O gentle heart! do not tremble
foreboding what will surely come to pass,
or ceaselessly carry
already acquitted burdens.
Do not beat with a timid pulse
in the shadow of certain judgment,
or abandon resolve
from a condemning verdict.
O heart! pound passionately,
Forge rhythm in the cacophony
and step purposefully into chaos-
as the soul conductor
making music from madness.
Against the Vogue
Looks of apathy and indifference
plaster the faces of men
worn down by a grind that attenuates resolve,
minute to minute, hour after hour,
just trying to act genuine
and remember to breathe.
But every day holds a breathless moment,
a break from the consistency so brief and still
it often passes without recognition-
the world melts
and reveries unfold into thoughts so weightless
they abruptly blow away with even the gentlest breeze,
leaving us chasing the wind,
back in a savage race against the clock.
What reflects thine eye?
Does it gleam from inner incandescence
or reflect back the reverse image
of a world at large?
There is a light
glowing behind your crystal cornea
that can either throw beautiful rainbows across the wall,
or shudder in the winds
blown by the tumultuous storms
of uncertain fate.
So what reflects thine eye?
will it burn like the sun,
or be lit like the moon?
I woke up early before work,
teased by the morning,
taunted by the afternoon,
ere wrestling the rest of the day;
I clawed on hand and knee
from the capacious cavern of my dreams,
imploring me to remain,
to pause in the space before the approaching inevitable;
Just to get a taste of the dawn,
a breath of the still air calmed by the pregnant moon
that lingers in the grey hours,
swollen with possibility and potential, almost infinite,
until the stillness is abruptly extinguished,
executed by traffic and stolen by time.