Cold Trail

Pushing forward,
hunting past tomorrow.

What shall be found there?
Will the effort be worth it?

We dream of what's to come,
and fear of little until it's lost.

"Not everything can be this putrid!"
"Not everything can break us down,
as we go along in life!"

Our sincere hope
that it gets better.

And just as long as hoping
doesn't stop the moving,

we'll move on to greater things.

Loving Description

I've overthought this,
letter by letter,
to understand how I lost it
when it left without a sound.

I had an answer,
or at least a rough draft,
but I lost the equation
when it lost it's reason.

Few fragments
have been recovered,
but they were for one use,
noninterchangeable.

So now,
I'll try to find it anew.
Let the judge give their marks.
The winner makes no change to thesis.

This is what occures
when complex thoughts meet bottled questions.




The good words are never archived. The better words are never prepared.

Thank you for 1000 hits.

The Durand Orientation

Dropped at the foot,
I wonder how it's better up there.
Mountains have their beauty,
but so much happens at the bottom.

Taking my liberal path to nowhere
(some would call it "being lost"),
I discover some world
I'd only gazed down on before.

Every city is a machine,
but sometimes,
the human element hides well.
Not beside this anthill.

This town has monstrous motions,
and even children continue
their exertion of energy
through the dark.

Some fear darkened times.
You only need to if you blind yourself.
Don't just walk where the sun shines.
Take cautious steps on an ill-lighted road.

I'll walk these roads alone.
Maybe one day, I'll find a friend to stand by.

Then we can walk this different spectrum
of a route we thought we knew.

Full force ahead

Hand me my hammer,
for I will force this to pieces.

Watch as I swing my scalpel,
for I will cut them down to nothing,
and then call it all the Truth.

I will break apart what was good with my questions,
for I want to see what's underneath.

There's no malice in these tools,
but even the young can cut by mistake,
once handed an unknown sword.

And I know my blades by name,
their weights a comfort in hand.

Why does everyone grow cautious
when they idle in palm,
barely at full potential?

Because I lack rivalry
in speech, in trading blows,

in what I see as essential
as human, and underused
by myself.

So draw your tongue,
I want fair defeat.

And from it's crossing blow,
enlightening.

//Just an idea that hides when looked at

What if
{
[this is the move/that will crush me?]

[those words lacked/all sincerity?]

[how life spins/has no real symphony?]

[I write not to write/but to be labelled falsely?]
}

We spend so much time,
running through motions
in our mind.

How long would it take
to put it in practice?

The question is not the stumbling block.
It's the usage.

Bricks can build
or break,
but they rarely do so
on accident.

What if this phrase
was to go forward,
instead of halt?

Yes,
mistakes will be made,
but that's all part of all choice.

But the greatest of wrong moves
is not to move at all.

When did humanity
start to fear learning?

What if we wrote
the same words
countless times,
relying on
previous success
 to carry us forth?

New ideas would
never grow,
as a word that justifies all
has no valid meaning.

What if,
in search of perfection,
there was not need to justify
this state of mind?

We need to aim our words.

Ask what is.

Shoulda coulda will

Crossing paths,
a lot could be said.

Words must remain thoughts,
as no assumption can always be true.

Any attempts can be shot prematurely,
when it's another being's trigger finger.

All these excuses,
just to avoid introduction.

They left
when I turned away.

Maybe they needed
a positive word.

So next time,
I'll bring a dozen.

"Hi, I'm me,
and you seem smart.

Want to chat
about literature?"

I'm sorry, my friend

I destroyed something
that was meant to be destroyed.

So, what is this feeling
that leads me to regret?

I led it along the path,
doing my bidding,
and then,
to complete it's mission,
it died.

But as it left this realm,
and headed for the new existence,
it did something.

It asked to be friends
across the cosmos.

In another story,
there would be denial.

Confirmation
that I did right or wrong.

An end.

My mind still reels,
and denies "her" it's reality.

But we are all "created",
we don't know our ends,
we follow our roads blindly.

I made friends
with another man's creation,
and know she watches
from the sky in my mind.

