Another Year and Half on Hiatus, When will your Songs be Heard?When you've been put Under?
Break your Eggs, my Friend---You are every bit as ConsequentialAs the Stars and the Moon!It'd be a SinTo hide your EssenceAnd mute your Lustre.
shadows crawling, sins go on repeating
as you scantily prop your back,
fighting cross-generational
demons.
years without Transcendence
or pure self destruction,
cut out from the fast and easy
perishing---
do you find yourself now
so needlessly harsh,
morbidly crass;
so stubbornly brash?
would opening your skull,
and peeking in to
snap these tense cords
bring you final release?
mute screams, muffled
between inner ears
reverberate and
seep---
until we are nothing
but knots over knots:
finding ourselves
in a messy string.
But hey now---
hey now, hey now:
If we are so Lucky
as to
Carry On Living...
Remember,
Grit your teeth!
trace the harder
route to Release---
Follow the timeless Patrons
of Form and Patience,
And all the while,
.
.
.
Rage.
Plan with fervor;
Desist; Trample if you must---
but Do---
not try but do,
Toss
until chaos
becomes Peace.
“Our significance isn’t found in fame or fortune, but in knowledge that we have been links in the great Cosmic chain. Our faithfulness, even in obscurity, will yield results that can only be calculated in eternity.”
—anonymous.
“Don’t die
You’re just a baby,
Yeah you are way
Too young;
You haven’t Lived
Til you’ve been
To the Grand Canyon.”
——-The Wind and The Wave.
Fireworks
Up
In Air,
Exuberantly
Succinct,
Leaving one
Dazed, staring glassy-eyed
Into weightless fumes.
The many aggregates
Of last year
And those
Of the many years
Before it
Linger on—
Into yet
Another
Set of days—
New year, Same you;
Can’t have Enough
Unfinished—
Nothing but
Rusty
Old chains.
But love,
Do
Feel different,
For destined
We are
To Hope
And to make Believe:
With the Advent
Of this New Year,
Our slates
Are once more
Rendered Pristine.
“No, I don’t like work. I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things that can be done. I don’t like work—no man does—but I like what is in the work, the chance to find yourself; your own reality—for yourself, not for others—what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.”
—Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness.
“Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”
—excerpt from Ulysses,
Lord Alfred Tennyson.
“I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of the strenuous life, the life of toil and effort, of labor and strife; to preach that the highest form of success which comes, not to the man who desires mere easy peace, but to the man who does not shrink from danger, from hardship, or from bitter toil, and who out of these wins the splendid ultimate triumph.”
—T.R.
.
.
Having been very much of a slave lately, I couldn’t help but to have found some affirmation from this very true—albeit a little theatrical speech excerpt.
Particular Moments 