balance on the downward slope

thankfulness counteracts self-pity
many ways to come up
and out

of those
woe is me
pits

though don’t fall into them
myself much these days
you think about those things in life
that spell out good fortune

i suppose much of it is
in the contrast
to others and other circumstances

but just being grateful can rise above
the whole problem of “feeling better
because others are in a worse state”

after all
that kind of … way? type of living
is counter-productive to the whole
it requires that others are in worse
states
just so that you yourself can feel better

and isn’t that a shame? is wrong
on so many levels

but being grateful or living with
a thankful heart can be independent
from the fortunes of others

it can happen no matter what level
of fortune you are on
or bound-for

it could happen even if all
were at the same state
in the same boat

impervious, really

to look out at the world
breathe in
and thank God (or yourself, for that matter) for your existence
for the moment that allows
not only an appreciation
of the beauty of nature…

but allows for the appreciation
of the next moment
and the next …

pain makes that difficult
i fall short many times
crawl into a hole
pull my rock over it

but i try to recall
what it means to hope

to find the mind looking at
bigger pictures
but also at directions
… places
realities that are possible
if we all go from HERE
to THERE

and i pick myself up
again and again
reminded to be grateful

even for the stumbles
for the stumbles, the trips
the falls

the lessons that eventually
smooth a path
for a wisdom-like tolerance
or close as someone like i can get

adaptation?
i suppose … the flux and flow
the ability to recall
all the caring you ever had

every caring that ever blessed your being
and then smile at
how nothing is foolish
if done with heart

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sealed and never delivered

if i do what i can, can is bitter…
there are so many hopes still living
inside what passes for a heart
in me
the expert at beginnings
the one who only wants to start

and never finish
though i hope some day
to find that part within
that lets me finish
what i begin

oh it’s not that simple!
nothing ever is…
i could write a million titles
to a million books
because i’m good at the titles
the inside part is hard
stony as rocks
to chip that sculpture
that defines literature

sometimes it’s years later
i find an old project and finally
finish it

keep a hoard of half-way done
things
if i am mental, it is the amount
of half-way finished projects that spell
out my particular brand of illness

because it’s always

SOME DAY

SOMEDAY i will finish
once upon a time into the future
and i only wait for perfection

for the inspired ME that can bring
perfect harmony to matter and space

when it’s only space that matters
room to reach …

to become

if i were good i would finish what i start
but i don’t bother
if i already learned what i wanted

the product is not the thing
it is the ME that KNOWS
the goal is different … but yet

not exactly a good
a right thing to be to leave behind
this long string of uncompleted
chores

these half-done things
hoarded,
and loved
they make me a little less
of a person

though i am the person who never
runs out of “things” to do
there is that

to tinker is to fix and form
on canvas or there is yarn
i cannot go to yarn ever again,
too many unfinished yarn-things
weavings that spell out my deficit

my greatest fear is boredom
lack of occupation
i need to be learning or i am nothing

an empty soul
i struggle
but the struggle is what i am

did i choose this path?
it was the only one left
far as i know

unexplored and un-acclaimed
i don’t understand where it goes

wishful thinking
dreaming
to fly but to never soar
would take me hundreds of years
to complete it all

a much longer life is needed
than what i’ve been promised

always hated myself
for not finishing what i begin
but now i smile
now i smile at it all…
there is no sin
because perfection would have
to believe otherwise

