Prodigal clouds wafted in this evening,
gilded and gaudy, they moved with the santa ana winds
that swell and ripple through our rocky valley,
bright travelers in a strange land, worn and tossed
they followed the inevitable path over mountains,
blessing deserts with rain, loitering over florescent cities,
and finally, drifting out to sea.
Lost into the coffin that devours us all-
Dissolved with the dusk.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Pondering Wheat and Tares
Drop me off here, on the ashen asphalt, I am feeling just fine,
propped up between two cars, just like uncle's cobwebbed wooden crucifix,
benignly watching over the dusty floor of
somewhere I forgot to remember, to forget about
because I'm feeling just fine and this old conscience of mine,
rusty and sharp, has been smoothed abit, but it still bites.
So come here. Yes, really, I'm feeling fine.
Help me forget that I care.
I have a very strong conscience, and sometimes I wish it would shut up, sometimes it would be easier to be amoral or just have a more lax conscience, but I cant escape from it. It is part of me, for better or worse, as are many other things that I was taught since birth. Sometimes it feels as if our breeding is inescapable, I am molded, set.
Other times I am thankful for it, I am thankful that I really do care about people and ideas and places and things. I am glad that I have some ideals, but it is crushing to realize the reality of the world: the realization that no matter what you do or try to do, the situation is only going to get worse. I am thinking of the economic, military, and political situation of the US. We are screwed no matter what because the system and situation is just too entrenched and complicated to be worked out.
So I just sit here with my headphones on, read the news, shake my head, and just enjoy the music.
gnight yall
propped up between two cars, just like uncle's cobwebbed wooden crucifix,
benignly watching over the dusty floor of
somewhere I forgot to remember, to forget about
because I'm feeling just fine and this old conscience of mine,
rusty and sharp, has been smoothed abit, but it still bites.
So come here. Yes, really, I'm feeling fine.
Help me forget that I care.
I have a very strong conscience, and sometimes I wish it would shut up, sometimes it would be easier to be amoral or just have a more lax conscience, but I cant escape from it. It is part of me, for better or worse, as are many other things that I was taught since birth. Sometimes it feels as if our breeding is inescapable, I am molded, set.
Other times I am thankful for it, I am thankful that I really do care about people and ideas and places and things. I am glad that I have some ideals, but it is crushing to realize the reality of the world: the realization that no matter what you do or try to do, the situation is only going to get worse. I am thinking of the economic, military, and political situation of the US. We are screwed no matter what because the system and situation is just too entrenched and complicated to be worked out.
So I just sit here with my headphones on, read the news, shake my head, and just enjoy the music.
gnight yall
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Eyes of Orpheus
He was going to be president,
someday, lost to the transient, raging
wind that flows from east to west
as the earth, clutching us and binding us,
turned ever so slowly.
He really was going to be Someone
who lived up to and exceeded
the expectations of each dew-kissed day,
who knew his path, and was strong enough
to force his way through the walls
of air that blow from nowhere to nowhere,
now just scattering ashes
until they condense into form:
to lean pale features, to sinewy and scarred hands,
and the cold, focused eyes of someone
who has seen it, lost it,
And still desires.
someday, lost to the transient, raging
wind that flows from east to west
as the earth, clutching us and binding us,
turned ever so slowly.
He really was going to be Someone
who lived up to and exceeded
the expectations of each dew-kissed day,
who knew his path, and was strong enough
to force his way through the walls
of air that blow from nowhere to nowhere,
now just scattering ashes
until they condense into form:
to lean pale features, to sinewy and scarred hands,
and the cold, focused eyes of someone
who has seen it, lost it,
And still desires.
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