Seven Years…

March 16^th, 2009

Can I wait for an affair?

Can I wait for him to die young?

Arrive as the rescuer returned

Somewhat forgotten

But never had longing lusted.

Conversations upon confidence.

Your adaptations,

Watching stars from the shadows,

Patiently counseling pride

Believing it to someday bloom prudence,

And eyes to see you.

Can I now confess?

Is time against such words?

Always you have been admired,

For spirit,

For faith,

For speech and thought,

For kindness and love,

You worked to bridge my great divide,

To welcome me to you.

I wasn’t ready for you,

Or I wasn't ready for it.

My watch got away;

Our Time left before I knew.

If such a moment,

Unwanted yet unexpected,

Sounded the alarm,

Distant but true,

I’d ask you

What are your dreams?

What is your future?

What is ours?

When you got a cat,

I was skeptical.

Now I understand.

Too late.

Will I Be Satisfied

May 10^th, 2009

By a Desk Job,

Making schedules and phone calls galore?

A dark room lit by an induced screen?

Paper by brads with phone in hand?

Placing scrims to block light I’ve just purposed?

Emissions to ease lack of sleep by cappuccino?

To further an image of stereotypes, exploitation, impossibilities, narcissism, and glory?

Years of waiting

Clawing

For the silver opportunity

That most never get,

While envy and doubt surmount.

It comes to facts of personal being

Or at least its displacement by bravado

Or earnestness.

Do I like constant warfare to be original?

Do I like skipping several nights of sleep to work on crappy projects?

Do I like driving to subsist?

Do I want to make a name more than a difference?

Community dependency can be found in both

This place and the one called home,

But this one has more opportunity for burning,

And that one less potential for a match.

Do I want to learn something useful for the days to come?

Do I want to thrive instead of flounder?

Do I want space contracted

Or at least thinned?

Do I want to help the ever increasing,

Never to cease,

Dying of want,

By providing the water of life

And fields of plenty?

Money does come near:

Providing time for the page and the world;

Ability to help friends in need

While keeping the level of life you’ve known.

Less creative,

Maybe.

More substantial,

Definitely.

Turning what is held into hobby won’t kill

Like the chase of the occupation will.

Grabbing onto the dream

Gone across town,

Rounding the corner again

Would lift life past limitations

To the path which was

Former and naive

Into remastered Technicolor

With the director calling the cuts.

The Dilemma Is

October 12^th, 2010

My thoughts are dancing,

Mixed and cohesive as light

Bringing viscous tension

And stalled deliberation,

One thought no greater

Than another in the pursuit

Of a direction.

Life stops.

Opportunity missed.

Time squandered.

Work dilapidated.

Realtionships deteriorated.

Death no different

Than a delinquent decision.

Even on the darkest days

When the bucket is near dry

Dabbing the runny nose

And dampening the burn

Will start the brush drawing

To defense of divine dedication.

Death-defying diligence demands

Drowning the daunting danger

That duty is distant or dainty;

Deliver the last light

That has not diminished

To drain the devoid,

Decry the depraved,

Dismiss the years of depression and disregard;

The deluge of detrimental drudgery

Will be dammed.

In this drought decorate

One in definition and decorum

Of delicious decency,

The delicacy of discretion

And delight.