Stone Face

All things change on shifting sands
And time, the most shifting of all
No thing can endure, though some may survive
The change of the suns and the moons.

Even mountains of ice can wander adrift
Though their faces that shimmer will cry
Their hearts of cold venom will thaw to reveal
The drip of lost lifeblood, obscene.

The mountain of life will spring from the tears
Turning sadness to cries of new birth
But even the greens and blossoming trees
Are subject to dusk and disease

For life begets death, as the two are lost twins
And their parent, the glacier made ghost
No birth can come forth without death eying close
And portending the fate of all life.

But the mountain, carefree, springs forth evermore
Let the life that comes forth go along.
Kept warm by the greens and blossoming trees
The spring of the living goes on!

All systems must balance to stave off the chaotic
And equations in math must compute
The song of the spring had too many to sing
And so death came along to collect.

Scarcity first brought life to a lull
Which begats it close cousin disease
And as all of the greens and blossoming trees
Covered sky, so the mountain brought dusk.

The mountain, imperfect, knew it too late
But the greens and trees would soon die
And all that was left for the mountain bereft
Was dirt, held together by rage.

For even as it was a mountain of life
It would not succumb to those tears
So the dirt would grow hard, and rigid and grim
The mountain of life, a great stone.

The sun and moon would circle the stone
Growing bored of its stasis, dead face
Yet through the blank stare of the stone growing old
Was a burning sensation, a rage.

The barrren dead mountain grew hateful of death
Having pledged to steal its victory
It would stare at the sky, yet refusing to cry
It sought only the strength to explode.

All things change on shifting sands
And time, the most shifting of all
No thing can endure, though some may survive
The change of the suns and the moons.

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On Diversity

Two poems in a day. It must be a record.

A difference in hues
Of eyes and of faces
Of homelands, of gods, and of races
Is this variation, this mixing of sorts
Inherent in conflicts, our disgraces?

The opposite case is hardly yet made
Homogeneity, no fill-in for peace
Why then is the difference, in any mild form
Labelled, often by many, with derision?

Perhaps it is fear
Perhaps it is not
Perhaps we’re too impatient to grasp
For diversity in thought, where we seek out the Truth
But instead build our walls with the same.

Statues

AristotleHeed not the statues lining the hall
Ignore their entreaties, go on.
The smiles of a stone can flicker by fire
The beauty of bronze will soon fade

The pedestals, crafted by years of long work,
Just distraction. A fool’s wasted day.
The heroes of yore reduced to a mound
All stones can be sand given time

How odd that the elements, though not as out here
Can effect those statues within
The pantheon crafted by the work of one’s mind
Can be fleeting, can be blunted by age.

Apatico’s Den

Amazing to see what a flippant comment on election day can produce! Granted, there are people out there who refuse to vote but do tremendous work outside or within the political sphere. As the title suggests, this poem/rant is directed at a very particular audience.

Lounging in hubris
Apatico’s den
Shunning calls for any action at hand
“The system is broken
The game has been rigged
Tell me why should I get out of bed?”

Understanding our faults
Apatico’s den
Yet our fingers, not scheming, but still
“The system is broken
The game has been rigged
Tell me why should I think with my head?”

Convinced of half-truths
Apatico’s den
While half-lies are what guide your thoughts now
“The system is broken
The game has been rigged
Tell me why should I care if I’m fed?”

Primed for extremes
Apatico’s den
Doing nothing to make it more real
“The system is broken
The game has been rigged
Tell me why should I do what I’ve said?”

Whining, not acting
Apatico’s den
And the world just goes on getting worse
“The system is broken
The game has been rigged
Who cares if one day we’re all dead?”

Through the Fields

It’s never quite simple
To traverse through the fields
Dark, unkempt, labyrinthine
And the muddy footprint
Provides no bearing or hint
For that print could be yours or be mine.

Grasses made firm
From unhindered growth
Majestic, impressive, unrestrained
They won’t bend to force
As a matter of course
For these stalks never cared if it rained.

The everlong field
Which engulfs us whole
Excessive, ill-equipped, ill-conceived?
It’s reliant on us
So to end all this fuss
The solution is true, if believed:

The taming of stalks
To walk through the fields
Unwavering, unbeaten, unafraid
Takes joining of hearts,
Minds from all parts,
And the activists lending their aid.

Today I’ll Write a Poem or Song

Yes, I’m still here. While I can, I’ll share a throwback Thursday poem/song. Enjoy.

To you, my dear
I would give you the world
Serve it on a silver platter and a drink with the swirl
The moon and the sun, if I could add them too
But today I’ll write a poem or song.

I know it’s rough
Right now we know
The money’s tight, sleep ain’t right, we’re feelin’ low
But just stay right here, ‘cause the skies they’ll clear
So today I’ll write a poem or song.

Hear me out with my poem or song
The sunlight’s coming out here before long
Today it’s a word, tomorrow brings the songbird
You’re the reason for my poem or song.

You’re beautiful
Even if you’re stressed
Far-flung, stretched thin, or just plain depressed
We’ll make it someday, just you and me
But today I’ll write a poem or song.

It’s coming soon
I promise you that
We’ll have it all and bring along our lovely cat
Our days full of dreams, and plenty of ice cream
But today I’ll write a poem or song.

Hear me out with my poem or song
The sunlight’s coming out here before long
Today it’s a word, tomorrow brings the songbird
You’re the reason for my poem or song.