Ticking Clocks

The last thing I ever remember doing to a ticking clock was smash it down. But last night was different, I was caught off guard. I was drifting off into indefinite space

& so the ticks were not rhythming my present but rather rhyming my past; the past which I woke up to find I had been sleeping with all this time, when all I really wanted was

to wake up from sleep in the arms of another.

From the Depths of Inner Silence

It's this tiny thin thread between being & feeling. Right at this moment, I am, but I don't feel anything.

Just for the Dream of It

There's lovers turning into strangers & strangers turning into lovers,

there's one self & multiple selves & endless change.

There's one story, there's mine side of it & yours,

our version of it & theirs.

There's new stories arising from old stories & the world is born.

There's things I do & things I don't remember,

things I will & things I won't do again,

things I miss & things I try not to.

There's me, there's you, there's him,

& her, and her & him, there's them, there's us.

An us that is, an us that never was,

& an us that never will be again.

There's lost, there's found, there's one casting me out,

& one taking me in.

There's days, there's weeks, there's months,

& there's years to come...or not.

There's time, there's timelessness, there's eternal now,

& a never happening then.

Breathe in, breathe out, fade out & fade back in.

I only hear what you say in terms of silence,

gaps in between utterances,

& I tell what I've got in words unspoken.

It's the first of December, there's passing thoughts sometimes.

I'm hiding, right here, just for the dream of it,

and they cannot see me, not in my mind.

Right Then & There

He intimidates me. It feels like three mighty decades are staring back at me every time he looks me in the eye. I face every breath he's ever taken, everything he's ever seen & everything he's ever done. I stand before his glorious story; vulnerable, weighed down, and scared of all the unknown bits of it. But when he smiles, the ice mountains melt & I peacefully float in running rivers & streams.

One Two Dreams

Feet on cold glass, surrounded by & embracing mirrors & I don't know where to look; reflections of light & thought & sun & signs of His presence & the lack of yours; shadows on the inside concealing the answers & even worse; concealing the questions. I don't know whether to wonder why I'm here or why you're gone or why one day you weren't or why one day I was or why I should wonder about anything at all. It's all too transparent but the glimmer is blinding me.

Covered in layers of white cloth; layers of different meanings & all possible explanations.

Come back to me.

Undress me.

Layer after layer, sheet after sheet. Strip me of my confusions & tame the beast inside my head. Get to the core of my weak self & show me the truth, naked.

Guide me, blindfold me, and I will follow. Because I've got no strength & I cannot but surrender. Get me out of here, I do not want to hear my breath anymore; take me into the night where the skies are dark & the moon's blush pink & the clouds soft rose. I want to hear the folk rejoice about it, I want to break the silence before I turn into a madman. I want to be distracted. I want surreality, I want thoughtlessness. I want you to help me put an end to all of this.

But then again, what is this?

& who are you?

This Mess I've Become

The problem with having written too many stories is that I don't know which one this ending belongs to.

Motion Picture

This isn't it; this is reflections of light on a side view mirror,

Shadows of swaying trees on the wall,

Echoes of the full orchestra's song;

Ringing like reverb in an empty hall.

I have seen tall buildings & obelisks & pillars

Stretch out to touch it but they don't,

And I've seen us replicas & minor actors

Think our roles are leading as we flaunt.

Foolish is the one who claims to have the wisdom

For this is just an image & we know nothing at all,

A sage is but a quester & doesn't have the answer;

All what he's read is chapters, but the story is a whole.

There's nothing I can do now but be still & look above,

And stare quietly at His painting that I long to be part of.