We seek because we hope to find…

We seek, because we hope to find
A gallery among the blind;
A bit of hope, a bit of rouge,
A plot behind the subterfuge —

The soft or strong, the give or take,
The love we speak that then we make
In choruses of two, entwined —
We seek, because we hope

To find

The Clouds, Like Us

The clouds, like us, seem made of naught but dust:
We travel over hard and rocky ground,
Through countless miles agitated strife,
Then pour our dirty selves back down to earth,
As ash to ash, and dust to dust, indeed.

The clouds, like us, chaotic and obscure:
We tangle in each other, slipping out,
And heaving back into confusing mist.
The past, the future, both – so much to know
That we can never fathom, though we try,
To find some shape or order in it all.

The clouds, like us, whose days are hard and brief:
But in whose tears are growth, and life, and hope.

The Ugliness of Life

The ugliness of life, it waits
Around the corner, in the dark;
For all we might procrastinate,
The ugliness of life will leave it’s mark.

For long with patience will it seek
The moments we are down, or weak,
And scour down the shores and docks,
The country roads, or city blocks,
Or happy pathways in the mist
That we might hap to walk upon.
The ugliness of life, it sits
And from its hiding place, it won’t be drawn.

Until the moment it might choose
To show itself, to our regret:
When all we seem to have, we lose,
And our few certainties, upset.
Yet still we travel, as we must,
Our meagre stock of hope and pride,
With ugliness around, we trust
It’s sister, loveliness, is just outside…

The ugliness of life is there,
Around the corner, every day;
In all we seek, for all we dare,
The ugliness of life won’t
Go away

Evening Falls Upon the Heart

When evening falls upon the heart,
And all we’ve loved has vanished with the light,
Our pathways, separate and apart,
Converge within the muteness of the night.

And there, within our solitudes,
We reach for things that beckon to no peace;
Obeisant to our sports and moods,
Uncertain, though, of what might bring release —

We lash ourselves to masts, and wait
For storms that our mythology requires;
And gradually devaluate
The warmth we’ve known, and felt, from homely fires.

What always ends, must always start,
And every wrong is born from some new right —
When evening falls upon the heart,
And all we’ve loved has vanished with the light.

a hundred-weight of dreams

a hundred-weight of dreams inside
a thousand-weight of fears;
some scattered days of hope within
and dozen months of tears —

a dread that’s born of emptiness,
a questioning of worth:
a plague of such anxiety
as rends the very earth.

the colors of accomplishment,
ineptitude, or both;
the tearing sound that signifies
both injury and growth —

the hotel with its silence, or
the spotlight with its cheers —
a hundred-weight of dreams inside
a thousand-weight
of fears


© Andriy Bezuglov | Dreamstime.com – Redhead girl with wet hair sits in the bath full of water with m

Token

what is your truth? what have you seen
when no one else was there to see?
is there a lonely spot of road
that's made from you or maybe me?

you knew one in the wintertime
when walls were painted with despair
and no place that you went preferred
to anywhere
or everywhere

what is your plot? your character? 
  your theme?
why do you linger over post, 
  or meme,
or stare at empty screens and wait 
  for words?
or dream of flight, while sealing out 
  the birds?

the lonesome road of wintertime
the isolated way;
the habits that are character,
the token we must pay
to see while we have eyes to see,
and not to look away:
for humankind is horrible
past what mere words can say.

our eyes look down,
the raptors coil above:
it's only love that is our hope,
and all our hope must be
in only
love

. just one desire .

we chase at times the wild prize
that runs from us unflaggingly;
we track at times the quiet hope
that slides and sidesteps, stealthily –

or maybe, we’ve just one desire:
a slender, lonely, candle-beam —
that we have never chased or tracked
for it’s right there,
in every
dream