In a rush they shove us into containers,And some of us rattle in the containers,
Anything they have that will hold us,
They like or hate what fits,
They hate or disregard what doesn’t.
If there is space around us in that shape,
They say it is our fault for not filling.
We are… deficient. Wanting.
Their expectation magically
Becomes our… abnormality.
Some fill the hollow and pass on the containers
Some do not and pretend, and pass on the containers.
In every sentence I find a judge
A basket at the end
lenses, light, bend
In every sentence I find a judge.
The Moon’s Night
Living our own lives,
Our own orbits all we know
Our rotations all we know
And yet all we know of others
Is the side we see
As they go through their own orbits,
Twist on their axes
And judge us the same way.
Judged by the darkest night or the brightest day
Neither is true between tomorrow
50 Shades of Bean
Silent Tiers of Sea Ghosts
Doing things we do not like,
Holding ourselves from those around us,
Living within the bounds we have chosen,
Chasing things we do not need.
We are all
Castaways from our own lives,
Derelicts from those around us,
Captives within the prisons of our own choosing,
Wandering hungry ghosts within those prisons.
We are all
Choosing how we are castaways,
Who we are separate from and by how much,
Architects of our own views,
Engineers of our own hunger…
And we all
Make our own keys and
Steer our destinies.
There are some that burn neatly
In ordered rows, in
Controlled by fuel,
They linger for a time and
And then there are those that burn
Pushing beyond boundaries,
Their fuel within
Until they are no more.
I knew an inferno that tried to be a candle.
The student, introduced
Learns silence and gets it
The clapping crowd silences
Harmony weeps in respect
The strings move
The strings stretch
The strings come to life
As is their nature.
Once in motion
They seek harmony
And find it only in
And the unforceful hand
Of the master,
Even the best wishes can be discarded
At the target’s whim fickle
And even this can be pardoned
As autumn leaves resemble sickle.
Tiring efforts clutch at straws
To save every last one
Lost romance in a just cause
Just because it’s done.
And in the dark hour
The tallies and scores are counted
And though defeat tastes sour
Victory on either side is routed.
“To arms, to arms! Redeem fate!”,
Will cry those blind in dark hour
As light reveals and finds late
Barbarians guard the tower.