But Not For You

You may judge me when

you’ve been sequestered

and immobilized by fear

With every thought a plea

for welfare or survival

You may tell me that

this too shall pass if you

have made the journey

safely out of crushing darkness

to a place of sanctuary

You may hear this if you feel

your heart could break at

any moment for the ones

who suffer thus without relief

but not for you

Depression

Movement is slow. Thoughts take position and remain for hours,

surrounded by nascent, scurrying demiurges signaling destruction.

The stuckness of it feels overwhelming.

No forward yearning , no backward insight.

Hung...

and

hung...

and

hung...

Till falling, failing, welcomes darkness.

Best of Luck

She’s acting fearless again.

Withholding her drab secret,

two cigarettes burning at once.

Her eyes seem tired and distant

without her usual battered grin.

As if she'd been struck too often

by ambiguous verbal jabs.

Holding on to confidence that’s

slipping from her mind like

marbles falling through the broken

corner of a sopping paper sack.

She’s restored when she’s alone.

She settles into partial comfort

and compares the risk of loving

with memories of consequence.

When I come by to see her,

I taste sugar on her tongue.

I feel the space that she’s allowed

for my unspoken misconceptions.

She’s not as fragile as she looks.

And because her heart creates

the now belonging that I seek,

I find I miss her.

Anxiety

Jiggling, bouncing, scraping bottom

sensing nuance moving faster than

the mind can comprehend.

Along and weaving in and out of

dreadful, flashing, ghostly patterns

pooled in depths left unexplored.

Opposition Overload

The problem with understanding is that it relies on perception, and perception is an individual activity with subjective results.  Unless individuals agree on the meaning of words in a particular context, it becomes virtually impossible to achieve mutual understanding. Often it seems that the result of this effort is a form of judgement leading to rejection not only of the idea put forth, but of the person stating the idea, and a subsequent prejudice toward all ideas of that nature and all people who espouse them. Welcome to the Global War on Egalitarianism.

It doesn't seem to matter what the issue is, age, race, religion, politics, morality, philosophy, etc., or just a personal taste in recreation, art, music, style, ad infinitum. There are plenty of arguments available, and multiple sides to take.

I don't mean to denigrate, or minimize the significance of anyone's point of view. I just want to say, I'm exhausted. While the neuro-hormonal rush that comes from grappling with weighty, or even less consequential matters can be exciting in the short term, eventually I just feel drained. I wonder too if this will become another addiction among many I've practiced, if it isn't curbed. Now, before anyone starts reaching for their high horse's saddle, let me bring my thoughts to a conclusion.

In the months I've spent online, joining, sometimes posting, but most often lurking in groups and fora, I've yet to find a comfort zone. I'm not sure exactly what that implies about me, or the people I've encountered. It seems that I've noticed more the tendency to object than agree, to defend than examine. Are there people who's desire for understanding transcends individual issues and prejudices? Will my own biases preclude me from recognizing, or accepting them? Am I an asshat for even thinking about this? I wish I knew.

Hypnagogia

Cocooned by warmth in twilight of awareness,

Mixed voices probe and penetrate my mind.

As if from far away, on restless tides of air

They gather here from the span of time.

Come join us in our aeon of communion.

Abjure this steadfast solitude that binds

Tendrils of desire to a monolith of care,

And enervates the heart's desire to climb.

Too soon the chorus falls below a whisper,

Oblivion has claimed it's place in line.

Till it's diurnal means whose end I gladly share

Restore me to a finite realm that's mine.

Hidden Away

Everywhere I go I feel

the aching hearts of those

who crave escape from their

own poisonous reflection.

The thought, and then

waves of crushing guilt,

a chilling glance at

inner visions of rejection.

I am caught, I am bound,

crying out within the confines

of my self-imposed seclusion.

Like many whom I meet,

I am hesitant to offer

more than casual concern.

I preserve the sanctity

of my equivocal illusion.