I find I am most reflective
As the sun slips just under the treeline,
Down and around to give us to the night.
Over a sunset cigarette I think
About everything while I try to think of nothing.
What did I miss today?
It’s all so simple, really.
Like the way that clouds
Shift, split, collide,
Appear and disappear
While the wind keeps rolling.
It’s just the way, that
Something so spectacular,
Something so important,
Something so great,
Cannot hope to exist for long.
Each one goes on to destroy itself,
To waste itself, to destroy others.
Sure, there could be hope for the clouds;
If only they could learn–
Learn a defiance of what they all agree
To be in their nature.
I told someone today
That silence is my enemy.
The smell of wildflowers,
Wet earth and the half moon’s sheen,
Me with my thoughts.
I’m impressed by the night;
Its ceaseless ability to make me think.
The day worn, “worry” set aside,
So I contemplate existence and identity,
The way the world might be someday.
I wonder what I’ve done wrong,
If I’ve ever done enough,
How I’ll ever change the world with a pen.
This is why we sleep
Until the sun brings back the noise.
There is that train in the woods,
The people and the paintings
On the walls of broken buildings
That scream and sing
Then there is the sun in the trees
As a speckled afternoon
Slips, slow into moonlight.
With the sounds of wolves
Through the silence.
Such sweet cognition past
Brightens an endless grey.
Find me where the sun still shines,
Where the people still paint with a fine tipped brush.
I’ll be there searching again
For all those perfect little things
For some light breeze
It is happiness we seek,
Some say, the meaning of life.
To find it, we avoid its brother
With everything we have
For happiness clearly is the better.
A sad fact: you will be sad.
We would not know happy
If not for sad. It is there–
Wasting away all that precious time
We meant to fill with happiness.
Now ponder; would the willow
Have even half its beauty
If one day, it did not weep?
Does not a mother wait months
To hear the shrill, sad cry
Of her brand new baby boy?
The relief, the joy of moving on
Can never preceed the sadness
Of having to let things go.
What a trick it all is
For the foolish soul in each of us.
Where will we be
When your clouds fade
When the raindrops stop
To let the calm fall on us?
Clarity seems distant for now
As the forever gusts block
Our vision and mute what’s real.
Surviving the storm,
It’s a matter of knowing
That beyond the angry overcast,
We remain just as we once were.
I am the fruit that fell
The one that rolled down
The roots into the blue-green
Grass as the sun reached dawn.
The others ripen on the branch
Getting fatter, more colorful
Waiting for the people to pick them,
To take bites from their sides.
I dissolve and become
My new home. The hidden seed
Sprouts life in the soft soil
Just in sight of the origin tree.