Inconvenient Truth

It’s that inconvenient truth
the one we don’t talk about
because it’s just too frightening
and our minds refuse to accept
the reality that is all around
the darkness that comes
with the dawn of a new day
that Leviathan we can’t touch
devouring everything we cherish
grazing along the pathways
of once sacred places
now only a shell of former glory
where the rats gnaw at the rotted wood
and people only gaze, shaking heads
wondering where it all went
when they themselves feed on the carcass
while the fat man sings his laments
of what was and is now lost
and we cry for entertainment
for multiple pleasures of flesh and mind
taking away the pain of our lives
in the choices we have made
to turn away from each other
and sell our love cheaply.

What Tale do I Tell?

What tale am I to tell? 

Where does my story begin?

Where will it all end?

I look about and see poetry

in the trees as the wind blows through the leaves

in the songs of the birds nesting in the branches.

There is poetry in the love I share

in the tears I shed

in my own imperfections.

I look up at the clouds scudding across the sky

changing shape molded by unseen hands

creating a story that is timeless.

I am such a small part of the greater whole

seeking to discover that one great purpose

writing these bits and pieces of poetry

hoping to see in the words a reflection of my soul.

Perfection is a dream, a fantasy of youth

these words are imperfect as is the language.

It can never describe those deeper feelings

that lie at the core of my being,

a being fraught with fear and anxiety

of knowing I am not enough on my own.

What tale do I tell? 

What mystery lies at the root of my heart?

The roads I have travelled were never straight

winding through a landscape at once beautiful and terrible.

Through the gauntlet of people and places

faces haunting the edges of my memory

now I stand on the precipice of the future

as I stare out across a valley shrouded in fog

wondering where my story will take me.

Time grows shorter with each passing year

I now have arrived at a point where there are less tomorrow’s

and I can no longer sit idly 

as that enemy time, 

gnaws me down into dust.

All is sacred, all is holy, if I dare to look outward

fear is the cage created to justify our own failures

and I have failed and fallen so may times

yet, like the Phoenix I have risen from the ashes

to stand before the judgement seat of the Holy

the mystery of unconditional love

that calls us out of our tombs

unbinding our tortured souls

and bathing us in the light of truth.

Poetical Metaphor

A true poet, 

sees the rise and fall of the tides 

a metaphor of life

tossed to and fro 

as waves pound the shore.

The true poet 

looks at the sunrise and sunset 

sees the brilliant oranges 

and reds against the clouds,  

and the light behind the light.

The true poet looks at the caterpillar 

munching on a green leaf

seeing the butterfly within its fattening body

ready to spread it’s wings and fly.

The true poet,

writes of love

in it’s purest,

even when that love

breaks open a heart.

The true poet looks at life, 

in all of it’s forms

expressing the human desire 

to love and be loved.

The true poet

lives in the heart

of the imagination

bringing light to truth

whispering loves breath

that calls us from

our darkened prisons.

I Write

I write today

I write every day

I write to delve into

the deep mystery

of my own existence

of why I am who I am

of uncovering the layers

built up over the years

taking off the masks

I’ve so carefully constructed

from pieces lost along the way.

I’m not one of the greats

my grammar is deficient

my word choice limited

the head and heart

separated by space and time

memory shared

truth told

to a lover

in poetry written

as we embrace in the evening.

I write the poems 

that flash across the screen

leaving breadcrumbs

for me to follow

where, I never know

yet, I write to understand.

In the darkness of the day

as truth is bent and shaped

molded around the soul

encased in the tomb

I write, to break the walls

to open my mind

to rise and see

the sun shining brightly

on the horizon

of my dreams.