is now so sadly far away,

and increasingly exotic.

What once was my inner peace,

is now a lost puzzle piece,

and now I’m left a half-wit.

To struggle with in the mind is to live on and to progress although it aches as any other growing pain.  A bit of missing knowledge handed forth is the equivalent to mother’s warm hands rubbing those growth pains out of your childhood legs.  So teachers, teach and writers, write.  This is a step that follows the ground where one sits idle moving only to the masters whip within the mind that orders action, recognition, for if refused the possible loss of self leaves that person in regret of their self defiance.  Doubt sets in though at this step, worrying of the relevance each sentence has to others, forgetting why you picked up the pen in the first place.

So the third step awaits as you realize this and continue to write at your whim, at your pace and with out the oppression of fear. Where does it all take you from there is the final question which may not be answered for a time after death as far as your earthbound name is concerned. Yet, there is an unlimited wisdom one finds for them selves when they become literary fencers.  This wisdom may overflow to others, but even if it does not someone has learned.

the rodents scurry past

looking for a feast,

wondering if it will be there last.

While the leaves whisper peace

The patch eyed on the patio,

clever Cleo in the garbage can,

frequently watch through the window,

with a growing appetite for the dining of man.

As a morsel is pulled from a plate

Feline eyes widen and a little tongue lashes,

Something has been decided; I believe a rodent’s fate.

The night rouges disperse in furious flashes.

A dangerous time as the evening gets late

Tomorrow morn, shall find a mouse at my door, and they eggs in their dishes.

Absorbed into the blanket of an intruding cloud

I must say I felt quite bright

When the storm abruptly turned around

But a whisper of raindrops, the sun at late day height

Shade to the east, shaded eyes peering west

Last treatment of rays before a lonely night

It’s my rabbit friend and I again, taking the world in expansion of chest

We become to some an alarming sight

Small surprise slipped in along their way

I ponder the approach of golden hair, I might

Regret the actions of the day

Would have to be one with interests tight

One who radiated without the sun and equal in depth

For the most subtle efforts to surface right

Amongst Sky’s azure and breeze a good breath

The vanquished storm to my delight

The rabbit growing sleepy, nudges me gently

A break in the storm, one of natures invites

My rodent here lures quite quickly

Perhaps a chance for romance by twilight

The winged are calling the settings suffice

Yet in no mood to enter that plight

To venture for love in female fishing strife

No need to fear regrets slow healing bite

Shall relent in no chase, content and at bay

The days more fitting for the flight of a kite

Such a melancholy day with very little to say

Worry not this lonely night

Or those that stare with sunshine hair

All a pleasure, a credit to sight

But with the light on my face, I’m incapable to care

A reflective day, all is right, I shall be alone tonight.

Those who fight for the unborn

are the same who forsake the masses,

Perhaps because the fetus cannot be seen

through they’re green sensitive glasses.

They cry not for the foreign

nor the meek, nor the earth

But when it comes to the unborn

they suddenly realize,

a righteous sense of worth.

Strange, with all so similar,

and your just another

-bird of a color

Diversity is a necessity,

like all the flowers that bloom in the spring

If all were roses of red and stems long,

all would be quite boring

-and to where would we belong?

Many morals practiced subjectively

Easier to see when thinking objectively

Simpletons judge through simplicity

and thought becomes a casualty.

Ignorance is indeed a human trait

-and may decide ones fate

Though a life a humility,

should be enough to fill ones plate.

Understanding is knowledge,

Yet, knowledge not understanding

Can one ever learn

-without blindly interrogating.

An old soul in time,

the one of which is mine,

Feel as if I have seen it all, before

A twist of gut that I know more.

An elderly shadow, and secret scars

triggers of peace, and twinges of war

I think I have seen it all before.

Feeling a heartfelt weight

that I do not withhold,

lost libraries of faded pages

filled with stories left untold.

Mysteries of the soul, may be ones mold.

When things are less alien

than they should consciously be

Pondering what could become,

Are you what you thought you would be?

The sand of the earth

be the only thing a soul may ever really know.

Just because you think you are,

does it actually make it so?

The skin of my soul leaves the story untold and too many it bewilders

To fierce it frights as unknown nights where they see not the burning timbers

Yet I see through all baiting eyes true no matter the maskarade of demeanors.

I am that hooded man in the wooded sitting idle by the fire.

It isn’t quite clear that it’s safe to come near, for I might make you a liar.

If this is your doubt then don’t give a shout, of foolish fear I quickly tire.

Best to walk on, for I rather you gone and all those who shun the mirror.

But the scratchy voiced corpse of a pawn.

But, the dollar bill, the big bertha

Bombing the word with buyouts.

For them, with no will, it goes no further,

Though the mothers of the slain cry out.

Security for sale, come and get it!

The government is coming to getcha.

If that’s security, I don’t feel it,

but the children sure do I betcha!

The rolling rock of capitalism,

Cannot be deaf to wisdom.

Life, not meant to be bought or sold,

yet fatter wallets bid for all our souls.

On our lives, is on which they thrive,

leaching as we grow old.

But it goes no further,

than the lame duck can fly

identity without liability,

farewell goodbye.

The digital revolution is on my mind,

the quality of music shall rewind.

When technology smothers the burn for profit

and there is little game in producing whores

the Spam business will be forced to forfeit

and the heart of the art, will be at our cores.

It would be quite nice, to break the stranglehold

faceless names have on our lives

When offices are empty, and companies sold,

I look forward to many sweet goodbyes.

It’s never quick to raise his wings, but knows when to fly.

The thing about the phoenix is,

It knows the contrasts of the earth and sky.

The thing about the Phoenix is,

It likes to watch, and through you with his flaming eyes.

The thing about the phoenix is,

It can sense the future, for he is a product of the past.

The thing about the phoenix is,

It burns the ties that bind, though shuns the inevitable goodbyes.

The thing about the phoenix is,

It may consist only of passionate flame that flares or fizzles, but it shall never truly be burned.

The thing about the phoenix is,

It’s responsive to your actions, and questions your lies.

The thing about the phoenix is,

If you can hear his scream you are one who has learned.