gossamer lines
webs of twine
dust settling on the face of the naked earth
it winces as each grain nestles
as the years grow older, the lines grow deeper
the dust gathers more momentum and then gradually decreases.

Euphonious Bliss

This song takes me away to somewhere new and different every time.

Meat drawer

Best thing ever. . .

I often imagine dogs having voices.  This is the closest I have ever seen to what happens in the land of pretend.  Pretty sure I was a dog in my previous life.  It sure would make a lot of sense.

Fragile

A good friend's brother died this weekend.  A not so subtle reminder of how fleeting life is. 

Sometimes I can't quite put into words as well as others.  So here is Horace:
"Carpe diem, quam minime credula postero."
 Loosely translated -
Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the future.

Historical Fiction

Sat back to watch it fade away.
Following the curve of the earth
you slowly fade to gray
some Macedonian riddle lost in ruin.
Transitory as the cut stone.
Hard enough only for deception
for with the wind, the rain, the sands
of time will wear you down
back to what you once were.

Inward turned to grow a light
as palaces tower all around
and bar the hungry eyes
from the paragon deep within.
And always wonder am I trapped
here on the outside
or is it within that one finds
the tyrannical palace turned
acropolis is truly prison.

My minds eye

My thoughts trail down a path,
broken twigs and beaten earth remind me I've been here before
looking to the left as the earth falls away.
Each fork presents my past
but changes each day.

Climbing the boulders of my childhood
to find a vantage from where I can survey it all.
But like I remember from before
the view is obscured and so I
piece it together with my imagination.

The more I strive, the less I see.

Sometimes I get too sentimental.  Like a parent reading an old hand-drawn birthday card from a grown child.  And it's always at a those horribly predictable times. And what makes it worse is most of the time I can't place the root of the sentimentality.  Like when you can't quite remember the name of a song that is almost playing in your head.  Right there.  Ephemeral but about to take form.  It just never does.

It's funny, but I like the feeling in an indescribable way.  Maybe the same reason we like a sad love song or a tragic movie.  Stirring up a pain you didn't earn and therefore can walk away from.  Times like these I start to wonder if everyone shares these thoughts.  Has these commonalities that are more than just constructs of a life randomly pieced together by our individual upbringing.  The way a salmon knows to return to the small mountain stream it was born into.  The way a sea-turtle breaks the prison of its egg and struggles into the turmoil of the ocean's waves.

Walking across the hot coals of life makes us who we are.  Sure, it hurts.  And it can hurt like hell.  But it hurts in that strange good way.  And through this pain, you realize your joys become even greater.  My life, by comparison, has been cake.  Sure,  I have walked through my own personal hells, but it has never been anything that I could not take with grace.  Well, maybe not grace, but at least some civility.  And here I stand today.  One day closer to death.  But one day further into a life well celebrated and with many more adventures to come.

Like  I said; sentimental. 

In remembrance of Hieros Gamos

But find me standing there beside you.  That aching thought you hoped to forget.  A shadow being cast in the moonlight.  An ephemeral form slipping from sight as your eyes struggle to focus.  The words of the song you can't quite place and the tune dances on the tip of your memory. 

I am there because I choose to be.  I am there because you asked me to be.  With time the sensation has dulled.  My fanciful daydream wanders in a new direction.  The sun creeps from behind the tilting earth, chasing its tail, shattering the memory of the night.  The moon's muted dominance is forgotten in the playful colors of Eos, making full trumpet the return of Helios.

Almost breaking down the doors of sanity.
In the constant ebb and flow of life the world seeks rebirth.
As if the blood in the sand will bloom a desert rose.
And from the growing death toll, we begin anew.

Gnawing, nagging, aging doubt.
I'm tired of watching man
constantly tear at each others throats
to spill that life-breath's blood to grow
again a new brood charging forward to spill more blood.

Yet, amid this darkness, this doubt, this turmoil
I am again reminded by a simple kindness that
the capacity to love still outweighs the madness threatening to
consume the world

Say goodbye to the middle class.

In 1970, about 40 percent of the nation's wealth was held by 10 percent of the population. Today, almost 40 percent is held by just 1 percent of the population (and over 70 percent is held by just 10 percent of Americans). But we still have people arguing to reduce taxes for the wealthy. How big does the wealth gap have to grow until people realize that the trickle-down effect is a failed economic theory?

American politics has reached the edge of sanity

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iq38Nnf4pOw