Look away, cruel eyes

The subconscious.

The puppeteer to our actions,
holders of invisible strings.

The movements,
so subtle,
yet so precise,
keeping us within reach,
but giving us our leeway
to live life.

Each part,
a hidden rule,
a guiding line.

It's interesting how,
looking back, we can see the outline
with ease.

Within the moment,
it's next to
improbable.

We may be grateful
later down the line.

But can we forgive
manipulation
from the self?

Some mathematical lie

Loneliness need not be part of alone.
Surrender need not be total.

We all seek
some bittersweet way
of living
that we resign to fully
or not at all.

You can't accept
incompletness,
lest we let that nagging feeling
never give us peace.

100% leaves no room
for a decimal more.

No room for flexibility,
no room for change,
no room for freedom.

The perfect plan
will be decimated
by the smallest resistance.

Then what does this mean?

Can humans not yet grasp "perfection",
or is "perfection" an idea that's not "perfect"?

Let it be what it is,
and just live in some odd balance.

Play with the numbers,
because they are only ideas
we have yet to improve.

99%>100%,
and
nothing need to be loss
in the exchange.

We just need to seek out
equilibrium.

Card Trick

It's almost cute,
how hard you hold that poker face.

You hide your true feelings,
your fire, desire,
your self.

It's all too big to cover,
with just one thin layer.

And really, it covers nothing
that hasn't already been revealed.

I've see through it all,
counted the cards, turn after turn.

With one action,
you slipped,
played your hand.

I'm no joker,
though I've acted the fool.

Things aren't magical,
and your hands don't pull slight
faster than the beholder's eye.

You may continue your game,
keep pretending to be the house.

I've already rigged the deck,
and I'm just waiting for
your card castle to crumble.

So go on, try this bluff.

Hold tight to
aces discarded.

I'll always be
a wild card.

Background Ramblings

Hello?
Can you see me here?
I'm not sure you can,
considering it's unclear

of what this is,
or what I'm trying to say.
It's always has been,
in some sort of way.

I'm not here for money,
or some other greed.
Nor am I here
to fail or succeed.

Power is boring
once the novelty's done.
so I guess the only reasons
is to stay stable and have fun.

I'm not saying that,
through all my way
I'll stay broke, stay still,
and always obey.

But those aren't my goals,
they're side effects of living.
They're not the main purpose,
and a lot of it I'll be giving

to those that have need
of that little boost
to get where they need to,
and shy away from abuse.

The simple life
is all I desire
(albeit, with some natural drama,
passions, and fire,

all of which will serve
the drive to help on,
watch the ignition,
and keep on with song),

along with the chaos
I can cause for clean fun
that will add to all's enjoyment
when it's all well done.

I'll do my greatest works
when they are fully designed by my hand,
though I'll keep my ears aware
for suggestions from all strands.

But all in all, life will be good.
I'll of course fail, though avoid that when I could,
I'll disappear, one day, with some dark and my hood,
but I'll wonder as I walk that path: "Should I? Should I? Should..."

Pushed to the ends

"The coming month shall bring winds of change in your life"

The mountain.

We try to climb it,
our reasons,
ever so varied.

Some seek challenge,
to refuse the world's rules,
and to prove their own.

Others hunt for enlightenment,
that true peace
they can't find
looking up at it's peak.

More still seek inspiration,
something to live for,
some wonder to transcribe
in their own art.

To escape their own world,
to chase another on their journey,
to grow as a being,
to secure finality.

But sometimes...

Sometimes,
we climb
to climb.

The wonder is alive
as you wander up,
no reason to justify
reasoning.

Words can be words.

Writing to write,

walking to no destination,

living life...

We forget such pleasures
when the mountain crumbles.

Every curveball
has potential
to strike you out.

It's how we answer the pitch
that determines forward motion.

I sit on the side of a mountain,
my intention to live life how I please.

The changing winds are already flying by,
their debris still something to tidy.

For all in all,
their mountain can't move far,
the moon keeps shining borrowed light,
and, lying down or or standing up,
we move at impossible speeds.

We may as well keep on walking.