A Window for a Mirror

Once there was a desk

That would show you what you wanted

In the mirror towering above.

When a thought worth thinking appeared,

It was seen as his face.

Good thoughts developed smiling days.

Others dug lines at arrogant eyes,

Looks only as handsome as an original thoughts,

While ideas orbit the same nose chin ears

Allowing prediction of season

Knowing a mind’s warm productivity

And halting freezes, no wrinkle or glow

Unexpected by a stifled imagination.

Then the mind wondered.

What lies beyond the planets?

To see the world as it had been

And continued being.

Then the mind dreamed

Of what was unremembered,

Imagining that which it didn’t believe,

Recalling the unknowns of a universe

With chaos and a broader center.

As the heavens broke into a thousand

Reflecting pieces, he saw in a jagged shining sea

The endless possibilities of a world outside

Of himself, found in a face that will ever change

In the lights of the sun at a desk placed

With a view through a window showing

Inspiration from without, hoping for lines yielded

From more happiness than not.

Once inspired, the mirror was replaced to find

Courage to gain life through window’s transparent

Glass. Allow the spheres to break, the firmament

To fall, and find roaming grasslands

Grazing yonder to yonder

A world of vistas displaying beauty

And pain, not in vain.

Why Do We Spend Our Lives

With people we care nothing for?

We provide for one love

Because of another love, but no others

Are aloud in this ring. Possession

To the one who can handle this selection—denial.

The conversation around the table

Sends you to thinking of the others,

Who spent all their feelings

By honest, bursting hearts

To vanish from your life

To never be revived, saved—destroyed.

Suicide Series, Part VII

David Bazan once sang

That it’s hard to be a decent human being,

But its hard to just be

A human being.

Love is the reason,

As culprit of woes—As creator of boons.

Parents who love, fall out,

Friends you loved leave life,

You don’t love those who love you,

You love those who can’t return it.

Confusing is knowing who you love,

And how it keeps its vigour.

There’s fire on the ridge,

It’s coming this way.

Where are His clouds

When wells are dry

And rivers run a trickle?

We are but a breath in fragile skin.

Suicide Series, Part VI

There’s fire on the ridge

And the stars are losing luster.

I have planted my fields.

I have kept the surface covered.

I have amended the soil with great care.

The workers are paid, fit,

Hoes cleaned, blades sharp,

We wait to watch seeds grow.

But you are like a leopard in the bushveld.

I look for you but I do not find you.

You are laying in the cedar, cooling

From the day’s heat.

If you come it is at night,

When I lightly sleep

For another day's toil under that sun.

Waiting in sweat,

Breathing in smoke,

I am here,

In my field, attending,

Until over yonder, clouds

Do I see, the rains for a man

Who lives in earnest.

Suicide Series, Part V

I feel the wind through my fingers

As I ride with the windows down

I feel the wind on my face as I think

Of you on a bike, riding with views.

If all is chasing after the wind

then I will chase after it too

and the calm, cool relief it often brings.

In chasing the wind, maybe I will again see you.

I won’t stop driving until I do.

You will be a Senator in the life to come,

showing us the way to be rooted in love,

and there we all will dwell

where joy will abound,

the loss of you lessening ours.