Sheltered Wing

Plastered by the emptiness.
Solitude has never been so fully endured as it has today.
The life I live leads ajar,
and praises it's ignoble fray.
No poet or thought it bring,
no song or diamond ring,
shall bid this hollow shell astray,
it's sheltered wing.
No work of art or fancy car,
no hint of inspiration or theft of time,
can deliver thy,
from such this sordid hell.
Pent-up for mere inklings of reprieval,
secreted, diminishing,
a one way path to certain,
and sincere upheaval.
Dowse the bitterness, the loneliness
with whatever pride that doth remain.
Angelic whispers elude my reason,
and sever the tricklings of thought into saltless, colored rain.
I remember. I remember it all,
and nothing.
I remember it's emotion,
though not it's time.
The words I used
and the gestures I made
stand helpless.
The mind sits alone.
What once shined so brightly
is now only shade.

Was this ever my home?


Art by D Bruce Yalton

Be Not Our Bother

Let the tree’s be our shelter.
Let the wind be our a/c.
Let the sun be our light.
Let the sky be our art.
Let the rain be our shower.
Let the grass be our bed.
Let the animals be our children.
Let the moon be our god.
Let the air be our skin.
Let the dawn be our inspiration.
Let the birds be our music.
Let the flowers be our toys.
Let the ocean be our pool.
Let life be life,
And love be love.
Let death be love,
And love be life.
Let the man beside us be our brother.
Let the woman be our wife.
Let the earth be our mother.
Let the stars be our father.
Let all life be lived as life,
and let the rest, be not our bother.

Sure

Confusion is constant.
I attempt to wonder my way out.
I slam my head against the wall
insisting the pain will leave if I do this.
My throat burns from all this screaming.
It's not me I say, It's not me.
If I could realize that it is, even for an instant,
I think I'd be alright,
but I couldn’t be sure.
I could never be sure.

I wish someone were here.
Might they put an end to this Misery,
or would they even care enough to ask what was wrong?
The wall finally cracks or is it my head?
I can't be sure.
Will I ever be sure of anything again?

I feel so dirty. I must get clean.
The water in the bath beckons.
It seems so pure.
I climb in slowly.
The water rapidly turns a diluted red.
And so I live, once again.

The Gods of Time have No Place in The Hearts of Innocence