confidence, that thief

back here, how strange it is, the heart is sore,
as memories like lies, and sons of lies
touch cold bare feet onto a frozen floor
beneath a ghost they sought to idolize

how comforting – the fault was never owned:
there need be nothing learned or set away
or carried into bright and awkward day
from pedestals where they have lived, enthroned

and stories, like a hive, are built and set:
the never-happened, covering regret
encapsulates, and keeps the real world out,
so progress can be stopped, along with doubt.

the old clock ticks, and day soon swallows night,
and never-can-be-wrong is never right

Classical Condundrum

As a teen,
classical music was
my greatest love,
my strongest passion —

But the business of it
was catty, and shallow, and
competitively spiteful:
all I cared about
was the music

So, I elected
to find another line of work,
choosing to continue to play music,
but not be in the grind of competitions
for scholarships, recital time, and so on

And, these days, if anything,
it has gotten worse.

The most beautiful, thoughtful
performances can be found on youtube,
where commenters savage the performers
with the type of criticism that makes you wonder
if almost anybody that listens to classical music
actually likes it

But then, i take a deep breath, and remember:
youtube comment-leavers do not represent all people,
they typically represent the worst type of people:
cowardly, petty, bitter, and unaccomplished, themselves

The wisest choice anyone can make
is to never read comments on youtube

So i listen to classical music,
and continue to explore and
learn to play various pieces:
exploring unknown repertoire,
and enjoying performances when i hear them
rather than criticizing them

I know the critical mindset:
it is simultaneously self-righteous about criticism
and unable to accept any aimed at them

But these are just shadows of joylessness,
and i can pass them by in silence

For the music is the thing,
And always was.

We will always have reactions to what we hear,
we just don’t need to spend so much time
convincing others to have the same one

Because that is monumentally


Cascading Thoughts

To love our lives
Is what we want
And need

But satisfaction’s

For empty yearning’s
Built into
The soul

A circumstance
Beyond our poor

The colors melt
And pour into
A stream

There is an awesome
In the glen

Though life seems
More a battle
Than a dream

It has its moments
Every now
And then.

And you:
What are you yearning for

Is it that thing
You just can never

Or is it something mild,
A place
Of peace,

Or maybe just
Some whimsy, some

Believe in who you are,
And what
You want.

And you can tell me,
I’m your

Well me, and all the others
This —

So maybe twenty people
Know your

To love our lives:
It’s what our hearts

We’re three parts reason,
Seven parts

Who’s minds are travelers,
In worlds
Of words

Who trudge like turtles,
Though we’d be

Like birds

to feel the dark again

i want to feel the dark again
to feel the dark
to know the dark
i want to feel the dark again
and let it stain my soul

but not with evil’s angry touch
to be no pain
to know no pain
but not with evil’s angry touch
amid the darkened hole

i want to sense what isn’t there
not with my eyes
my lying eyes
i want to sense what isn’t there
and into dreams embark

i want to be what i should be
but never was
and never am
i want to be what i should be
a creature of
the dark