Who am I?
I know the logistics
-name, age, etcetera.
But it is not enough.
Who am I?
I feel vaguely disappointed for no apparent reason
-save for all the things I wanted to do, be, become
That I had no time for.
I have been far too busy.
I am young, I have time to change.
But will I?
It seems impossible.
And yet, I have changed so far,
Have I not?
I can no longer lay claim to my younger selves.
Ah, but was that change, or growth?
And which is this?
Perhaps I am simply growing tired.
Who knows?
But, please, when will this feeling go away?
When will I learn to stop chasing
Perfect illusions
And just find time for
Two worlds,
One pure, wild, and free
The other far more “Civilized”.
Code-bound rules stark against
Childlike simplicity with one law only:
-live or die.
To which do I belong?
Both call me
Both have some claim to my affections.
A balancing act
And I am swinging wildly out of control.
I know what is right
And yet, I cannot do it.
Moderation, it seems, takes more control than I could know.
I like this world – I am, after all,
Clothed, sipping tea while I write with a manufactured pen
On manufactured paper.
But oh, how that one calls!
The sleek black night, cool summer breeze, and clean fresh air await.
I am as a victim, torn between two sirens,
Each singing lovely songs.
But it is not so bad.
I, at least, have a choice.
I’m trying to relax.
But somehow,
Indoor silence just isn’t quite the same
And indoor air is old and stressed and stale
And somehow melancholy.
But why? Life is good;
I have so much.
Have done so much.
But here it is not enough
Never enough.
Only out there, in that world of
Trees and grass and cloud-strewn sky
Can I be free.
There, I am always enough
Just as I am.
And it is that silence which I long for,
Not this still, dead air
To furnace stress-paced life.
I need the other air
The clean air,
That loves me and all that I am
Or am not.
Yes, I need that air.
Then, I can
I need to vent.
Beaches, sunshine, flowers,
Sleeping in, vacationing,
Preparing for a long year of school?
Yeah, right.
School work, studying,
Going places, doing stuff,
Always something else to
And you know what?
I’m sick of it.
I’m tired of always doing things for other people.
I’m tired of going nonstop.
Or, if I’m not,
Feeling guilty because I
Should be.
There are things I want to do too,
You know.
Write, draw, dream, learn Italian.
Be young, just because I can.
If I still can.
They say that this is the best time of my life
And all I can say is
Oh, God, I hope not.
Do you know those times when
You get that feeling
That you have no idea whatsoever
What you’re trying to say?
No, that’s not it.
How to phrase it.
You speak,
Words emerge
And yet they have no meaning
-that anyone understands.
Understands correctly.
Then you began to gesture
Wildly as you talk with your hands,
Seeing as how your mouth has failed you.
Finally, spluttering out vague concepts, you ask:
Do you get what I’m trying to say?
The Tempest Calls
Storm is coming
Power crackles in warm,
Thick air
As wind rushes through,
Capers and rolls.
No need to rush.
The storm,
Confident in its power,
Can take its time.
Such power!
Enough to overwhelm mere mortals,
I am exuberant nonetheless.
Danger, perhaps,
But the excitement!
This is life, is it not?
Voice beckons from open door.
I must go in.
But please,
One more moment?
Just one more?

Blank pages,
Fascinating in their crisp white splendour,
Call to me.
Endless potential!
Anything in creation
Could be written here.
The perfect poem,
That final story,
The hidden truths of reality!
And so,
I am afraid.
To put pen to paper
And sear one pathway into the surface
Of reality.
I am loathe to banish
Those limitless potentials
And replace them with merely one;
A lonely reminder
Of lost possibilities
Inspiration is that flash
Of brilliant energy
When you know what to do
And you need, must
Get it out,
Record it,
Show it to others
No matter what it takes.
You pursue your goal
-Your vision!
You can rest once more.
People are so
Mystical, divine beings
-each unique
In a way
And all the same.
You never know,
Who someone is.
You can learn them,
Their energy, personality
But we change.
One moment to the next
Is all it takes:
In motion.
And you wonder,
If you ever really knew me
At all
Or if there was ever really a ‘me’ to know
Green mist adorns tree branches
As red rain falls to earth below.
Lo! The world alive!
The Earth we once thought dead
Is dead no more.