The Trick

I wrote this on a beautiful autumn day in Valley Forge, outside of King of Prussia. The changing of the seasons was an excellent inspiration to writing about the changing seasons of my own life and daily ritual. Finding truth in life is as essential as finding the falsity in life. Enjoy!

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The truth of happiness lies in the pain of sacrifice.

The pain of sacrifice is driven by our fear of regret.

Choicelessly, we take the plunge hoping all is right

By the time we land.

Accomplishing everything we can

As we gain speed and the weight of the journey pulls us closer to that final truth.

On occasion we find a boulder on which to grasp with futile stubborness,

Knowing our optionless destiny

But not its path.

The pain of sacrifice lies

In keeping our grasp on the boulders we encounter long enough

To catch our breath

But not so long that they become our regrets.

Contemplating capitalizing 'we' in regards to society.

I find myself walking around my neighborhood more and more, usually in the night time. I almost always bring one of my journals to write in, but I still say my best ideas come to me when I physically cannot stop what I am doing to write. I got lost in a public park near where I grew up, I didn't really get lost, just lost in the moment. Here is what I wrote when I sat down on the stone steps leading out of the forrest wall from which I came.

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The sun bleeds lavish nectar,

The clouds above my head surge with improbability and wonder, for

held within them is the power that is life.

All around me earthen products whip about in lunar induced gusts of wind. I am earth, I am rain, I am light.

Every day we shuffle to and from the daily grind in hopeless repetition.

What is it that we forage for if not the mere experience of foraging?

Why do we do it to ourselves? Why does it all matter so much?

We are all equal as the dead under that bleeding red ball in the sky, in the end: what was it all for?

Experience is the only thing that lasts, knowledge is the only thing that remains. And even that is not permanent.

I am a simple man whose contemplation of the bigger picture leads to the realization that it challenges my very reasons for being in it. What purpose do I serve in this hive of hatred and doubt? Existence for the sake of existing is beyond the case I make because of the honorlessness

We now thrive in.

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Roses and Love!

I just wrote this. I decided to take something familiar and attempt to twist it into the unexpected, though i realize this has probably been done many times in many ways (I can't think of a more cliche way to describe love, and writing an 'arch-nemesis' poem about it isn't that new I am sure). Either way, as always, enjoy!

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My love is like a bright red rose,

Cut early across country and shipped

In the ghettos and by the highways it dwells and thrives.

By the cars I give myself to all who dare look onto me,

Primed with enough sustinence for my love to appeal to the would be reciever –

My love is like a bright red rose,

I know I am among others of my kind, doing the same dance for the same reasons

We dance in fear however, our days are nigh and our nights frigid.

Day by day one or two of us surrenders to the elements and is cast astray.

It is that freedom I seek, lying in the garbage company to other used individuals.

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My love is like a bright red rose,

Thorns are cut, leaves removed, my love is vulnerable and

Uncorrupted as opposed to the figure selling it for profit.

The people pass me day by day as my love whithers and moves on.

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Since this has been recently written and hasn't seen a second set of eyes or second revision, please note that it is unfinished. As always, open to suggestions (particularly the absent final line).