your ______

a note from the hack...I don't know where this little ray of light came from. please bear with me as I get it the hell out of my writing. my bad.


stand on the plain
look out at the horizon
pretend for one minute
that you aren't the center
of the universe

there
can you see it?
way off in the distance
you can just make out
your ______ slipping away

it could be anything, really
come to think of it
it's everything
all you hold dear and protect
it's right in front of you
slipping away
you watch it go
too paralyzed
with fear
to move
your dreams, your aspirations
(remember those?)
you watch them drift away
they won't come back

you must follow them
give chase
never let them out of your sight
they are fickle, hard to seize
even harder to realize

I shouldn't preach
my dreams need GPS
they get so far ahead of me
it seems I'll never keep up
but I know where they are
what they smell like
in the morning after coffee
how they taste after a long day
I don't need rose colored lenses
to see their beauty
it's distant, shimmering
but it's obvious
it shines like a sunrise
blinding me (now I see)
I could tell you what I see
you wouldn't understand
we don't have the same ______

polysyllabic

rant and rave
talk 'til you're blue in the face
scream at the top of your lungs
I can't hear you
your ego and your attitude
always talking over you
your self-righteousness makin' a racket
your absolution arguing your innocence
when you speak I shudder
I used to hear angels, soft and high
the voices have become a cacophony
a pitch found only on dantes pages
I guess I never understood
I thought you were the truth
all that was good in a world gone rotten
I was naive (I loved you)
and more than a little gullible
why not help me make sense
of the words you use
the case you make
why didn't you just
stop and
talk
?

automatic

"this is the life, this is the ground

here comes the warm machine" *

I was told when I was younger

and things made more sense

that if you want to affect the reader

write as though you're speaking to them

for so long this made perfect sense

but over time (God, it seems like eons)

my thoughts became fragmented

easily spoken, seldom understood

fragments

writing became a string of thoughts

line after line,

pieces of mind

sadly, unless you know me

these pieces don't/won't fit

you don't understand!

the pauses get longer and longer

the inflections ever more profound

as you search for the words

to complete a thought...

but never entirely

because just as a voice needs an ear

a thought needs inspiration

the idea that something

could be more than it appears

(more than meets the eye)

that it bears looking into, checking out

what inspires you?

inspiration is an homage to hope

use it or lose it people

hope...faith.......trust................?

so as you read these lines I write

and you try to make sense of the chaos

the graffiti covered walls of my mens room

look, to understand my rant

you need to get close to hear the (whisper)

this is where the juicy stuff is

I'm not speaking in tongues

(am I?)

if you don't know the dialect

the meaning can be lost

in translation

so get down here...real close....closer still

that's it

I can feel your breath on my neck

so sexy

can you hear me now?

good

I wish you would listen

I need you to feel (me)

let's break it down...

(watch your step)

these words come at a cost

a price I'll gladly pay

(how much to cross the river, sir?)

nothing else in my life is

automatic

* from the song "Warm Machine", by Bush