Gravel Road

7/9/13
Blindly walking down the gravel road
Outlined in wavering oak trees mixed in with pines
I count each forward step, grateful for the movement
Thankful to have the strength to be standing at all
The random rocks scattered below foot
Offer an uncomfortable pathway to travel
Carefully avoiding sharp edges protruding from the dirt
Sucking in breath as one quick glance fails to notice the pointy canine of a monster
Fangs out, hungry for flesh
Bloodthirsty stranger claiming ownership
Gouging the arch of my left foot, leaving a trail of blood behind.

I am grateful for this weekend! ❤

A Master of the Call

Passion seeping, seething to begin to tell the story of an introduction of the most extraordinary kind
A kinship of identity, feeling apart of something at the very first discovering of voice.

A master of the call patiently carrying out thoughts and creating thinkers who long to continue the traditions:
Of thought provoking, mind boggling, completely ordinary phrases that trump any trained structure taught to little boys and girls;
Who paint pretty flowers that represent the generics of an underground world, but not him.

Disregarding the perfectly placed soapbox and stepping off into the crowd, emerging self to penetrate the barriers of the weak mind
One of the brightest stars known to our eyes,
I can still see him burn, burn, burn
Igniting the fuel in those who feel alive.

I am grateful for motivational conversations, especially about a hero. This might not be the last of Kerouac ❤

1 + 1

The backdrifters:

A picturesque display of the 2D sideways view of the

stick figures climbing

The stairs into oblivion

Is this transition so modern, so irrelevant

To anything meaningful at all?

Patiently we tremble

Buckling from the strength “borrowed”

for the good of the people and all of the good that will do

Masking consideration with indifference

So as to not draw any unwanted attention

Of what he said/she said

Have you heard what he said/she said?

Would it be alright if we could

replace uniformity with a new kind of thinking;

to save lives?

To promote the spiritual awakening within the familiar

memories of everyone gazing at the stars,

Those curious enough to see past the barriers and restrictions

of our world

and forget the basic math of 1 + 1

I am grateful for you! All of you wonderful WordPress writers that put life on hold to read a stranger’s random thoughts of accidental sentences. Thank you for making this experience so rewarding! ❤

Where are the heroes?

Making friends with the little face in the blanket

An onlooker with a friendly smile to offer

at just the right glance, to see the full bearded grin

Knowing me, myself, deeper

perceiving all of the idiosyncrasies to claim, that I navigate

Giving in, to someone

Anyone relatable to vulnerability

An abstract being committed to acknowledging

every ounce of the commitment to waiting

Even if I dive down into the deepest depths of the ocean,

just for a quick dip, every once in a while.

To find balancing minds that comprehend a particular understanding

Those who challenge all of these pent-up frustrations;

Every building block balancing on the last square’s sharp corner

Escaping face, running away

Blaming those who claim to penetrate the thought

but then falter when the war horn starts blowing;

Cowards that brave the training but abandon the reality

Of it all, if this is all

just a daytime act of the fairytale world

Who are our warriors?

Where are the heroes?

I am grateful for those in my world that keep it spinning round and around. ❤

Everything, or Nothing At All

6-14-13

 

Soft humming, whispering through the dark

A song that carries a familiar melody,

a voice that I hear often

Deep, harmonious onto itself, splitting moments of sound into a stereo

speaker of what is being said, sang

I understand what it costs, to be yourself and forget

the thoughts that project, interject

from everyone screaming around

The intensity is loud, overbearing, uncontrollable

What of this awareness if there is no one to see it?

Time always proves the existence of man

To see him stumble, fall, and still rise, to lift himself up;

True will; impenetrable determination,

until light is eventually extinguished

Is this the song, the meaning behind the feeling suggested;

An introduction to the power of what rules the world?

The angel sings, echoes softly within the breeze

Catching on the particles that reflect off of the moon

They flitter, flutter

Dancing to the flow

Little fairies of a fraction of light to behold

I hum out a wish to further push the troops along

A breath of exhaling frustrations searching for the mutual understanding

of companionship

and what that means, if I could believe in everything,

or in nothing at all.

I am grateful for writing and late, Radiohead kind of nights. ❤

Old Shoes

Someone I once met, was an advocate of shoes

“The most important aspect of walking,”

Said an older man with a learning soul

Enjoying the day, enjoying the people

Showing off a younger brand than expected;

However, they were all white,

I’ve heard that’s cliché?

But he didn’t know, and if he did, he didn’t care

Happy as a satisfied customer invested in selling his satisfactions with another

Who happened to be me, as I reflected on

The time I first put my shoes on my feet

One year, maybe two; my disregarded

necessity of almost everyday wear

Mostly gray with a rubber sole of neon pink,

Perfect balance of my kind of fashion, comfort

If I have to be convinced of buying new footwear, it must be easy to find the replacement;

This, coming from a skeptic

I’m hesitant to admit that my shoes are old.

I am grateful for the many trails available for walking in this city! ❤

If you were here today…

Laying back, ground warm and soft

Wrapped in your arms, on the comfort of an old quilt

Pretending to care about the stars shining overhead;

Making that a reason to be here anyway

Whatever works, I’ll take it.

This is how I would imagine it

if you were here today…

I am grateful for technology. It makes communicating a lot easier ❤

Ink Blotches

A festival for summer to gather the thinkers

Collecting names and creating futures one by one

Marching them in like cattle to be herded and sorted

Ironically matching identity of self into what self stands against

Creating an image, creating a challenge, creating a burden?

As a child I wander; not searching, nor pretending

Was this to witness a gift or a plot of destruction?

Another thought added to the list of doubt and pessimistic questions;

But I think everyone has some of those

Whether locked up in the moldy storage trunk, long forgotten in the attic

Or, burning in eyes until question mark ink blotches stain face black

I am grateful for these opportunities of learning. ❤

Music

The melody is soft, playing slow,

harmonizing air to produce the flow of sound

With vibrations thundering through to the heart, keeping beat or count,

of how much life costs

A transcending thought from artists to listeners, connected by the

shared moments of understanding

One medium yearning to strip naked of bodily self and

give soul to all;

the other, open to enlightenment and

characterizing feelings and emotions,

empathy

A satisfying gift to witness, to experience

Assisting in quenching the thirst for inspiration by saving the full glass of motivation

for the dry tongued, those of the communicators

of mouth and word;

conducting phrases of letters and

weaving them into various

sequences of belief(s)

Only those worthy of

interpreting voice should ever

listen to music at all.

I am grateful for the musicians of the world, the lovers of sound. ❤

Goodbye

This is the end.
This is your closure.
Goodbye.