An Encounter With Conscience

And what shall we do with this world,

You and I?

Will we twirl it ‘round our fingers,

Watch the spectacles go by?

See the stars and shapes of

A thousand years

Pass on and out of sight.

What have they to do with us?

We coheirs of the lot,

Yes you and I are all that counts,

Oh yes, you and I.

But wait, there I see the legions

Of mighty warrior’s past,

They conquer and they slaughter,

With civility aghast.

No matter though,

We all ought know,

The bruteness of their strides.

Never again will we fall away

To those turbulent, roiling tides.

For what matters most

Is that I hold you close,

And forget the world of strife;

And in the end you and I,

Yes, we will have the life.

Pay no mind to those pestering cries,

They too will fade away.

Their distress is naught but heathen lies,

Intended to get their way.

Their sorrows are a sham,

Their tears a sick charade,

I won’t fulfill demands,

Nor myself degrade.

For you and I,

We rest above,

This rubbish and this mess.

Their sickly fingers

Stay far away,

And for this, I count us blest.

And see there the words of men,

Whose ideas define the laws,

Of width and weight and collagen,

Of rainfall and its cause.

See there how they change,

With the turn of every age,

Yet their truthfulness not doubted,

And even reckoned sage.

And alongside them, the pondering ones,

Who squint and wonder, “Why the sun?

And why us now? And why he there?

And how does a circle fit a square?”

They point and state, “This is so.”

While another laughs a hearty, “No!”

But enough of that, let’s turn away,

The right and wrong is not to say.

Why do you look distraught, my love?

Why this troubled glance?

You seem as if these specters haunt

A realm where change has chance.

But what will you have us do?

To blast these bounds asunder,

To tear this world in two?

Why break these chains so taut,

Why question what is so?

We’re taught what’s ought and surely not,

Can this not suffice to know?

But I see you there,

Your stare austere,

In a fire moved to move;

To shake the mountains

And release the fountains

Of flowing fortitude.

Who am I to stop you now?

Your mind is set, your head is bowed.

Just know that I forewarned you here,

To seek not what is not sincere.

For every grapple of the world without

Will clutch and claw at every doubt,

But with heart assured, your cost to pay,

God save the fool who’s in your way.

Regardless

I saw you,

I met you,

I loved you,

I left you,

I asked you,

If you knew,

How it feels when something is just really out of place and doesn’t exactly fit,

And do you?

If you knew,

Then would you,

Remind me,

Why you do,

What you do,

And how you,

Remind me,

Of you through

All these little intruding thoughts and memories that really just throw off the flow of things on a day to day basis?

Yes you do,

Pervade through,

My mind and,

Manage to,

Remind me,

Of how you,

Wanted to

Rearrange the structure of my life and completely disrupt my nicely established patterns.

So if you,

Won’t mind to,

Back off and

Just try to,

Resort to,

A brand new,

Restructured,

Life’s worldview

Then maybe I won’t find it so difficult to get rid of your dissonant and non-conformist memories and simply be able to move on with my life.

But then again…

If you go,

And turn heel,

You won’t know,

How I feel.

I can’t say,

Anyway,

In my rhymes,

And strict times

How you so beautifully obliterated my preconceived notions of order and showed me something so much better, so much more.

So you knew,

All along,

It’s simple,

And never wrong,

To tell you,

My darling,

In verse or

In song,

Regardless

Of flow,

Regardless

Of tune,

So long as

You know that

I love you.

A Walk on the Beach

This one goes out to all you beautiful people waiting as anxiously as I am for Spring Break. Enjoy.

A wisp, a wave, a wave abashed

About my ankles dared to crash.

A cave, a grave, a grave brand new,

Opened up to swallow my shoe,

But death, a breath, a breath renewed,

By salt and sand and light anew.

What’s more, a shore, a shore of stars

Sprawled out in perfect silver bars.

A hope, a dawn, a dawn in sight,

Beauty of simple, daunting might.

I start, I step, I step away,

Out of my grave, and on my way.

An Experiment in Sibilance

Solitude sits by this street corner’s side,

Sipping on musing’s sweet serenade.

Silent and coy for the sake of the weak,

It sees what we hear, and says what we think.

Softly it composes its delicate sight,

Still but to breathe morning’s shared light.

Til then will the night shroud with star’s arms,

The world of wild and symphonic charms.

