Friday, September 26, 2008

Breaking Love


Hint of Autumn, breathing breathing,
golden glazed and moonlit crisp,
Oak and Rowan, sorrow sorrow,
leafy heads in reverence.

Wind holds breath in breathless silence,
grass weeps dew, shimmer shimmer,
starry tears in the heavens sing,
haunting song softly glimmers.


Heaven weeping freely freely,
echoed in the hollowed sky,
voices sing now, rising rising
'pon the soft of angels fly.

Melody of anguish blackened.
on wondering world cries cries.
nature's heartbeat thrumming steady,
hear wind-touched valleys sigh sigh.

Bathed in evening song will honor,
sorrow of a Kingly heart,
wind will breathe into wondering eyes,
hints of Autumn, worlds apart.


Creation Afternoon


I like how this blog has the options "moderate comments, edit posts, and Create" instead of "new post."

I sit here in this fog-gray cubicle, leaning back in this wire mesh of a chair that's supposed to be "scientifically proven" to improve my posture, staring at the myriad of objects cluttering my desk. I think, is this a testament to the ingenuity of man or a reflection of our constant desire for mindless ease? For the luxury of doing nothing. Whatever happened to that satisfaction that comes from completing a goal? When did it become too hard to try? I imagine however many years ago invention started as a passion, a desire to create works that reflected mankind's intelligence and creativity. Somewhere along the way as we became increasingly more involved in "improving" our lifestyles and testing our limits we lost that passion. It became a small sacrifice for the greater good of course, a vague memory that is out of date, that is redundant. It was a passion that brought to fruition all that we have and a passion easily, even eagerly, sacrificed in the mass marketing of our lives and our souls. Because you see, the thing about passion is it takes time and effort and after a while time and effort just aren't efficient enough anymore.

We have worked so hard to create our own redundancy and forgotten that joy of creation in the first place. I wonder if people who create for joy and satisfaction ever realize that one day, the joy and satisfaction are gone and all we are left with is the end product, without any heart and any soul. I guess most people won't see it; as long as something satisfies our immediate senses we rarely feel the need to indulge in the deeper wants of our hearts, the ones that are hidden enough to be too dark to see clearly and have roots driven deep within our Selves.

"When is passion more evident than when the yearning heart is freed from the logical mind? "

I feel that within every single one of us, there is a need to express ourselves...a desire to create and a yearning to be remembered. And if we do not embrace that desire whole heartedly and give way to that red passion deep within, we will forever be living a lie and denying the truth of us that was born the second we were. I don't think this "passion" is easy to find; the journey is long and taxing and breaking and requires dedication to honesty. To tear away the influences of society, of culture, of people and media to finally come to the pure emptiness that doesn't make sense...that is simply...you.
If we ever touch that Heart in us, I feel we will live a much more satisfying, fullfilling life. One that finds pleasure in creating, not simply in working. Though we strive so desperately to perfect efficiency, the truth is that efficiency is never as prominent as in the absence of humanity.

"We are all imposters playing at living until we dare to step out of our roles."

"When the sun rises, I go to work.
When the sun goes down, I take my rest.
I dig the well from which I drink.
I farm the soil which yields my food.
I share creation.
Kings can do no more."

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Old Courage


"That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day."

- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations


I wonder if I'll find the courage to bind myself to the unknown in life and look upon it with an eager heart. I wonder what links I'll forge today.


A jazzy, lonesome night tasting like smoky moonlight dancing on the tip of my tongue. That moment between tomorrow and yesterday when all my worries have faded into quiet, gray shadows and each second drifts slowly apart in front of my eyes. My breath beats with a steady, calm certainty against the cool night air and all those every-questions of everyday and everything falls from my shoulders like brown-gold leaves off an autumn tree. It's the boom-boom baby of soft blues in your eyes and poetry in your fingertips when God isn't what I should do or who I'm afraid to be or where I'm going next, but instead He's that rhythm in the soles of my feet, the music that carries me away when my eyes shut and that deep deep satisfaction drifting, drifting like soft, smoky moonlight. It's a night when all my constraints are flung away and I can dare to be free and dare to be alive and dare to stand and breathe in old dreams and faded memories. Dare to remember childhood loves and that magic of circumstance and coincidence. Tonight, I remember.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Autumn Morning


Words mean so little sometimes, they only explore the shallows of our hearts, dutifully express the barest corner of our minds, and truly capture a faint echo of our souls. They desire to say so much, eager to outwardly create the passionate intensity of an achingly beautiful symphony of joy, anger, love, hate, envy, sorrow, laughter. Tears stream down your face and your hands are locked so hard sorrow runs rivers down your body, time stops still and the world spins around so gracefully you're captivated by joy hushed into awe. To create a picture of that so simple, so complex whirlwind of emotions locked within us we ransom desperation, gather hope. We want to shout from the top of a mountain until our throats are hoarse and as we struggle to thrust away the constraints of a language, an expression we have limited ourselves to, we find we are only able to whisper.

I woke this morning from a golden slumber
as rev'rence held still the early air
and emerald leaves bronzed in countless number
while whisper winds played upon my hair.


I tasted passion in a red burnished dawn,
a sky dimmed with beckoning freedom

and turning, lay my heart in a simple bond
at the dainty feet of a graceful Autumn.

My fingers ran through her long bronzed tresses
spilled 'cross my chest in silken folds.
My silence fallen to her breath's caresses
beneath those soft-spun leaves of gold.

And I laid her down gently in valleys deep
the veiled depths of a golden kingdom
watched over her who watched over me
lost in the quiet of a graceful Autumn.