Time Is For Everybody

Time moves forward, never backwards
As not to stir order,
As age only grows, youth
Is for ignorance
As Time has shown.
With humans,
A natural species,
Earth’s proudest lifelings,
Like most common beings exists as two,
Man and Woman, seeing right from left,
Time, history–forward.
Never backwards.
Time works never stopping,
Moving forward,
Not collapsing; however,
Progressing vastly slower.
With far fewer steps strode over
Space as Time grows older,
These humans be but cells,
Sealed with souls shaping
Ethereal beings beyond
Our reasons.
For our allotment of Time
Given we see to it that humans
Keep living. Until…
We grow too plenty, before soon
Beginning to see that
Although we’ve grown in Time,
Ideas begin to realize
We’ve corrupted this
Space
From advancements for
answers to questions like
Rapture or whether the beings
Up high aren’t just imagined
In separate minds which have
All been revolutionized, like
Time’s ever-aging surmise
That all life is living
Before it grows old and dies.

Spiraling

When holding on to what is lost,
All’s left to watch it go,
Go, out of our spectrum,
To a plane where we aren’t so significant,
At least not positively,
But just a source of wrath to be gained,
By a presence caught in fantasy,
Shamelessly, blindly clinging
On time’s thinnest strand,
Until this thread is cut–
Among juvenile sparks of rivalry,
There’s naught but grief to be got.

Passing By, A Summer’s Day

Passing under Summer’s shadow, breezes leave a scent of Autumn,
Speaking by dance,
Grasses graze the fields.

Under-bough a leaf flees
Its master, rebelling at last its sweltering Life.
Preluding their fate,
No others join his cause,
Holding fast their comfort above Earth.
Yet with each passing day,
While Suns set shorter
As did the number of
loyalists left to mutter softly
In brisk Summer breezes.

She’s so sweet when she’s asleep,
Her face is calm, content to be,
Far away from tears of strife,
Brought on by life in plight,
This bitter trail, mistakes smeared,
On a mind so fragile shatter like ice,
Against concrete black as night,
Crystals flutter over top reflect
Regret to public eye.
No mistake left to mystery,
While what’s past is slowly
Made into history.
How slow it travels, a clock that’s
Waited on when tears are dropped
To a broken hand left
To unravel after each tick,
That time makes in each prick
Drawing blood of a guilty conscience.

Insomorning

Blaring along endless night,
Screams and calls of a
Lone guitar shatter,
Soundlessness.
Dawn is greeted by crying,
Wailing out over the valley
Sending sound to deepest reaches,
Through streams, through trees,
Is heard the crying screech of a final note,
Along endless nights, blaring
Into a soulless abandon.

I Ran He

Now I’ve come to pass,
Does fullness mend that weary
trial? Words spoken long ago,
meaningless in changing winds,
Foundations falling til I’ll be no
more than echoes in your head,
As your conscious waivers thin,
‘What if,’ a conundrum
Deriving from forgotten
Memory. An irony both deadly–
rotten, why let go? Only absorbing
What’s left regretted, you’ve choked
Me from the yolk of your eyes.

This good bye,
Last of which
I bargained.

Tomorrow

Growing up, achieving everything never imagined as possible. Our fault, expecting the imaginable in a world where reality breaks an innocent lense. Focus combusts while realism strangles the expanding mind. Strapped in, an unmovable circus rings dreams as projections over dull experience. Hope abandons as the clock ticks quicker, bleakening tomorrow with disconnection.

Principles

Sinister, this three-pronged plot,
Scarlet, its intentions, letters,
Longed to be written, but not
Versed to pen only stained into
Brains weary from reality’s lull.
Innocence outspoken under cloudy
Truths. Denied by truths,
Hand picking our lies, as though
That’s in control. 

Nature’s Yolk

What’s up there, I wonder.
In this tree here where vines,
shroud the ground,
Simmering away through a canopy,
Is the azure sky. Yet I find only that leaves,
Block my sight of the bird’s fly. Who soar
By the break of day, avoiding night.
Yet under this willow feels a certain,
Aura.
Walled in by brambles of boundless
Fingered tree tips, I’m held gently by
This safehaven of natural structure.
Where no friends may find, that I look up to
See just what it is lingering above us all.
Under this canopy no force can touch,
All that I’ve made. Just room for one more,
If you’re to be accepted.
Guardian grasses with voluptuous vines,
Like veins reaching around me, enter now,
Enclosing, this branched pod, clinging
Us in either’s arms, radiating life. Until we too become willows and drape,
Over pure lively souls.

In over my shit, bleeding
Ears pressuring, pushing raw,
Grit to a strung-out mind,
Strictly looking to compromise
With reason.
Horridity eases flowing fuels
Leaking over burning guilt.
Dripping to the incindiary core,
Combusting instantly, bones break
Marrow walls, seeing no fruition in
Rebirth, so wrongly priveleged.