Saturday, March 24, 2012

Insight buried in a box of dust

Relinquish power,
cede control,
abolish apprehension
of everything unknown.

Tension writhes in fear
It’s leaves wither in despair
over a coming cloud, that is
told to be of foreign origin, has been
foretold to bring the swirling whirls
of disruption and the wrenching
gusts of disturbance,

that distances the warmth above
away from the barren vacancy
existing below,

it provides a commonplace, one unlike
what most had ever grown accustomed
to seeing, to breathing in, something so strange
and wonderful, you ponder it’s meaning, and
amateurishly chart its probability of having been
created from heaven or heathen

and this borderline somehow
offers a tingling sense of desire,
a curiosity, an anticipation, an uncanny
combustion of fire—waylaid in its dormancy

while all the while impatience shrugs
it’s vengeful neck, from which the body heats
to an ungodly burn—painting thoughts, color
and emotion in an increasingly frantic harness
of terrible twos at thirty-eight, transforming
the pleasure of the new, into the jaded askew—

and so the grey floods the freeway with the oil upon a seemingly gentle feathered brush.

And so charcoal dances, always is, dancing in the distance, waiting for the dry-erase wipe of pleasure.  Anticipating conditioning will coil in the way it always does, and bleak ennui shall once again fill the ever-combative attention span of the what’s next to break societal view.

and it’s in this fledgling composition, where
wisdom could grow to be unlike anything
we had ever known.  But sadly, patience and savor
is not encoded within.

But the composition accumulates its dust-filled coat,
wearing it like a badge of honor, understanding it is
but a statement of the current time, knowing, knowing
that one day, a hand shall wipe clean the dusty frame,
and there, in that moment, these eyes will truly see,
the wonder and importance of what lies beneath.


  1. smiles....and all we must do it be willing to wipe away the dust and venture forth once more...and i imagine the hand that wipes it away to be small...i thought i actually read it that way the first time...becuase they can still see...

  2. When age creeps ever higher we do tend to let the dust lie and ask less questions, accepting that which is filled with dust and moving along with the rest of the rat race. Of course my ocd doesn't like the then wondering eyes come along and wipe it away, for those who let the dust stay.

  3. Fred--I loved this piece--wherever we are, that is where we are--in our color and in our dust. Loved your last stanza especially!

  4. esp. fell in love with that last stanza...the wiping away of what hinders us to see..deeper...and how different would we walk these borderlines if we saw..