I have seen the spider that carries our fears
flushed away by the rain
down the chipped and worn gutter
to be stuck circling a clogged storm drain
the debris of city life
preventing this water from escaping to the sea

when I am not there

have you ever seen the wind
or felt the eyes of the stars on you
it is that tickle in your spine
and electrical shock
that makes the hairs on your neck rise
you are not alone
and I will never let you be
that is my hand holding yours
through the long hours of the night

the way it is

I used to be so angry and try carry the weight of the worlds injustice on my shoulders
I would look around and see so much wealth and prosperity and then I would open a book or read an article and see that it this was only for the small selected few
how could I not be angry
growing up with the belief that if one works hard and does the right thing then a good life will be their reward
to see this lie shattered
it moved me into another belief that maybe I could make a difference
if I just railed enough against the those that perpetuate these systems of dominance and subservience
if I just wrote enough and yelled loud enough and expressed enough outrage everyone would see that it didn't have to be this way
another lie
becasue it is just who we are
it sounds so sad and defeatist but its is just how things are
as individuals dealing with individuals we can usually come to compromise
see how the other has valid points and make accommodations accordingly
yet once this gets extrapolated onto a societal level there are just to many voices and to many competing views on what truth actually is
despite the fact that truth is just another lie we tell ourselves
So I am not angry anymore
bitter yes cynical of course but not angry
I can not work up the outrage necessary to be angry anymore
life is built upon opposites
we can not have happiness without sadness
we can not savor those moments of joy without those moments of utter desperation
their can not be good deeds without the bad ones
this is just the world in which we live
there will always be the rich and their always be the poor
just like there will always be the dominate and the subservient
we can change who is in what group but these groups will always exist in one form or another
that is just part of what existence in this life entails
we can not have our cake and eat it to and I guess I am content with that now

the lies we tell ourselves

I've got an anger that keeps warm
on these nights when the sky goes on forever and it feel like you could swallowed by the vastness of experience
nurture that flame let it guide you through the darkness that prevails in this world
children who look like stick figures living a parody of life
while others gorge in the excess of a hedonist's paradise
men fighting and dieing over scraps of barren land
going home to mothers who no longer recognize them
is there a balance to this world where some must suffer
so that others may prosper
must the most evil actions exist in order that good may shine ever brighter
or is this the lie we tell ourselves
so that we can sleep the sleep of the just
let those flames loose to burn the edifices of this construct
take them all into the purifying fire
there can be nothing but will and experience
creators of our own design

the cycle of sliding

A quite that descends from the snow covered tree tops
settling to the ground it feels like the silence might have a weight to it
and then a bird cry rings out trough the grey sky and thick forest of green
what was that
a magpie or maybe a crow it does not matter
just a cry of life that reminds us that existence is not human dependent
yet here we sit amongst the armies of trees guarding against unknown enemies
now sliding between their outstretched branches
feeling the wind tugging against our clothing like an urgent mother
trying to warn us of the dangers that accompany these speeds
but like the brash children we used to be we ignore her
twisting turning as the slope increases
the tint of our goggles making the world seem as if seen through a windshield
a layer of separation between our experience and the reality
before we know it the trees are parting like the red sea for moses
and the entire vista lays at our feet
our heads move like cats tracking mice as we enter the open
weaving our way down
the cold air starting to bite at our faces as if angered by our presence cutting through it
and then with a spray of snow like the ocean meeting the shore it is over
only for the cycle to begin anew

flanked by the black and the white
lost in fog of grays
living in the shadow of absolutes

In a black chair that doesn't belong to me

the fan pushes a heavy sallow heat

it is like trying to draw breathes

with the weight of the worlds problems

sitting on your lungs

shallow short gasps

people will die and so will you

fight till you die

or sleep till you die

there is nothing

but what you you have made

and what you have made is nothing