Man On a Mountain (Change Poem)

Man On a Mountain

This world has grayed me, to the point where I couldn’t shape me.

You say age is a blessing, but I haven’t smiled at the sunrise in sometime.

Under a streetlight absent without a breeze, knees quivered, absence of passion in need of a casket, mind in fragments, did this really, just happen?

A blink and I start to think, as the blood starts to sink in,

there's a chink in the metal links and, its finally apparent

that we all need to start caring, because with our current compassion

there’s a lack in reaction, and there's no telling what the universe has in store.

I’m a student of Christ attending the university of life,

born into man, a son of Sam.

We’re in ever dynamic  times and we constantly get stuck in, the confines of our inorganic little world.

A revolution is what's in store, because there's a delusion in our spiritual union, and somethings gotta give.

I try to open my eyes and realize the fact that I’m here for only a short time, remove the lies open my eyes to what's wise and move forward.

But this superficial world has spread on me like cancer, taking and suppressing all the answers,

but this world means no harm, simply trying to create an epiphany,

but indifferently we just get lost in the proving grounds.

I have the means to tackle this and have the resources at my disposal

I’ll take one more step backwards, and learn why that happens

use that to re correct my steps and move forward.

Glassed Feet and added DYT)

 

Knees Drawn 

 

I get chance after weary chance to make something greater than myself
But when I’m stomaching this greatness, there’s a part of me than can take this,
My father gave me this ability to pick and choose my own destiny,
but everything’s all good and well, until I go stumbling on my own  heavily
this understanding this reliance on myself, isn’t getting me anywhere
So why do I keep digressing back to square one;
I’ve seen and done, but keep getting lost in what I’ve overcome
the past hasn’t come to last,  I’m moving forward,
but this icy road labeled life, is the perfect flaw
to hold me under the law, to keep me held down by a matter of fact
to keep me from swimming across the ocean.
This isn’t just another commotion, something strung together
But to offer insight on how to deal with the inclement weather.
We so seldom fight our battles from on our knees,
instead we go off on what we’ve experienced, not using the exact set of  keys,
but we’re afraid to accept that we need this help,
I get chance after weary chance, and these opportunities are slipping like sand
and by now these are acting like commands
Not something self administered but
a passive momentary neglect, a paper cut,
shallow on the surface, but pain stakes all the way through.
As I lower my knee and take a bow,
my problems won’t be aired a grievance,
but as the line I draw that’s genuine

Glassed Feet

Glassed Feet

Your strong, you stand up, now the shards

digress from your knees, to your  feet, to your hands,

and again to your knees, your are eyes are a lantern,

 a flash-light and we're stepping, left, right and simply repeating the process.

You'd think it hard to sleep or live on a ground of glass 

and yet we still persist.  like climbing 

a ladder with no rungs, your feet keep stepping 

in anticipation of a rung to boost yourself, to 

make it the top of the ladder, you realize theres nothing there

but you still keep trying to step up.

Like an assembly line, the parts just keep being assembled

cchlunk, cclunk, cclunk.

Like cars on a highway, going east and west, 

all having somewhere to be, but simply stick to their schedule, nothing more.

Like turning on a broken light to brighten the room.

nchkt ,nchkt, nchkt.

You know it won't turn on but you keep thinking it'll magically replace itself.
like waking up in the morning, you wake up knowing 
you have to go back to sleep. 
You try to walk in the dark, glass covered  room,
unmercifully, you begin to wonder, and 
then you get side-tracked by the shards in your feet.        

Love Your Smile (Free Write Poem)

  Love Your Smile

             I dread the day that you lay your voice you down, when that person says silence and you duct tape your mouth. You say you’re doing just fine but your voice is in trajectory of an oncoming train;

             I dread the day, when you say I'm not good enough, when that persons talks down to you and you sow the seed, of what they didn't really commend and you fall short of the foot hole;
             I dread the day you lose that shimmer in your eye, when that sparkle  fades like that star you see in the sky implode, and is only glanced at through a spotty memory;                        I dread the day, you say this world has defeated me, when that spring in your step is succumbed like the flattening of a tire;

            I dread the day, the inflection in your voice fades like words off the surface of a bone-cold valley, when that emotion that benign quality drains, and your face, your eyes illustrate your past, present and future;

            I dread the day, that I wake up and acknowledge that the pillow I clung to for hope and peace is there lying on the floor squandered by time;

            I dread the day when that smile that lush, beautiful facial depiction dims like the fire on the but of the cigarette, smothered under the dark, stank sole of leather; that one moments neglect, that million dollar display shines and glimmers for its last standing ovation;
            I dread the day when time passes.

Skin Deep (Art Of)

 Skin Deep

Think, step, look left right and then right again and then back to the left.

Now close your eyes and breath,

inhale what you just saw,

the firm concrete your legs standing so  jauntily on.

Now blink your eyes and hold them shut,

look left and then right, chances are you didn’t

see anything because your eyelids were shut, shocking, huh?

But who is to say we are not to see when our eyes our closed.

Who ever said that we are not free.

I accept this binding called reality,

does that make me a slave, is there a collar

on my neck, a mark, a number?

Skin, my skin that's the mark,

but its me, I'm skin

Consistently refurbished to appear clean

and perfect, almost perfect.

My mind is me, no.

I am my mind, right?

Now the question is not what is, but who is?

Who is going to step out of reality,

No no step out of the facade.