road

Poem – Beneath the Setting Sun

When I see the evening sun
gracefully fall into the forest

and the last rays sweep across the sky
I hear the slow progression of cello and violin

as the music makes room in me for these rare
moments and feelings of peace.

I have been down that road
many times in this life

hoping that what is unknown and unseen
would change, a different result would be waiting

but after years of chasing shadows
and fleeing from truths steeped in stars

I found you waiting beneath the setting sun.

Poem – Streetlights

On the long dark road
surrounded by tall trees
we slowly passed zombies
standing like burnt out streetlights.

Surrounded by silence
except the tires on asphalt
they did not move or
blink while we stared.

Hours later we still
were uncertain if they were real
or forgotten nightmares
emerging as signs.

Poem – Existence

The dirt road lined with pine and poplar
exists in familiar land and on the map,
but standing here beneath the northern sky
as the cool wind brushes the lake,
I am without time or space.

In moments where I become aware
of my contact with the earth,
does it matter where I exist
physically when everything else
I am is scattered to the sea,
the sun, and the stars?

Poem – The Border Kingdom

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We drive the dusty road
east from the mountains toward
the flat land not divulging
any secrets from this distance.

Still morning the intense sun
withers fallen vegetation and
quickly dissipates dew clinging to
cactus needles.

We have not spoken since the pass
where we studied the horizon
surveying what we left behind
and the road leading into the unknown.

(2)

Thousands of acres on both sides with
open fields fenced yet empty,
arid, harsh wind blows dirt, small
stones, and tumbleweed across the road.

I turn to say anything, to comment
on the traffic, and I think you are
asleep, at least drifted beyond the
shared space – I decide to remain quiet.

The morning sun has become the afternoon
companion we now follow as the road
veered west and rises toward the
cloud-free sky.

Mile 418. Unfolded, stained, torn map
found in the dumpster at the
last gas station says there is a town
and a river near. I see only tar and dirt.

(3)

I remember watching grayish skeleton limbs
against milky blue backdrop through
quarter sliced windows blocking
winter wind and snow

while you slept near the fire
on the black leather couch
you brought with
next to the dog you desired.

Your struggle became
more apparent to fit
two separate lives
until I relented.

(4)

I imagine not God’s kingdom
behind pearled gates transcended from mortal forms
meshed with forward singular time
wrapped in fear and repentance

but a kingdom earth bound
free of time, free of the wind
torn sands. Here dreams flow
spherically with no sense of direction.

(5)

And in the last dream I remember
the river flowed beneath skipping feet
chasing prophecies and false prophets,
spoken words and brutal lies.

I saw life fading away, fading into vastness
I tried to pull the visible strings together.
I saw a painted face in the sky above,
one of the many angry gods of war.

(6)

I see fire building
across the open field
and briefly invent an
overgrown empty field burning.

Before the shift
rumors crept into conversations
of the border kingdom
high in the mountains

a city of mist and rain
immune to desert wind.

Even the name gives birth
to images of purity and salvation.

A place to find and enter
leaving behind and never looking back.

(7)

In the dark days
darkened further by doubt
time slows, lengthens
pause between beats,

the space pulls strings
emerging from the mind
and eventually each pore
turning you inside out

until you do not know
you. Who is that in the mirror
and why are you staring at me?
What is this you are showing me?

That is not real, that is not me.
In your eyes you have one truth,
in mine I have another. What separates us
besides the glass mirror?

(8)

My faith began to waver
when grandpa passed.

Years spent building a foundation
enforced by dreams of winter
laying nuclear ash upon the
ground, vanished
when the vessel
released the soul.

We have become God’s of
individual domains defined by the
things acquired, captured, and scored.

I listen to words of peers and words of teachers.
The shaman speaks of reality and no reality, of mind control,
of the matrix infiltrating mind and spirit and becoming sleep,
unaware, lost, wandering that dark black path
through an empty field yet not realizing the empty field
is empty, the reasons for being empty, is the true path,
is our own creation.

Sigh…

When did this, this life
become this hard?

I listen to these words and in
the same breath know there is no
one way through the everlasting shift,
searching for my own salvation.

Like fragments
I choose the pieces that make sense
that ease the deep fire burning within.

This fire I must learn to harness,
to control, to bend, to shape

until I become the shape shifter
able to take back control.

(9)

We approach the border –
a wide river moving swift and cold –
and stop. Both looking through the
bug-encrusted windshield and our hands finally touch
to remember this last speck of civilization.

(10)

I used to dream day and night
of flying above the clouds into
upper reaches of the atmosphere closer
to other borders, other layers
of various gases, closer to the burning
sun and becoming cold and frozen
without direction, spinning,
until a different light skewed
my vision and stripped everything away
and I was able to fly unburdened and free.

(11)

I pause briefly just before
the bridge, a final thought
to be discarded, one less
burden we must bring with us.

We cross the border under
the new moon with shadows locked
safely away, to be revealed
when reaching the kingdom.

Poem – Road

I have been down that road and
at the end I was back here,
where I started, where I attempted
to break free of constraints.

The road gave no clues.
The road divulged no secrets.

Frustrated and desperate
I fell to the ground.

In clear ice reflecting
the morning sun I saw an outline.

I saw myself.

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Poem – Here Before

I have been this way before, down this same path,
and most likely not for the last time.

I have been here before looking for a road,
a way through the ever-increasing obstacles

with a distant light ebbing and flowing
surrounded in the absolute silence

where I only hear my breath and the
rising panic inside.

It would be easy and a relief to stop and
allow the tree roots to take over and bring me home

but that light is still out there beyond the mountains
a fragment of hope cast from unseen hands.

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Poem – Time

I have been down that path
beneath that same sky before
but still, each time it is new,
on a different day, with a different
mindset, with intentions to make
the most of the time given.

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Poem – The Eye

Across vast distances
of land and sea

the road is lonely,
the conversation sparse.

In the furthest stretches of the soul
we feel alone and cast eyes

to the emptiness up ahead in the future
and look back to the past

wondering how we ended up here
but we are greater than what we see

as we are in and soaked in the universe
and that eye ever watchful is our awareness.

The Eye

The Eye

Poem – The path

The road, the path never ends.
We only change the direction
with a distant thought of
a destination, of a purpose,
that changes before we arrive.

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