Looking Back Blind

Nostalgia is a prison
built from the stones that anchor
the trenches dug as the row gets plowed
by the dragging across the ages and miles

Memory is not a shelter
it is a trap for the unprepared
a hole in the row, as cavities grow
and the rictus is mistaken for smiles

a shell of a comfortable mirror
pointed back but not pointed to self
never looking ahead to the alternate paths
just falling into the concentric patterns of death

Shatter the walls of reverie
tradition and how the things were
a trap set by the lazy unconscious
and the death rattle of growing’s last breath

Memory is for reference
Now is for life
the future is chaos blooming
Stop digging and start nurturing existence

Lose the anchors
lower the stones
breath and walk free into now
create today without false resistance

Last Payment

Nobody knows what this will cost me
Honesty’s too real
The baring of the layers of
Callous armor peels

Away from the scarred and broken
mending lines and pain
A confession long unspoken
of plans too long refrained

To tell the truth to myself
would shatter me away
when I look at what is left inside
there’s nothing left to say

Hatred left a wasteland
rage a scorched path
violence was the answer
but the question’s never asked

born into all the world could teach
before the mind could grow
who is it now, what can become
something I can never know

So I pay myself a visit
Across the ashes and the flame
should I peel away another scar
I’ll never be the same

Unstructured

The water ripples
Sound mapped on the 3D plane
A drop remembers

The wind sighs by me
whispering secrets loved long
Memory in scent

Trees murmur to all
Hushing the children playing
Rustle fallen clothes

The clouds drifting through
They have witnessed it before
mourning comes too soon

The water ripples
sorrow given form
A drop remembers