seven bright arts of the gentle-kind
In that place there are flowers and holy lights
Because I want to be there I cannot
And for that yellow-warm light to glow
That place was sealed against all like me
Let me be gentle so when the world is rough
And I pray, heaven won’t see a hypocrite
And I won’t wear the crown of proud white bluff
And if I can’t be gentle, let me not pretend
As my flesh rots my mind lashes out weaving,
light In the void, projects, truths and lies to make
A life after my life. In terror I am heaving
Death is already within me so I run, write, fight
I found you searching for communists that
Also appreciate the swordbearer and wildflower
Cyber dryads led me to where you sat
Algorithm woods before a river of hope
Ibis, peacock, hen and falcon hawk and dove
Skylark, raven, kiwi, albatross and hummingbird
I wish I could open the aviary of my love
But you appraised me and found in me light
We are dying all the time. More or less frantic.
More or less rushed. No less dying still.
We are unbeing, decaying, necromantic
Please hold me till I pass on from this world
The city
The city has its own multi-coloured stars
So I won’t complain that it occludes
The constellations. I never could draw them
Is my heart a city? Is it being gentrified?
The city is the rich, and the poor housed in cars
I might end up either, I might end up neither
But I’ll never be myself or that same river again
Is my heart a city? Am I hungry or replete?
The city still has a few discotheque lit wild bars,
Oases of maybe in a desert of noes
But I never go out anymore, I never go out
Is my heart a city? Are the nimbys winning?
Glide your eyes
Glide your eyes across the blank walls
Like the clutching hands that sink
Beneath the quicksand of doldrums
Searching for purchase on
Perfectly smooth rocks, illegible
To all interpretation and mental essays
Consider a peculiar dimple in the wall
A line or knot in the wood making
Earthbound constellations a practice
As old as buildings- older indeed
Since there have always been caves
The school child and the worker alike
Achieve a state of agitated tranquility
A state that is neither inside nor outside
Time, or rather time becomes an endless
Field- again, without purchase, again in
Repetition, tick, repetition, tick, repetition
It's bloody dull.
Such altered illuminations on the mind's eye
Like a lantern made to cast a special shadow
Can generally only be achieved with illicit substances
But in the schoolyard, the office, the factory
Eternity is free. Oh churlish mind, why do you
Not grant such in the brief hour with friends
In the embarrassingly short minutes of fucking
In the days with a dying mother, or even
The last years of an aged dog's life
You have made eternity unequal in each hour
Until we die, and from that moment on, all divisions
Upon time receive their just allocation of oblivion.
Futility
New shoots
On a fallen trunk
Burns the air
Lightning strikes
Violet swords
Lilac air
Wicked will
A whisper
Justice bent
A whisper
Completion
Fire blue rock
Rose wind silver
Sea ice thought
DePonySum 