Open Your Eyes

I know it's a little unusual,

but the storyteller sings in art

as well as in words

for which one picture is worth a thousand.

Paint and ink are, perhaps,

the strongest revealers of truth

For when one throws oneself

unconditionally and yet so willingly

into the unchartered depths

of color and lines,

One totally immerses oneself

without precondition,

making oneself totally vulnerable

to rejection in it's worst

Art is one's everything,

the innermost voice that screams in truth

despite a world of puppets and plays

Of politicians, teachers, and speakers

who demand silence

That all must pretend

with such determination and fear

To see nothing,

hear nothing,

feel, breath, and dream nothing

To be purpsefully blinded

to all that surrounds us.

It is terrifying.

Open your eyes.

Chasing a Shadow

Okay, this one's a little weird.


It's actually a poem that I wrote in my diary

between 2:26 and 2:28 a.m., so it was really

late at night.


I think I wrote this one in less time

than any poem I've written so far.


It took me less than two minutes.


It might not make sense at first, but read it a few times.

You'll get it.


And if you've already tried,

and feel dizzy from trying with no success

and frustrated from reading a stranger's thoughts

without comprehension or gain,


run in a circle

and then the other way around


and scream, "I am ME"

if you can.


Shout, "everyone's someone they can't understand,

but they try . . . oh they try, to be someone they can."


Anyway, here it is . . .



Somewhere, far beyond the shores

Of ill-related time

No memory or rhyme

A drum beats far behind

A million forgotten scores

Chasing a shadow


A heart can beat to its own tune

Against the pouring rain

Without fear, without pain

But it's all coming soon

Chasing a shadow


The train that he can never catch

Jumped in, and it's gone

Never knew he was on

As he passed a speckled fawn

Don't need to strike no match

Chasing a shadow


So on and on it seems to go

No end near or passing

The beats of time are clashing

Ha ha, he thinks he's stashing

What he'll never know

Chasing a shadow


Passing these forgotton shores

With moonbeams on his back

Each card upon the stack

Cannot bend, but it can crack

Carry on beyond the scores

Chasing a shadow

Train

this blog is my own sort of outlet to the world

the voice in which I strive to speak truth

to a world where falsehood runs rampant

upon a narrow blackened road.

so, here goes . . .

I feel, sometimes, that we tend to walk

so far and for so long,

with so little and yet so much,

to ride a train we can never catch.

And if we do happen to catch that never-ending train,

we hardly ever recognize that it's beneath our frozen feet.

And if we are so fortunate to wake up

and open our eyes

to the roaring train in which we sit so silently,

we are repulsed by the poisoned air that fills our lungs.

We cannot breath without choking,

yet we hardly ever think to stand and walk away.

We choose our own conductor,

fill the train, and rail the tracks,

yet when we sit with billions of others

in stalemate of missing homes

we are so blinded by our own corruption.

We set the traps which trip us,

the clocks which stop us,

and the hands that guide us,

yet we hardly ever reach the destination.

Few can ever see where they are,

hear deafened calls,

feel a beating heart,

and still stand upright and undeterred.

So on we travel in our fervent silence

We're so stubbornly hopeless

in our race for time and lust and pride

We were so meticulous in painting a perfect world,

but forgot to turn on the light.

It is strange somehow.