Facsimiles of Fortuitousness

Supine aciculate,

Shedding predilections over sentient epicenters,

Strychnine serenade,

Ushering in a dawn of density before a decentralized acropolis

Relegating potentate,

Lauding the sanctimonious hymns of byzantine tomorrows

Morose and incontinent,

The Aeronaut bleeds septets of inquisition from deep within

  

Conjugations repositioned,

Transmigrating into delicate Hyperboles of distraction

A Toreador amidst an otherwise hyped-up insubordinate,

Emancipates every proclamation of thoroughfare ever spun

Seeking the Longview…

     In the center of a sandstorm,

              Is never easier done than said

Nervous Ramblings of the Pensively Provoked

Opportunity.  What does this mean?

I scour the subdivisions of the daily news.

I peruse the specialty sites, truly believing

That an ad will be placed especially for me,

Yet, as it is each time, each and every time, the

Thimble is no place near the etui.

Fate.  Should I believe in such a concept?

I want to, I really do.  Yet I wonder what sort of

Karmic crimes I had previously committed to

Justify such a course road.  Doing so barefoot is

Also something I question deeply.

Arrogance.  Perhaps our previous accomplishments

Paint the veneer with a certain stroke of bravado.  Perhaps

We gingerly strut through half-opened doors, expecting a chorus of welcoming faces, privileged to be in such proximity. 

The truth is, there is no truth.  There is only that which is present currently.  Understanding the nature of such truths is fine, but in this frame of reference, we cannot, without exception, believe present knowledge will translate to future realities. 

No, truth is but a crime upon the senses, dulling the blade we once swung with the most violent of intensity.  Truth creates complacency.  Complacency prompts atrophy.  Atrophy increases the probability of something bad happening, to our externality, which even the most confident, will eventually begun to question that which lives within.

Life believes itself reliable, even decent, all because it levees such precautionary tales before any of its advertisements promoting scope-altering opportunities.  All of these endeavors are poked and prodded with simple disclaimers.  Everyone’s always worried about the aftermath.  Is it any wonder no one truly reads the fine print?  And then we wonder why surprises negatively impact our present realities. Perhaps it has something to do with apathy.  Maybe it’s misguidance, but probably something closer to what I can only describe as a mixed bag of conditioned blindness and societal lust for expediency.

Blame comes in all shapes, flavors, colors and sizes.  We are so eager to blanket our failures in the lexicons of excuse that we lose layers of our own individuality in the process. Is this poor parenting?  I don’t know.  But it makes sense somehow. Doesn’t it?

I ramble when I’m nervous.

Crickets

Crickets crashing upon corroding biers

Softly swaying to coarse lit tears

Fireflies light the way

On this premature voyage to immortality

Sanity and sanctity

Positioned just so,

Focusing upon Inherent flaws bred through woe

Of man and man, of man and beast

Different tones play upon,

Each and all, the cords of voice

The quality in chosen words

The action becoming of the strangest verbs

Empathy comes at the oddest stops

Visions of visions shared once but lost

Yet crickets chirped

Just the same

Until, of course, the winter came