Can't Break Me Down

You can’t break what’s already broken

You can’t take what’s already been stolen

You can’t

You can’t break

You can’t break me

You can’t break me

You can’t break me down

You never could.

When the head hangs lowly

And when comfort’s gone astray

Just remember, it could not have wandered far from here…

And when you need it,

When you need what’s inside

The heart will find,

The heart will find it there

And then, all things

All those dark clouds and shaded smiles,

Will become those shapes, the epitomes of clear

You always knew, exactly what to say

A Time When All Things Ended In Prayer

A cone of silence

Cubically unaware

A destiny compacted

Into a square of soil

Unfit for growth

Geometrically opposed

Soft-shelled replicas

Of some prior time—

Reflecting

Cursorily in the seekers eye

A fate unboxed—tethering

Ideas together in various shades—

Sentimentality regurgitated through

A quaint appreciation of all things

Dissociated from a world consumed by effigies.

Polarized, we rotate eastward.

Entranced, we sidle to the south.

Encapsulated, we wander westward,

Hypnotized, we kneel before the northern sky.

A Song for the Doubter

listen to ‘A Song For the Doubter’ on Audioboo

You got people telling you

You don’t know what your doing

You got people telling you

You got no place pursuing

                                                  But they don’t know

              But they don’t know

Just cause something’s never been done

Don’t mean it can’t be done

Illogical (E-Lodge-Ick-Uhl)

Is

Phenomenal (Fee-Nom-N-Uhl)

When the

Impossible (Imp-Pah-Sip-Uhl)

Becomes

Probable (Prah-Bib-Uhl)

Then real (Re-Uhl), then real (Re-Uhl)

You got people telling you

There’s no point in dreaming

You got people telling you

There’s no reason for believing

You got people telling you

There’s no chance at succeeding

     But they don’t know

              But they don’t know

Just cause something’s never been done

Don’t mean it can’t be done

Illogical (E-Lodge-Ick-All)

Is

Phenomenal (Fee-Nom-N-All)

When the

Impossible (Imp-Pah-Sip-Uhl)

Becomes

Probable (Prah-Bib-Uhl)

Then real (Re-Uhl), then real (Re-Uhl)

Always going to be people saying

There’ll always be someone talking

But they’re isn’t ever going to be

Someone like you/Someone like me (Repeat while fading out)

A Guided Stroll

listen to ‘A Guided Stroll’ on Audioboo

You watch and determine day from night

You linger past the moonlight’s afterglow, well into the promenade looming behind a crested pounce of wave

Evenings are but intermediaries to you

And your centurion’s cage is, at most times, evenly divided into quadrangular partitions of sky

You watch A hour half past six or a

Five months from now—wherein, affixed the

Light stays as strikingly as ever remembered

Or if noncommittal, than your alternations harp accordingly—

To where a number of factors alit the present face, to which, of course, your eye catches each fractured toil and fragmented stint,

You are born

You are beneath

You are besides

And you’ve always been between

Yet it is here where you allow your form to follow form and not in that “some other time of year,” where flesh glistens by moonlight, dances it’s hypnotic tides across the serenity of it’s mystic shores

It isn’t always always fair, just, deserved, proper, adequate, moral, ethical or right. Yet you evaluate all things as if they are all cut from identical tapestries

It may not even be considered plausible to the well-magnified test of eye. You not only understand this, but appreciate it as well.    

You always seem to deliver us the current’s time of day

You notice and then proceed to oversee the fourteen lights and you remember that twelve of these originate a lake; one from a river and the other is a long and winding stream.  

You hear a swift sound.  It scurries quickly across the rocks

You hear the rasping quicken but do not inquire upon its source. 

You are not curious, for you are fully aware. 

You know it is but a sound.  You know rats abound this place, as they nest their families near the grates of drains.  You fear them not and understand them completely.

You declare that they’ve been unjustly defined. Your posture alleviates apprehension.  Your loving tone quells the fears that may have otherwise stirred within.  You indicate that while they are truly a rambunctious lot, it is only that they are consumed by restlessness and are but solely happy to be, invigorated by a life that does not ignite until only after darkness has fully blanketed the light of day.

You bend over slightly.

As you do, your robe sways softly in the salty air.

You reach down and return aligned.

You are smiling as you hold the smallest of them.

It fits within the palm of your hand.  It is malnourished.  You provide it the sustenance it needs.

You take hold of me.  Your grip is firm and strong.  It is comforting to hold.  You lead us down the break-wall, taking us to its very point. You see my reluctance and whisper to my soul, “follow me and you will not fall, for I love you as I love each and all.” 

You disappear, yet I still feel your hand in mine. As the surf tickles heel to toe, you’ve filled me with all I’ll ever need to know.

Later today, stop on over to D’Verse where the exploration into point of view continues with this week’s Meeting The Bar.