Is it truth,

For the hopeless and lost
With arms extended
From tired bodies
No burn left in them
And fingers wave
Symbiotic water flow
A free fall
From a quiz life
And the buzzing of it
Gone

Though the reaching still tries to breech
And pound
And claw their way
Out of it
The eclipse and filthy whole
Muddy with grasping
Parched from searching
Is it ever finding?

A way back home

A face contorts
The question why screamed
And floats away on silence
And it's cloud
So...
With almost no options
And grey hair thinning
Wired and running from his head
he ties his reasoning on the leg of a homing pigeon
He does not realise
In all his disturbance
That they flew off into non existance
That this logic will not fly

Or ever return to it's keeper

A thumbnail sketch
Of a face grinning youth
now tethered
With leather strip
binding itself to arched claw
And staked grounding
To prevent itself from
Ever leaving
Cooing up and away from self
And swallowed by skies
Of foreign, aging foreverness

The palpable infininate
Misplaced
Switched at birth
One story goes...
And still others laid out
And in the cards

The hands that placed them
old and paper skinned
Veins of wisdom poking through
pulsing calm and slow
Trees of knowledge
run ease in the lines of her palm

Her eyes are met
With great fear
terrifying roars of uncertainty come out of swallowing throat
And he sinks back in
And down into unknowing
joining other hands
That wag and claim
Need
And try to earn our pity

beg to be plucked
And lifted out of
And answered

He owns a world
In his own right
he owns a world of masked sight
And a bliss
When watched on one side of it

but on the other
One notices
he is either dead
Or in the dreadful state of not quite dying
And that he has closed hellish gates
On what lay outside of these
To pity this
I might warrant it
Might enter them and hear the swing

but to lay compassion in his hand
I do defy condemnation
I do earn my own reward
and breathing state
In the eternal
I will know absolution
I will grasp truth
And squeeze it into a diamond

This derelict mansion
My soul
And its worn fine embroidered
Green silk and
Once charming blinds
In tatters
Tatters I tell you

What say you
You and I
Hunt forgotten treasure
Here,
In long winding
Once bourgeoisie
Halls
Red carpeted halls
Of misdirection

Hunt treasure here
Perhaps pearls were once
Unstrung suddenly
As rough hand
Skipped its catch
And the beauty of pearls
Slipped and had scattered
Just rolled off and away from
Her smile

Just rolled away
And a tear
Like crystalline
Of little self
Was all there could be left
To shine him away

Derelict mansion
Of soul
Of little self
And forgotten treasure
Torments
Like howling caving walls
And floors sinking in
Like memories
Of torrential
Musty moisture
Grow into them
And show like dark faces
In screaming silence

Show like howling emblem
Mid seething anthem
To a shabby state

It is dawn over these summer hills. The blue skirts of fog billow and lift and show their knees.    
The water below caps white tipped and nips blue grey with the heads of big fish.        
Pink dawn shows her lovely face.        
She smiles a covenant with centuries of great pride.      
    
Her arms hold a tale of the people, who were my Grandfathers, and my Mother’s own.        
They were my Uncles and the children that rose from them.        
They had ***** faces and broken backs. They owned mules and hounds that knew the way home.      
    
And I am here.        
And I am made breathless by the scene and reminder of it.      
I hear hillbilly music.    
  
The instrumental keeps my people in mind and balances the world.      
Keeping trouble distant, but a part of me.      
Its efforts place compassion in my palm.      
Hands with gentleness like mine strum.      
They pat on knees hard times broken by laughter and happy families.  
    
The sweet mandolin plays amazing grace with harmony sung by women in rags.        
And they brush my hair back softly from my face. And ask me to show it.        
And grin that my fingers are not blistered. And that my arms are not leathered by sun.      
    
And they hum a new song, about my journey, and about my son.        
The melody becomes words of my own and I miss him like heartbreak, but hold it dear.        
One day soon... I will show him this view.        
From a bridge that spreads the morning before you, like a kind woman holding a photograph.

In forested moonlight        
Scattered pale blues            
And caught the flank of a midnight            
Black            
            
And there was gripped            
For a brutal moment            
The wild of the beast            
Then shot fear and thundering pound       into the Earth            
Where it was absorbed and held            
For a Mothers arms are always willing      
        
It was heard in the beasts hit of hooves   And in its eyes like a drowning pool            
the question Why            
            
But no answer was given            
Though she lamented            
Its Mother only shook her head            
soft smile passing from knowing  
mouth    
In utter juxtapose from feelings felt            
            
The beast slowed its pace            
As confusion touched apathy            
It harbored its clip            
Its shoulders shrugging            
Dawning its harness as the sun rose ready            
            
And daylight saw Man's dominion            
It rose and gave over to a gentler master
the fate of the wild
in Woman's hands            
And though quite capable            
she was sadly so            
In all her certainty            
She was very sad to watch the wild go