pass through these dark gates
and there will be no return
reason dies within
relationships
escape from each other…
we are
from
the beginning
confined
to
within the lines
from
kindergarten
until
we are
unceremoniously
covered
with dirt
and
placed
into neat rows
with
the occasional
rebel
stuffed
into
a ceramic jar
a jar
to
be placed upon the shelf
along with
the
other
knickknacks
collections
of
framed
photos
or
mementos
from
cruise ships
none the less
we are
still confined
to
stay within
the
predefined borders
of
existence
attempts
to
escape
through meditation
or
encampment
at
some
wall to wall
walden pond
merely
represents
movement
to
another part
of
life’s venn diagram
it seems different
but
one’s thoughts
are
still within the cramped space
of
musings of others
unable
to
truly
be
independent
dooming moral choice…
simple to ignore
the faces and lives destroyed
when your eyes are closed
if you ask for forgiveness
you’ll find that our ears are closed
self-delusion…
can your recall
their names
those
people
you called
lifelong friends
can you
recall their
face
their voice
the warmness
of
their touch
oh
it’s not a crime
if
you can’t
but
it’s
a reminder
you
will be
forgotten
gnarled old trees…
been
rooted
in the broken promises
of
freedom
for
over two hundred years
so
it should be of no surprise
that
we have grown
roughened
in
our views
of
the future
and
misshapen
in
our attitudes
for
hope
and
justice
in
this nation
oh
when we were young
we could
easily bend
and
not break
when
the winds
of
ignorance and hate
forced
us toward the ground
then
we would rebound
and
once again
grasp at the sky
but
now days
we refuse to bend
nor
do we have to
we have
an outside
that has grown hardened
and
an inside
having knotty memories
of
the pain
of
our lifetimes
we have
grown
and
survived
like
african mahogany
interference patterns…
by just looking
at it
one might
draw
some
negative conclusions
for
the case
is
well worn
it’s
wooden shell
shows
its age
and
how
hard
it’s been
handled
over the years
some parts
are
tarnished
resembling
the color
of
gray hair
other parts
are
dented
and
i doubt
work
anymore
but
when you look
inside
it still maintains
its
youthful beauty
my old
kaleidoscope
an old photograph…
i am
a fading
portrait
each friend’s death
dims
a part
of
who
i am
and
each death
within
the family
makes faint
a portion
of
who
i was
soon
i will have
no eyes
to
see
into
tomorrow
the road…
god forsaken trail
through the year’s barren terrain
after a night’s rest
we’ll awaken and stare out
finding that same road waiting
stop…
don’t impose your doubts
onto every word i say
this may surprise you
but somethings aren’t about you
or your insecurities
formlessness…
like staring
at
stars
we seek
to
find
familiar patterns
of
understanding
for
the amorphous hate
residing
in the heart
of
this nation
we
conjure up
through
our incantations
of
the sacred words
we the people
the
mythical spirits
of
freedom
and
morality
only to hear
the despairing echo
of
our own voices
voices
resonating
in the emptiness
of
each day
yet we
continue
our
self-hypnotic chants
as if
the very words
can charge
the chaotic
into
a form
we can understand
and
thus change
but
like
the centuries
of
incurable believers
before
us
our invocations
are
all for naught
