exspiravit in machina

 So I sit here at my table as the sun is goin down

I'm surrounded by forgiveness but feel the heaviness come down

The sun showed out its brightness through the glory of the day

But my eyes only see in shades of gray.

I want to pray to God but I don't think he's really there

To feel a glorious purpose through the thinness of the air

I hear the conversations, think they're shallow and obscene

but their smiles expose the emptiness is me.

I wander down the twisted roads of thoughts inside my mind

That if I tried to say them there's no words around to find

A cavern with no light and waters deep and dark and still

I'd reach beneath the surface but I can't survive the chill.

I'll lay my head to rest and know that sleep is loathe to come

And then the visions rise and leave me waken, cold and numb

then in the evanescent morning I will rise to face the day

and love the sun but know that I wont feel it anyway.

Foucault's Folly

 strangely smiles that seem so deep but do not reach the pale

do not find a purchase in the hidden hills and dales

but linger somewhere in between the skin what is beneath

and fester there, abyss where nothing lingers in the breach

not hidden from the heart but locked from words that speak

a blister 'neath the surface, behind the eyes so sleek

and no accolades can touch the poison that they hold

no trophy, sunshine splendid, can penetrate into the fold

of the deep uneasy comrade sitting just beyond the light

that has no form or constitution to direct a healthy fight

A label is applied and simply does not stay

descriptions offered up but not a map, a way

for the old ones are forgotten, the paths that one can walk

the beacon light was buried, found to be full of fault.

The marker of its grave has long since turned to dust

though it calls me still through the corruption and the rust

and speaks in whispered silence of a life that might have been

then, just beyond my grasp, dissipates into the wind.

leaves me here to wander, unfixed and searching for the ground

but I stretch my toes out earthward and, no, it can't be found.

So I seek the cheapened solace of the medicine at hand

a poultice to dissolve the compass of my soul

leaves me standing in a desert

longing for water to dive in.

 

 The darkest days are left behind me

and the bitt'rest tears are shed.

The harshest sadness and the anger are, like you,

Now laid to rest.

And I, and you, and we are left with this cup in hand,

Left among the ashes, trying hard to understand.

And I won't ask you for forgiveness

For the things I did not do

And I won't entertain my anger, 

I don't think you'd want me to...

But when the sun descends in crimson

There behind the distant hills

When I hear the thunder rolling

Beneath the iron horses wheels,

Your voice, your face will come to me

I'll speak to you again.

And few will know it but I'll hear

You echo back in mountain winds.

So I don't know if you are listening.

I don't know if you can hear.

I don't know if you can sense 

The longing and the bitter tears.

But I'd like to think that somewhere

past the alabaster skies

There's a part of you that feels

the hollow seeking of our eyes

That you know that we, the remnant

See your face, it has not died

Hears your voice that vaguely echoes

with the flowing of the tides.

And the bits of you that linger

changing slow from pain to hope

Walking silently beside us

on the road that we must go.

For we will not forsake your memory

We will raise a sacred glass

We will hail to you, the fallen

We will take to us the task

To raise you up and in our silence

and in all our gilded praise

Will not let the memory wither

Will not let your spirit fade

And when all the things are crumbled,

And the worlds are then renewed.

We will search the hallowed halls 

For the glimm'ring light of you

There in hazy evanescence

We will stand there at your side

Reminisce of days long past

of the fickle seas, the tides.

We will stand with you again and,

sneer at death's temporal grasp

We will clasp our hands together,

And to lips will raise a glass

 I have seen it, there the pot of broken coins that sit therein

All the hollow infestations of the ones redeemed from sin

I have felt the grinning nothing and the mighty nods from them

As they tell themselves how pious and how humble they therein

And like an orb that glitters bright reflecting sources oft nearby

Dancing brilliantly and lovely , just as long as others shine

But after sun has set and there are no others bright within

And no spark is found to take and nurse reflections outside in 

It is darkness they embrace and soak the light that others shine

It is the nothingness that draws the life that's yours and mine

But, in the end it does no good to raise a fist against the dark

It cannot see your rage, cannot contain an inner spark

And though the urge does come to stand, to shout, to muster strength within,

What is the point to fight when there is nothing there to win.

Paths

 I do not have the answers for the questions that you ask

I do not have directions for your quest, your sacred task

I will commit to nothing that will give your soul respite

I cannot help but drift off as you tell me of your plight

I have a path somewhere that waits for me to forge it new

I have a walking stick that needs a splinter and some dew

Don't look for me to steady my feet here and sit with you

Don't follow me, for I may not lead, nor likely follow you....

bitterness

 I don't know the things that I've been feeling.

I want to understand what I have done.

I try to comprehend the words that roll across my mind

but there's no clarity, no place to run.

I think I did the right things when I knew you.

I felt our souls connect when we were there

I knew the man you were and I was with you

I don't think that I reached to where you were.

I knew the pain you bore, the things that haunt you

I reached beside you, grasping for an end

We shed our blood and sweat and loved the moment

We spoke of virtue and we spoke of sin.

I can't escape the vapors of your memory

I look around, it lingers everywhere

So many dreams and plans became entangled

And now I pull them back from bitter ends.

I've tried to keep composure, keep my presence

I want to be the strong one in the crowd,

But when I think the tears have finally ended,

They seem to always come and find  me out.

Fighter

 The small, still fear that creeps against the still of the night

It reaches the tendrils of its melancholy, its paralysis into the soul

It asked the questions that dredge up emotion and terror that harken back

Into the dead past where mild devils, bereft of potency but full of vigor

Speak words intent on consumption and decay, regardless of the truth of it all

But those demons, they know. They know the words to say, to inflict entropy and fear

They know how to debilitate, to render the ambitions void

To pull the soul into the abyss of failure and resentment

It is the burden of the strong to bear this

It is the furrow that is to be plowed with the marrow and the bone

Those timid souls who look on from the outside scoff and revel in their mediocrity 

They sneer as if the path is simple, as if it has no weight

They posture their simple jealousy

Never seeing the creeping doubt

The seething fear and blood

They do not know the terrible glory of plunging into the darkness

Of grasping the hell and torment of impending failure and doom

And wrestling from it a semblance of peace, purchased with blood and tears and sleeplessness 

And thus, the gladiator finds himself alone, though the crowd revels and fawns

And slaps his back in cheap camaraderie 

But he remains alone.