Prisoners At Sea...

Prisoners at sea
Awash on shores un-free
Uncertain of what's to be
Confined by fears of all
that others might look to see
Reflections of this become
the we of every me

Not men as islands
but deserted all the same
Not lost, but undiscovered
Washed-up in waving blame
Not convicted, nor conflicted
Not tried or true
Just tame

In Light Of Diogenes...

Diogenes lantern held high
Casting down light- far and wide
Illuminating the terrestrial depths

In the never-ending askance why
Upon the realms where lives reside
Inflates the air within mere breaths
Staving-off some ethereal deaths

As voices profess, but won't confess
Crying for more, expecting less
Remaining disheveled, but intolerant of mess
Proclaimed progressive as results regress

In the light of Diogenes shines
All the words run-through with lines
The errors and failures made eternally clear
As water in each unevaporated tear

In this light upon the dark
With every blemish, every mark
The pure and the holy not to be found
Even in eyes where love does abound

In this darkness dimly shown
The lack of perfection remaining unknown
Demanding visions produces no insight
But accepting the darkness just draws out the night

In light of Diogenes the reflections perceived
This reciprocation leaves all light aggrieved
At dusk the lantern becomes of some use
But at dawn is agglomerated among the refuse

In light of this gaze the eyes fail to see
But imagine instead as if they were free
Blind to the world as all it might be
Bound by the haze and drawn to debris

Vitruvian brothers and veritas sisters
With feet that callous over blisters
From steps that don't find, but valiantly search
Beyond ruins of heathens, walls of some church
But still tread upon the face of real earth
Instill into blood by means more than birth
The true quest for vision, whatever its worth

The Scent of Stagnant Feet...

Here yet again
in this place I'd rather not be
trying to imagine someplace else
somewhere to go or to be
But I'm here again
and I don't feel like me
I feel something else
in a way I can't see

I sit here with the hours
waiting for them to turn
waiting for restorative powers
to light a fuse, and not just slowly burn

I want to walk-out, but I wait
confined by some phantom or fate
feeling the flames of no heat
smelling the stench of stagnant feet

I try to think of how to leave
but I'm drawn to the stink of rotting shoes
I'm not able or unable to grieve
just paralyzed without clarity to choose

Breathing in the scent of stagnant feet
appalled in respiratory retreat
Is this the smell of where I've been
of the stench of what waits till when

Waiting with the wafting scent
My eyes begin to water
or maybe they just cry
Is where I've come from
no more than where I once went?
I am now just some rotter?
Have I yet to die?
Is this my lament?

In this place I'd rather not be
trying to imagine someplace else
somewhere to go or to be
I don't feel like me
I feel something else
and yet still I don't flee

The Reality of this Living Dream...

The Light at the end of the tunnel
becomes the darkness at the bottom of a funnel
The Hope for a life beyond this death
becomes the abyss that holds each breath
Pure reality without any dreams
amidst a world of slumbering schemes
Eyes open to gaze at those closed by dreamers
hold themselves up like legs without femurs

This reality requires two truths
One must live according to the truth of what is real
 for the ostrich is easily slaughtered
One must not be shackled to tightly by this scene
 for without direction from some dreams
reality as it is, is the deadliest of schemes

See the truth
and live the dream
Careful to know
what both these mean
Know thy self
Know your enemy
 Ignore either
and they become the same
hapless victims of
a senseless game

the reality of
this living dream
is a silent esteem
or an unheard scream
made manifest though reason
inspired rationality
not strict succinct adherence
not denials of truth's appearance
nor any other treason

the reality of this living dream
is contingent upon the world that is
and dependent on a dream that gives
the reality of this living dream
is greater than delusions that dance
or unblinking views of a lifetime's glance

the reality of this living dream
is whatever minds can show the eyes
whatever soars within clear skies
whatever heart sincerely tries
whatever life that sadly dies
but triumphs through its own demise

The Way Of This Today...

without feeling
without thought
living only according
to is/ought
motions of momentum
nothing to prevent them
only more of what has come before
at the mercy of despair and bore

search blindly without wonder
speak empty words of plunder
stolen from a past forgotten
squander all it might have gotten
never caring what's in store
merely repetitious more and more

wait for others to perform
some assent from this dull norm
not to venture on one's own
fear to death the word alone
never wander past the shore
shipwrecked here forever, more

until death in this eternal slumber
paint scenes by given number
dead and dying with no roar
no tomorrow
echoes snore

Things Can Not Be Held...

The world placed at the finger-tips
or hell heaped upon shoulders
or heaven stretched-out beneath feet
  Things can not be held

Blood pours out of the flesh
Breath winces out of lungs
  Things can not be held

Gravity pulls upon the smile
Time slips through the cracks
  Things can not be held

Flames smolder into ashes
Light from distant stars burns out
  Things can not be held

Arms embrace & bid farewell
Palms face open & away
waving in winds that gust from here to where
  things can not be held

Anger fades into forgotten angst
Sorrow is rinsed away with tears
that evaporate in the dissolving day
  Things can not be held

Eyes give way & close to dream
Foliage blossoms above forgotten graves
  Things can not be held

Grasping this idea of letting go
Losing hold of all beheld/befallen
  Things can not be held