26 Apr 2017
Do not talk of color to the blind,
nor sing praise of music to the deaf.
Words do not capture the sight of the mind,
joy of the heart, or piety enough.
The orphan knows nothing of ancestry,
the slaves nothing of their heritage.
A vague feeling of deficiency
that cannot be filled with words and verbiage.
Culture is a privilege,
civility a gift to few.
In times of equality indiscriminate
sophistication is a crime too.
But do not despair if lies proliferate,
people fib and leaders prevaricate.
A fabrication of fabrications is delicate,
and upon exposure to truth, disintegrates.
Red will still be red, discord still harsh.
They may silence the critics and deny the facts,
their art will still be ugly, their sounds still clash.
Their souls will still be empty, the poor, talentless hacks.
The beauty of this world lasts longer than men.
It is immortal as it is fleeting.
Those who see it for what it is will be born again,
who seek reality beyond perceiving.
14 Mar 2017
Your playful voice lifts me up,
your welcome tweets make me smile.
Your presence is smooth,
pleasant, and soothes
and I almost forget for a while…
I know you don’t owe me anything,
and I’d never take your pity.
Yet, I wonder if what ails me,
binds and derails me,
is beyond your capacity.
It is I who am truly sorry
for being unable to soar.
Even as my heart wishes to fly
with you into the sky,
my mind is tethered to the floor.
Will I ever be free of these chains,
these sins that drag me down?
Am I never to take wing again?
Hear the wind sing again?
Just scamper on the ground?
I may never find another as you,
of that I’m acutely aware.
But if there’s one thing I can do,
it’s not letting it drag you too:
it is my burden to bear.
I’m too well anchored to hope
to achieve escape velocity.
Until I find a way to break free,
or learn to somehow carry it with me,
the ball and chain is my reality.
09 Jan 2017
I knew, the moment I saw you,
that I will always love you more.
What I didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t,
was how little you’d love me back.
24 Dec 2016
If all I had was a year to live,
I’d travel the world, a heart adrift.
When only a handful months remain,
I’ll code and write, sketch and paint.
I’ll feast in my final fortnight
on favorite foods and sweet delights.
I’ll save a few concluding days
for admiring nature’s wonderous ways.
And in my last remaining hour or two,
I’ll sit back, relax, and think of you.
01 Dec 2016
They came with trucks
and machines and guns
to pipe their liquid gold.
The water and hills
and all life therein
to the highest bidder sold.
Politicians and newsmen
look the other way,
afraid to break the mold
while men and women are
gassed and sprayed
with water freezing cold.
On hearts and minds
this struggle maintains
an unyielding, striking hold.
Our times and values
will be judged by this:
by this our history told.
Of those who protected
water, and those
who would rather fold.
Of a world lush for
the young, or trapped in
the greed of the old.