Dead artists & counterfeit idealists
Travel same paths I’ve once roamed.
To judge, to assert, as one were God—
Step off of your high-founded throne.
Barefooted feet sounded aloud the carpeted hallway,
Where people passed in sunlight of a side window view;
Forms drew on, each bearing a different meaning—each,
New reason passed by, as all parts came meshed true.
There was an attractive space recently filled,
which became an empty void.
That empty void,
became a great opportunity.
That great opportunity,
became a fleeting moment.
That fleeting moment of great opportunity of an empty void,
was then filled whole.
In the process of planning,
you missed the entire occurrence.
O now how the coffee tastes
so bitter at the bottom,
Waiting the day
wasting the now
for the then.
Sharp alarms, busy commutes, weathered words,
we are too—
local tasks, art, lists, work, and trends.
only hard fate;
this is your life,
so why wait?
Fickle love’s passing fate,
Seen a wretched cold world;
Sweet birdsong of the wind,
And a blouse lay unfurled.
On the streets of Dublin razor-wire hangs from fences.
Seagulls and Magpies dive in headwinds, this sentiment.
From a far off land noting the usual; on the corner is a café,
In the streets are double-decker buses, along the River Liffey
The needy sit, cups in hand, shaking; while padlocks affix
Bridges dressed in rust, only to express an undying love.
On a normal walk on a normal day, thousands of miles from
Home, just on my way – away. I walk to the store for toiletries
And a view. I find a thrift shop and enter to the land of Oz.
Across the street is Religion; with a paper in hand I watch those
Exit from the church, off of their pews, they walk through
The traffic stepping to, righteous, holy, and unamused.