autobiographical timelines..

the whens are hazy
with the whirling sands of time
obscured timeline dates
now mark my own history 
perhaps that just indicates
their importance as events

 

 

perfection…

for the longest time
i’ve wanted
to ask
aunt bea
why she keeps those
far less
than
perfect
childhood sculptures
we made
mixed in
with
her
fine porcelain
aunt bea
said
those of us
who have
maintained
some level of sanity
are aware
of
our imperfections
and
are able to
carry on
while some folks
fervently pursue
what does not
exist
perfection
becoming
paralyzed
absorbed
into
the social madness
of
life
those early
artistic endeavors
of yours
were made
with
love
and
innocence
and as such
are
perfect

motivation…

when paradise
is
just
a deserted
roadside stand
with
decaying timbers
holding
dried promises
in
bins of
deferred dreams
how do you
rally
for existence
what encouragement
do
you derive
from
the drought ridden
landscape
of
tomorrow
that makes
you
rise from bed
stare
into the mirror
and
dress
as if the new day
holds
anymore promise
than
the day before
and
most likely
less
yet
you rise
smile
dress
and
proceed
ah
but the key
i think
is
you don’t
ask
why

 

 

is there something missing…

have you found
your
dried tears
or
have they been
caught up
in the winds
of
time
circling
above
your tomorrows
but
falling
today
to blind you
like
an ocean fog
to
where
you are
or
could be

late arrival…

had you come here before
you would have found your soul
but life detours much of truth
sending many on journeys
that have no destination

 

 

personal assessment…

staring
at
the bottom line
a developing
life
pauses
followed
by
the
usual questions
regarding
purposes
paths taken
and
numerous scenarios
of
what
“ifs”
none
serving
any real purpose
just
a
preprogrammed
academic exercise
like following
a clearly marked path
to
the edge
of
a cliff

what you dreamed…

have
you seen
the last star
it fades
from view
beyond
promises
unkept by prayers
count its
last lights
glimmers
gone now
like your words
words heard
but
never done
count
the last heartbeats
of
the star

the grand affair with life….

digital decoupage cwmartin 2012

we all
ran toward
the precipice
as fast as
we could
laughing
and
ignoring
the passage
of day into night
we
with our
peter pan syndrome
flew through the years
fighting pirates
and
slaying
corporate dragons
to fill our treasure chest
discussing
occasionally
over
glasses of fine wine
the true
purpose of life
realizing
all too late
about our final fate
and
when we tried
to slow
our momentum
we found
that our pace
despite
all our efforts
continued
to increase
nothing
we did
could slow
the inertia
to our
final
resting
place