The Journey

I refuse to let death be my life,
for it is the only one that I have;
I’ll not worry about the end of my path,
it will come soon enough,
and getting there is the fun part.

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Rebellion

Here where the only shadows cast

are those we create,

with only the weight of the world

upon our shoulders,

heaven still seems so far away,

lost against the backdrop

of yesterday’s dreams

as they’re held hostage

by tomorrow’s tragedies;

I’m reminded that

the war between the heart and soul

is nothing more than

the war between Heaven and Hell

and nothing less than

the rebellion of earth against sky,

and we’re too busy

making victims of each other

to find peace within ourselves.

Musings From The Porch: The Storm & The Vigil

aesa

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!” – Hunter S. Thompson

A year ago I wrote about sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Chicago, watching stories of the world unfold. The organized chaos of that day is starkly contrasted by the disorganized calm I experience now, sitting on my porch in the Indiana countryside, not so much watching the world go by, but rather -feeling- it go by. The occasional car, truck, or tractor rumbles along our ragged stretch of cracked and worn asphalt, but other than that, it’s a fairly sedate existence out here. To say it’s quiet is both an understatement and a falsehood, illustrating the contradictory nature of life.

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Heartless

heartinhandtrace

He pulled skin and muscle aside, his fingers finding the bone beneath as they tore their way through flesh. Working his fingers between the tight spaces, tendons and cartilage popped and snapped as it released from the ribs, which in turn creaked and groaned before finally breaking. He could feel the bone bend and fracture, and each snap and crunch was satisfying to him. He clawed his way through them, the slow beating of the heart they protected taunting him, luring him ever deeper. This was his prize and his torment, and he was so very close. So very, very close….

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not yet

barefoot on blades
that bend and wave
the comfort of earth
and her embrace

cool the green
fades to grey
‘neath indigo cloak
that shrouds the day
and laughing breezes
carry evening
from miles away

peace, their whispers,
strung across a gossamer
sky, where dreams
unfolding are set alight,
as a world awakens
and comes alive

arms outstretched
to endless horizons
touching tomorrow
with nothing relied on
but a moment of hope
in a moment of faith
that tomorrow will come
but not today

untitled

It beckons:
a moment that’s only
a breath away,
the space between
life and death where
living really happens;
a chance,
a risk,
a rush,
and the hope forgetting
what brought me here,
the thrill of the storm
charging the blood,
until the fire burns out
and the sweetness of pain
replaces the bitterness of being.