Wake up, it’s reality.

I’ve not done all that I said I would;
Ask me what, and I’ve forgotten,
As if the importance of conscience
And meaning were given away
In place of simple existence,
Our greatest excuse.
We were engineered to fall a step short,
Not that this is always the case,
But in some small way it’s true.
We will fall short, always and forever, yet
In the interim there’s a fighting chance to
Stay on our feet, to walk another step, to live;
The last of them, that is, to live,
Is the most deceiving and profound,
For many walk endless miles without once seeing life,
While others, never to step a foot away, live
Greater lifetimes than us all.
So, it is to say, that the true matter is in living.
I write knowing of the careless, uninterested
Characteristics of humanity, so the real question
Remains: Whose definition of living truly counts?
I know I will receive little more
Than a passing glance or the click of a mouse,
And I can that as easily for tomorrow as I can
For today, but sincerely I consider
That no one is to judge me honestly but myself.
Of course, I am no outlier for this sense of neglect
Is the colloquial existence we all share.
It’s true: I haven’t done all that I said, and
By this point you may think I’m dramatic,
But who are you to judge;
All I can say is that I’ve found newfound respect
For the saying “live like no one is watching,”
Chances are, they aren’t.

In response to:

Dramatic

We are the Wind:

We are the wind:
We rise, we fall,
We storm, we cease.
We heed no call
When we release.
We never fade,
We only go
Beyond the glade
We’ve yet to know,
And seek the things,
From where we roam,
That speak of life and what it brings,
And keep us close at touch with home.
And though we’ve found
No solace, no peace,
We wait and scream our solemn sound
Into the night from to Rome to Greece
In resolve, in pain, yet may we be
Omniscient where we are from,
It’s often hard to see,
In our travel, what we’ve become.
So though we hold at hand
The world at its best,
And fly atop the land,
We often wish alone for rest,
Yet only for a moment,
For must we not rescind.
Our force is constant.
We are the wind.

In response to:
Wind

Lane Boy:

Tomorrow’s dance was yesterday’s:

Wake,
Work,
Wish,

Wait,
Wonder,
Whisper,

Sleep,
Dream,
Forget.

Tomorrow’s dance was yesterday’s:

Wake,
Work,

Wait,
Whisper,

Sleep,
Forget.

Tomorrow’s dance was yesterday’s:

Work,
Work,
Work,

Wait,
Wait,
Wait,

Sleep,
Sleep,
Sleep,

Forget,
Forget.

Tomorrow’s Dance was yesterday’s:

Sleep,
Sleep,

Forget.

Tomorrow’s dance was yesterday’s:

Sleep,
Sleep,
Sleep.

Crisis Eminent:

Hold your breath,
For it may be your last.
I’ve heard the whispers
From the bay, and
Feel the storm at hand.
We sailed, full knowing
The risk, the wreckage,
The pain, and though in crisis
It feels all too real,
It was always at the edge
Of what we knew.
Do not pretend;
The storm knows no lie,
And though we came to live,
We had always come to die.

In response to:

Crisis

You are my Sanctuary:

You’re my sanctuary,
My peace, my escape;
You’re the boat that carries
Me from sea—
The dimmest ocean
May it be,
And far too many there are,
But have I you, my guiding star,
And your touch to set in motion
The whisper of a breeze
To guide my sail,
No place could I not find.
Though I may wander
Time to time,
And lose the way
I’d come before,
It is no more
To say,
I seek all paths
That lead again
To you.
For in that stormy day,
Where all direction fades,
And once the peaceful calm
Turns absently to shade,
I will not fear,
I will not fret,
I will stand ready at the helm,
If only to return again,
And, grateful, once more see
That peaceful, guiding
Boat of mine—
My sanctuary.

In response to:
Sanctuary