Beale Street

Hi. Once again, I am breaking my traditional form of simply posting a new work without any commentary for the purpose of explaining just a few things. I wanted to say a few words about this piece mainly because it is slightly unusual for a couple of reasons. The first thing to note is that this is, in fact, an excerpt of a story. Though no context is given or any characters' names given, I intended this piece to be understood as a small part of a larger narrative, whether that narrative was written or unwritten (in this case, it's unwritten). Although this is only a portion of a story, I meant it to serve as a kind of synecdoche or post-shadowing of what has occurred. The second thing to note is the point of view from which this piece is written. There is a blending of third person omnipotent and internal dialogue by the character that interweave with no real transitions. I wanted this style to reflect the state in which much of our thought life takes place: in a somewhat ethereal landscape of the physical setting around us and the sometimes tumultuous inner-workings of our mind. The two interact in any number of ways; one inspiring the other, one interrupting the other, or maybe one interpreting the other. In any case, the unique union of these two often results in a disjointed, almost haphazard transitioning between our thoughts and our observations. The man in the story muses and questions quite a bit, and perhaps this is my projection of myself and the weird conversations I have in my head sometimes. But even if it is, I wanted the questions and the struggles in this piece to reflect a larger intellectual and spiritual struggle that takes place as a result of being human. This is not to say that this man's thought process is somehow representative of the human experience, but it is a facet (once again, this is only a portion of a story). Anyway, I thought I would at least explain that much so you have a little bit of context in which to read the following piece. Thanks for your time, and enjoy.

Beale Street

Coughing eyes glared at the glowing end of a cigarette. 

Burn. 

A resigned thought slowly floated up to heaven, but fell heavily back down to earth under the oppressive weight of the nearly opaque radiance of the orange streetlight. 

Doesn’t really matter at this point anyway, he thought with a slow exhale.

     The meager vapors of manufactured escape lingered before him in a tantalizing indifference. Smoke and air, one in the same really, or maybe only facets of one another. Who really knew?

 Ah light. So much light attempting to cover up so much darkness. Or was the darkness trying to cover the light? 

Doesn’t really matter I suppose.

 

Try to define light and darkness gets thrown in. The absence of light. Was the same true of light? Was light the absence of darkness? Which came first? But he was overthinking the situation. 

     All that really mattered right now was the cigarette in his mouth and the hole in his heart. Funny thing cigarettes; pleasure from destruction. Wasn’t his life just the same? A happy glow, merrily blazing a trail to a predetermined end, leaving a trail of ash in its wake? Didn’t the sulphurous fumes of his life portend of his fiery destination? 

Too many questions. Most people can just smoke. 

But then again, maybe it’s those times when one dares to venture beyond where most people go, what most people think, that he can find himself suspended above the chasm of uncertainty, free to find certainty, unrestrained in his efforts for truth. But then, the stakes are raised that much more. With all knowledge to gain, but all soul to lose, can a man afford that chance? 

Beautiful night though. If he didn’t know any better, he might actually mistake himself for being content.

A cloud of smoke hung in the air like a forgotten dream, waiting to be revived, motionless and dead in some insignificant and arbitrary form of space. Quiet, surreal. A streetcar passed, moving the dream to uncertainty, swirling, thrusting, contracting. Suddenly to rest where it had begun, only more of a memory, shaken by reality and banished to reside in the minds of those who had known it before. Were men more than this? Do faces mean anything more than what an acquaintance recalls in weeks after? 

He pressed his thumb against the bridge of his nose, furrowing his brow. Still too many questions.

He opened his eyes slowly, fearing some new metaphor for the mysteries of life. Barbeque and blues. Not so threatening. He allowed himself to relax a little more once again, taking a deep pull from his cigarette. Beginnings and endings are somewhat inseparable aren’t they? Nothing ever ends without something else beginning and vice versa. Was this really any different?

Whoever decided flashing neon signs were a good idea should be executed immediately. 

He sighed. One last pull from his cigarette told him his time was about through. He tossed the smoldering butt to the sidewalk and snuffed it out with his boot. With a final sigh and glancing circumspection, he turned and walked down Beale Street one last time.

Faithful

Remember me, that is all I ask,

When the world is faded

And the stars rolled back,

When the mountains fall,

And the sky dissolves,

Remember me and my final call.

The day will come when all seems black,

When your senses fail,

And your cunning lacks

The means or the might

To flee or to fight

The confines of that terrible night.

Fear not the winds of howling intent,

Their life and demise

Are already set,

But you of the light,

Are set on the stage

To witness the might of righteousness’ rage

When bleakest of bleak and soothsayer’s moan

Echo and reek of

The harbinger’s tone,

Lash to these words,

To sharpen and hone

Sight that can see and foresee the unknown.

The hearts all around may falter and fail,

They gasp for a glimpse,

They quiver and quail.

To you they will look

For guidance and light,

To lead them home through that terrible night.

So remember me, that is all I ask,

When the world is faded

And the stars rolled back.

When the mountains fall,

And the sky dissolves,

Remember me and my final call.

Unafraid

Electrify my mind

If only to light my eyes

To better see

Your wondrous grace

And probe the depths

Of the swirling masses

Of unknowns and certainties

Let me fall into that fray

So that I might feel

And feel deeply

Of a passion and a fire

Tinged with the world

And all its ambiguities

Then, at least, I might get lost

In a beauty

Transcending the most despicable ugliness,

Seeing beyond the smoke and mirrors,

Squinting into the blinding darkness

Of the rising night,

Unafraid.

This my prayer,

This my lament,

This my indescribable joy,

So let it be.