on parchments of presume

then.
now.
segregation of time –
collectively contained within the confines of our existence.
 
regardless the magnitude of desire –
the appropriation of intent –
our tenure in the halls of is fades.
what of it –
then,
agendas written to define autonomy over possibly?
while vividly drawn on parchments of presume,
they fade like watercolor in the rain.
ubiquitous as assumptions of priority –
 
misread lines from one-act plays of suppose…
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;

 

we say we did not choose to be –

the us we are.

 

we denounce the labels that define,

yet scribble words from strangers on documents of presume.

 

we stand alone in front of wishing wells.

imagine life redefined.

and yet hold tightly to the coins of change.

 

what purpose –

consideration?

will it matter in the end the option –

not chosen?

 

if –

in fact –

this life is merely prelude to the play of forever,

why spend wasted time rehearsing lines no one will remember?

after all –

words cannot open doors designed for touch.

 

more sensible to knock in silence.

persistent affirmation of conviction.

intention realized by feel –

rather than imagined –

simply heard.

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book of us

ever so quickly –
the turning of the page.
 
we write words we never intend to share.
fill pages of our story with documents of who we were –
designations of what we could become.
yet seldom allow audience to know the us of now.
 
closed.
collecting dust.
we keep the volume in its place upon the shelf.
and wonder why alone becomes our roommate in the chamber of discontent…
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possibility of am…

i wonder,
how it would feel,
if at that point along your journey,
the option to allow yourself to be completely broken was given.
 
how incidental,
the situation –
to be picked up,
piece by piece –
reconstructed –
to become whole.
 
reassignment of your could have been,
into the possibility of –
am…
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indifference revisited

unable –
sad word –
thrown carelessly into the wind…
 
inability –
chosen –
not a consequence,
rather,
a decision…
 
you take from me all that you need –
leave hulls of hope scattered on the floor –
and i am just too weak from wanting more
to sweep,
or even care!
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absence of belonging

 

un-found –

not lost –

the difference in the 

absence of belonging…

longing for –

that which you cannot have –

smile returned,

touch received,

void filled…

alone –

i was –

before i thought you found me,

long before i dreamed you –

cared,

believed…

how easy to release –

it seems,

regardless how far the fall –

not even the absence of a net deters the craving…

this lonely life – spent in the shadows,

eyes open,

scanning the horizon –

knees bent –

prayers sent –

all in vain!

 

your footsteps echo down the corridor,

long passageway of lonely –

leading you away –

from me –

 

all things good un-gravitate –

un-attach –

leave me –

undefined,

un-entwined with life…

need –

grasping at threads of hope –

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sorrow in the knowing

i simply –
do not understand –
in-difference!
it seems to me,
we’d be better served –
by honesty…
 
what is it about me,
my – self,
causes you such intense,
refrain?
 
nothing –
in this world –
perceived;
nothing – imagined – true –
nothing i would consider;
conceive – to do,
that would alter my perception of – you…
 
brighter than the brightest sun –
more dark than night –
your enigmatic – obscurity;
my addiction –
ignites…
 
how is it –
i know you like – feeling,
like – seeing,
like – touch,
yet you,
simply – hear?
 
(sorrow in the knowing;
want,
versus need…)
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the wages of…

can’t take a small nowhere,
when somewhere grand – i am!
can’t unknow –
the knowing,
abandon – belief!
 
if living is dying –
and death sets us free,
why captive – this me –
just – alive?
 
erroneous,
agree?
uncontained – we imagine,
 
yet imprisoned – are we…
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mid-life

age –
simply defined;
a collection of years,
or perhaps –
seasons.
society puts up fences –
youth here,
old age there,
either, or…
 
i find my place neither
in, nor out –
and so i sit upon the fence –
dangling my feet,
and my heart,
in both pastures.
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at the mourning of our was

alone.
we enter.
regardless accommodation of companion during the hyphen between,
the dates that serve as bookends to our existence inclusive to us –
ours,
alone.
 
what purpose then,
the becoming?
castles made of colored sand still suffer denigration by the tide.
and what of this game of charades –
companion?
for all the effort involved in allowing –
no guarantee of dividend paid –
much less ample return on investment.
 
irrelevant the assemblage at the mourning of our was.
alone.
we exit.
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