Poetry-n-existential crap like that

Never Enough

Will we hear?
Never ourself for fear —
fear of being judged,
of being thought of as “less than,”
not worth my time to stop
and take notice of the marvel
that is you… or me.
Fear of knowing.
or not knowing.
Fear of finding that

Our hands are angry, filled
with withered dreams and hollowed visions.
We thirst for blood
for the pulse of life
for the beat of anima – not only our own –
to teach the rhythm of life in its capacity.
More than blood.
More than breath.
More than matter.
More than mind.

The essence of life is the drumming
of our collective souls,
acknowledging that under all this skin
we are exactly the same.
We breathe in light.
We give ear to savor.
We gaze thirstily upon the air and taste
only bittersweet concord.
Earthbound and kryptonized,
we turn away,

and turn…

and turn.

There is no escape.
Not even death will claim it
though he be a portal
fixed and absolved from every blame.
We are who we are and there
we will always be.
Salve to life.
Salve to we all.
We here,
We hear.

The Edge of Night

At the edge of every night
a decision lies in wait.
a choice
an accountability
a frame of mind.

At the edge of every night
the surface of the glass
reflects
and projects
a two-way mirror.

At the edge of every night
the wheel spins like a drunkard
to be
or not to be
a simple question:

to regret or to joy
to live with faith or die
of doubt
vacant by apathy
or filled with tenacity

to move with courage or shrink
with cowardice
to be twisted by fury
or absolved by grace
enlightened serenity or black despair

rancor or respect
gratitude or criticism
war or peace
love
or fear.

All at the edge of night
where we see the face of God
knowing all
hiding none
a precipice twice in a day.

About imacrab

I'm on the road to find myself. Although, I had no idea there'd be so much construction.
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