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lift of the many

if i were
the one you cherished
hope and dreams evolve
then they die
just as the world would
hate its author
when the ends are blessed
with good-byes

so we look
to every portent
every song that clings to its notes
and we serve up
silent worries
to the grace that loves
us the most

listen here
time set the groundwork
every river flows to the sea
and so, too
will patience bring life
to its final victory

where we were is
where we are
don’t forget the reason of youth
and at some point
lives remember
how to touch the greatest truths

which are not what
you would offer
not those wider, hard-beaten ways
rather, small paths
one soul travels
to the very end of its days

so we look, then
to every portent
to every note complicated in song
and deny not
our greater purpose
how love leads and can’t go wrong

for it’s in the doing, all will
find a better hope to be

if i were you and cherished
no one would ever question me

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circumstance eludes the winner

start the day with a song
beating your head to bits
(and bytes)
you can’t go wrong…

how thoroughly does the day
find remorse and platitudes
slipping away

where are my shoes?
by the couch
no eliza here to fetch
sleep necessity for
lost foundations

how to chime the best of incarnation
reverberations and contracted spite

did i tell you once
how there is no trick
to letting silence go
driving worry to its infinity
bouncing off of pride
stagnation will cower
while humility metes its only end

there is no format of perfection
only countless directions
for skies cry, too
the Sky weeps, too …

mother orb finds Man
to be a rude visitor
marching His time
His only loved creation

there is no distance
hope climbs
consistent recourse and rectories

dance away
find a better place
the soft heart is a weakness
only the strong can carry

wide dreams are a sign
only the pragmatic can define
branches of apocalyptic minds
written on crumbling walls
shattered sticks
scribbled into forgotten wishes

did love see the divisions?
oh, i think i noticed

i saw souls hoping to part
their purple seas
grasping for tiny shreds
bits of trampled realities and drops
of worth

bytes of conformity
protection blamed on conglomerations
all sorts
thick shells
fortes
barriers dividing the ins and outs

where does peace reside?
it is simply a way
a path

a road under weary fete
it isn’t a thing you find
it’s a thing you use

the destination?
oh, don’t ask me that!
different for everyone, it is
different, yet the same

we all want
good to be what benefits
the fading footsteps
of the me

who is me?
oh it’s not much different
than the self who gave everything

YOU gave everything,
don’t you think i know?

yet what should
a survivor carry into
THIS battle? conflict
just another name for
children

children that are always late to their supper
kicking the ball one last time

yet another orb

and the strongest among us would run after
the rolling taunt

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rain falls
and i can’t help but think
how the pansies are relieved
it is not marble sized hail…not this time

but the other part of me
knows that flowers probably don’t think at all
decorations around sex organs –
where does the mind of a flower reside?

maybe the roots
or maybe it has no mind at all
and that’s the rub, isn’t it?

we project
our own feelings
onto other when chances are
nothing is there

absolutely nothing
a pit of indifference

but the rain falls
and the air is cleaner
easier to breathe
i am the me of gratitude
temperature cools

each sigh will consider life
as taking a break to let
to let the earth weep

we run after this orb…
she IS consistent
this poor thing
but i love Her…
consign entire thoughts as nothing
absolutely nothing

a champion, you know
this life, delivered

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belonging to the wind

we’re all on our way
to better versions
of ourselves
packed deep inside
finite fortresses
of borrowed pride

there were beginnings
and ends
and a thousand ways to pretend

finding an answer
that hurts every question …

but in my mind
my quiet place to be
i find a source
of peace and tamed realities

and goals unmet
find a home somewhere
up among the clouds

i am no saint
but no saint ever had
a patent on passion

day bleeds into night
night bleeds into tomorrows

where will i find the space
to comfort all your sorrows?

yet one thing
one last request i have
is to let go
of what you never had

the soul is free

finding an answer
that hurts every question …

believe me
life… is a gift that fails
only when
you fail to laugh
at faults
that crack the endless smiles

leaving behind
paths that left complexities
bare to the bone
of gnawing, unforgiving faith

to be the best
is not the best place to be found

to rate the self
as never quite wholesome
to be bruised

don’t you understand?
there is no cage that bars demands

but the earth moves
it finds the answers
that soothe every question

the ground itself soars
underneath fete
and every roof that
promises
better rest

never doubt
only weakness is adored
and we see ourselves in so many things

so many…
finding answers
that hurt every question

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