at Meze Fresh (Poetry)

Old man in wintersong
Seasons past and remembered with sparkle
Memories of days before
Always younger,
The linear nature of time
The combustion that we took for granted
People who we hugged
That would disappear
As we took our own immortality
As a given
Time lost
Time squandered
Time loved
Moments past
Become grey
Becoming a piece of furniture
“Excuse me, I am still here”
Becoming defensive
In my day…
Is this not still my day?
Is there some glory
Was there a fight?
Light and wonder
Magic and delirium
But, in the past, the past, the past
Still lost
Still wandering
Still wondering
Still hoping
Still praying
But the prayer has lost hope
Lost the force of god
Routinized decay
For sure there ARE greater pastures
Can’t it be towards
Can’t it be towards
The ship has not just left
The cities are all the same
We were not sold a lemon,
Life can hold an infinite
But in a wrapped dimension
And all we see
Are these dark cracks
Whispers of history
Knowing somewhere deep
To fall through and shift form
Isn’t our fight
To stay on this side of the crack?

Thought there used to be bravery
A new form or art
No rhythym plot of purpose
Just words at their most loosely connected
As if, what it is to be in a mind
There is still a glimmer
I cannot renounce
But I can say
This is not a lifes work
There is not the glory of art here
Little lazy meanderings
A life lived as a spidersweb
With no commitment to a single point
There is no war here
Just a gentle meandering
A river without force
To carry it all the way to the sea
A dormant volcano
Deep in these roots
There is a burning burning
Yet the cap is so strong
Is it in a man to metamorph
Is it the purpose of man to burn
There is no heaven here
Our god was in the hope that a small ripple
Made without consciousness
May mean the whole
Had its purpose

Glass of white wine
Nicely chilled
Giving my brain a cacoon
Does it mean I cannot think any more?
Anymore anymore
These middle ways
These middle ways
Tummy bigger
Brain slower
A rattling jalopy on a runway
We say we did our best
But was this really our very best?
And as the runways end comes closer
And we confront that our wings don’t have lift
Do we decide to still try to fly
Or do we decide to drive off the runway
And see what the bush has in store

And then Archie said to Mr. Lodge
And Garion became Belgarion
And Rand in his darkest mind howled
Bran fell up into the tower

Step by step
Step by step
Don’t think this leads to hope
Just as I hope it does not seem hopeless
The path is not linear
And at the start of the day
As the sun peeks
We can imagine infinite
Today at twilight
There is now something tangible
The soil has been plowed
A life has been lived
Its purpose is not its purpose to understand
Whether something grows,
Is not its purpose
the seeds have been laid
The world is mysterious
With false idols
Let us carry on
A moment of bitterness
If only, if only, if only
Prayer in darkness
A door that may burst open
Fear in the day
Terror in the night
A life that is only, the only
A prayer lost into the wind
I greet you, my friend
And may we both whisper
As life howels around us
Amid each imperfect seed
We lay at our feet

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