Trifecta

The cauldrons bubble over

When I think  I’ve got it just at smoldering temperature

The tiny objects that we seek that mean things to us in our lives

Seem to define where we stand with ourselves

Our lives.

And are attested to express what kind of people we are

What kind of people we should be and become

It expresses a lot of ‘Whats’ but not ‘whys’

And im too fucking impatient to waste my time with things that are so remarkably pointless.

The way that things should mean things to people

The don’t ever seem to realize:

Your wow factor has a way of making all of us small

And there is a path through the aether that will force us to lean back

There is a way of modifying probability

There is a way through the dark by taking a step back

There is a way into the dark

Our hands give way to our dreams

Our hearts give way to our mind

And yet, it is not all of our players

And more and more we seek some sort of atonement for things that we had no part in

As though we’re guiltable animals

And owe our masters a great debit that can never be repaid because of its impossibly benevolent nature that we can’t possibly fathom due to our own personal level of self-inflicted smallness

it’s so painfully obvious to those that can see

time is far more precious than you possibly realize, and yet it is somehow also infinite and abstract

it is all things

for my part I find that it is a crusing pace

dialed in; I think your center is like some snowball crushed into perfection

some resonating conviction pressed into  steel and stone and flesh

that grows like a tree through our understanding of the internal

and external worlds

and I am driven to it out of some kind of strange charity

it brings with it adventures

there is a kind of human delight

in seeing

and being seen.   

stolen sands

where the wills and willingness wane

the cracks where it seems grow

on a world that is so plain

in a space where the rivers flow

the kodama do not show

and nor do they retreat,

where zephyrs always blow

where the sun will bear its teeth  

shadows in the moonlight

shifting through the street

running from their own plight

for a place to meet 

and under the cold moon

should they have to tell

“Come away with me child

We’re going straight to hell.

“wanted you to notice

And I wanted you to see

This word is not real, you know.

Nothing is meant to be.”

with the passing of a train

a blaring beam of white 

the shadows disappeared

within a flash of light.

I stumbled long on the night

And out into the day

With a sense that we were right

Despite, what others say

the Djinn hear all the choices

of those wishing to bet

to silence all the voices

collecting on their debit

The sounds of jubilation

shrieks that they might cry

Clouded in desperation

as they struggle and they die

all was meant to happen

all was meant to be

the requiem of the desert

so far adrift from the sea

a song that plays slowly

for the vultures in the air

a resilience that grows

without a thought or care

there is a kind of vibrance

to a world that just forgets

met with so much violence

as a quo that’s never met

it persists without a fungi

exists without a soul

dreaming to be better

wishing to be whole

the airid sands are turning

plucked as if by wire

whipping clouds of dust

alive into a gyre

they shredded up the old ways

into skinny strips that flail 

cataloging all the days

that we cannot set sail

as we sit beached and idle

on dry and gritty plains

not a drop to drink for a mile

while feeling our hunger pains

this crystal used to navigate

makes me feel so blue

my crew has been led astray

and others led askew

some into dimensions

to which they cant be found,

and some into collisions

that lead right into the ground

all have been purposeful

and all was meant to be

a phosphorescent blinding

even those that used to see

the days become the nights

the nights become the days

the wraiths of the desert

rise a thousand different ways

come with me and come away

to the deserts and the sand

in the nights as hot as day

unto this forgotten land