Maybe I’m a fish
I wonder what it’s like
To have a deeper reflection–
Looking to the water’s depth
And seeing past the picture
On its surface.
I wonder what it’s like
To have a deeper reflection–
Looking to the water’s depth
And seeing past the picture
On its surface.
To be alive inside a question
Is a curious thing
As the words trickle out
But you can’t say a thing
With a certainty that lasts
And the last thing you want
Is to find that you’re lost
In the ellipsis
before a question mark.
Sharpened a stick
And called it a sword
But never once used it
To slash at another
An ornament only
To feather the wind
And feel the wonderment
Of a journey played out
Inside ones own head
They stood (jittering in place)
their hands waving circles together
loose through the air
watching intently
as if something delicate
were resting in their palms,
and if they stopped
it might fall and break–
shattered to pieces
like a glass ball.
It seems to me that we
at times
are just a simple greetings card
with words that’s meaning’s
just to please
but silent so you hear us breathe–
that we are there
although unsure
if quietly
we’re being judged,
but when you look away from us
you’ll hear the sound of dancing.
My hair is tangled
(little care to what I wear)
walking with nothing in particular
that moves me.
The pavement is solid
and the cars use low beams
during the day.
I can’t say I feel it’s interesting
but exhaust and fresh air
both feel the same
running across my skin
and a world if not a bit delusional
would scare me to no end.
It’s fair to be ignorant
for who wants to dwell
on a beating from 3 years ago
or the obituaries on the radio.
I’m not afraid of the world;
I’m not afraid of tragedy;
I’m not conceited enough
to know what justice is.
And perhaps that’s why
I’m unattached:
I wont pretend when I understand.
I’ve heard that awareness of being unaware is the first step to awakening, and that may well be true, but eventually you must be fearless enough to take that second step if you would be free.
—
That Second Step (via mikefrawley)
I’ve had a strong first step for a long time now. I think I’m better suited to helping other people than myself. It’s a strange predicament to be in.
If I were a more courageous me
perhaps my words would shine with strength
like no-one ever knew the like
and smite the troubles souls will drink
when they have no will to fight.
If I were a more courageous me
perhaps I’d know eternity
and leave the time to pass me by
like so many false clocks drawn
then spin my finger and tick and tock
as I am not a pawn.
If I were a more courageous me
perhaps my heart would choose a path
to follow like many branching veins
and hop from one onto the next
as frantic men might jump on trains.
If I were a more courageous me
I think i’d struggle that much more
and I would still be vincible
within this quaking hapless world
but still I’d like to see the day
I wear a flag as if a cape
and say that I’m a conqueror:
a more courageous me.
A chisel to a stone face
It never seemed so cold as then
as if never to frown and never to grin
without the slightest move from brow
it seemed a piece of art had left it’s personality
somewhere under the oceans lapping waves
and now a golem was walking instead
with clods of mud at the edge
and no feeling in its toes.
A smile is therapeutic
a smile is gentle truth
of love and great affection
abstained from feeling blue.
A smile gives you a face
that makes you feel at home
a place to be your best
where you are not alone.
A smile is more than magic
a smile will exceed fate
a smile lives deep inside you
a smile is never fake,
but often times it’s faked
but that is not a smile
If it doesn’t lift with heart
it collapses and it dies.