Moving Mountains

I see you,
Flawed masonry,
Quibbling over pebbles,
Pushing life’s boulders uphill,
A sorry little Sisyphus,
Eroded and marred,

But I truly see you,
Unlike those with sand in their eyes,
There is yet seismic activity within you,
You are a tectonic force,
Wiping the smirks from cliff faces,
Making molehills of mountains,

There are alpine ranges in your path,
It’s true,
We all have our peaks to climb,
But keep true to yourself,
Be the tumult beneath the Earth,
And you’ll sweep them aside like so much dust.

Peace Treaty

The year begins,
And something undiplomatic hits me,
A tumultuous thought comes,
A violet lightning bolt,
An unwelcome item on the docket,
Why not learn to forgive?

I try,
Yet the emotion dare not come,
I am no diplomat,
Not some meek emissary,
It shall not happen,
Even if barbarism be considered my virtue.

Angst

There is so much angst in the world,
Unbridled rage,
Anger without outlet,
Poisoning every well,
It certainly paints a sorry picture,
The worst shades of crimson,
If life do indeed be a game,
Then it’s a bloodsport,

Like toddlers,
We push each other over,
Down on to the oil-drenched sandpit,
Toy soldiers and Raggedy Ann’s,
We tear each other down,
And for what?
To receive a more opulent grave?
In the same grave dirt?

Starspawn

We were spawned of stardust,
Brought forth as stellar entities,
All of us,
You and I,
You are both deity and vassal,
Creator and created,
The heavens and every atom on Earth,
Everything,

When you blink,
Suns die and are born,
When you think,
You propel comets out into the cosmos,
When you breathe,
Nebulae pulse and unfurl,
And when you expire,
It is as matter to a black hole,

The void holds you,
Never succumb to despair,
Never give up,
For you child,
You are one with the universe,
You are starspawn.

Drowning

I’ve been drowning in you,
Salt all over me,
My breath taken,
You’re the sun above the surface,
Out of reach,

In my thrashes,
The tide of the moment fills me,
My throat and lungs strain,
I reach out feebly,
You’re still there,

I’m almost gone,
I feel hands on my wrenching form,
Th suns rays are around me,
When your red lips touch my blue,
The bubbles stop.

Mercurial

I’m somewhat mercurial,
A revenant of flesh,
I drift about as if on a breeze,
Missed calls and messages on read,
I’m a periphery person,
Never in true focus,
Ever on the outside,
I’ll be a stranger to a friend one moment,
And a friend to a stranger the next,

My whims deviate on a dime,
I’m not duplicitous,
Not double-dealing,
No ill will do I intend,
My mood and soul are just pulled all over,
Dragged as if by shifting tides,
To each cardinal direction,
Wishing for solitude in one breath,
And longing for companionship the next.

In The Back

We’ve all been stabbed in the back,
Either by our own mind or by another,
Either by past or personage,
The heat is the same,

It changes you,
Mutates you,
It turns your blood to acid,
In turn calcifying you to the outside,

It will influence you before you know it,
As if a dark spirit was bestowed on you,
Inevitably it leads you to pay it forward,
Malice is an universal human trait after all,

My friends,
I sympathize of course,
Betrayal is a hell of a narcotic,
And spite is the chaser.

Pall of Wrong

A rather foul pall has fallen,
On my mind and mood,
A fog over every facet of my life,
Something just feels wrong,
Like everything out of focus,
An insidious change of perception,
With no explanation,

The skies seem ever more grey,
Even as they glow blue,
Ambrosia and champagne in my mouth,
Tastes as bland as dust,
Social plans are as hounds,
Pursuing me as frightened prey,
The best things in life going somehow incorrect,

In the lukewarm winds of time,
I hope this pall shall blow away,
For it’s no way to exist,
To feel innately wrong.

Poor Fool

There once was a rather quaint man,
Who was something of a fool,
Not of the royal court variety you understand,
But a fool of innocent folly,
A little touched perhaps,
Clumsy in the extreme,
Yet this clumsiness was somehow blessed by Plutus,
Received of some idiotic luck,

He would trip into the best outcomes,
Face-first into free change and treasure,
He’d bump his head and always recall the way,
Fumble words in just the right manner,
The tears in his suit would flaunt his best features,
A simple jester of modern life,
An honest dunce he was,
It was a pity what befell him,

Luck always runs out.

Crystalline Sky

That time at the lake,
As the mist looked on expectedly,
When I cried sad crystals,
And they flew skyward,
Joining hands with constellations,
It was then that I knew,
As my eyes still spilled celestial ink,
That the night sky was built on hurt lovers,
Cosmic beauty derived from pain,
The night was an anthology of romantic tragedies,
A sky of stories,
A landscape painting of bloodily cut diamonds,
Bled on to the firmament by the brush of our tears.