To take the hero's journey, I left the ordinary world.

Now my heart is wildly pounding because the wolf is at my door.
That tireless executioner craves the very blood therein my veins,
but I set out to defeat it, so I guess I can’t complain.

The wolf is known as “ignorance” - when he’s posing as a sheep.
The most frightening aspect of the wolf is that he has a home - in me.

I find myself both - the hunter and the hunted.
I’m the question and the answer, the cure and the cancer,
the music and the dancer, the magic and the necromancer.

All I believe in
Is that no one
Knows anything
I believe in
Sheer ignorance
Anybody that
Claims to know
Something
It's like
"How could you?"
We're clueless

4.
Patterns of sugarless fairytales:
Field of reeds
Beckoning strings,
Robots in the garden,
Theory of the crows
Favorite lunch spot
Right in front of the window
Where we sit and drool
Our later years away.

24.
Amusement parks on fire,
The new improved hypocrisy.
Amusement parks on fire,
The science of imaginary solutions.
Amusement parks on fire,
The masses in line for the ride.

This *****
Artificially awake
Lydia
apples 20 years have passed
oranges i want a do over
manhole cover coins
savage glares across the 4 wheeled property lines
young moms not giving a ****, that's alright
kiss of sun hidden from
anxious from blue oak , it's ridges pluming in the dappled twist
and floundering wave, wiggling wave of oak leaves green as frogs.
ponytail suzy, *** from galaxy sci-fi
i brought up a cup while it was empty there,
but so distracted by my own trembling effort,
every hair a furry hood, every fatty fixture of my face a rebounding basset hound
tennis shoes up to my neck, dumb naked in my greenery,
already old somehow, the window closing,
the permanency of parks, like a stilletto in a limosine,
green fixture of my white blinded attempt to see tomorrow,
tourist .
thoughts of Sylvia
, my gaping awe at the feminine,
and its green garden.

-cbrander

Both had roses red,
One enjoyed the beautiful flower bed,
Unaware of the thorns, he didn't dread.
The other was scared,
of the thorns he did dread.
Scared, what if he bled?
So much on the thorns focused did he,
That one day the roses died and he could only see,
Lamenting, "I couldn't enjoy their beauty!".
The other was content with the roses, he admired them everyday,
till one day, they withered away,
Alas he got to know of the thorns one day.
He smiled at how he didn't know this,
And came to realize,
That sometimes ignorance is bliss,
and it's folly to be wise.

Only a fool could have discovered such purls of wisdom.

He talks because of endless ignorance,
Not that he has knowledge of any sort.
And every time he thinks he's in the right,
When just getting a bit of dumb support.