Humanities Weary Seam

Where do lost dreams go

From the heads of dreamers

To the world outflow

Do dreams dry up and fall away

Do dreams pack up on a rainy day

Is there a collection of dreams

On the other side of time

Or gently recycled

What was once yours

Is now mine

Do dreams rest well below the sand

Never to be unearthed or seen again

Fall like autumn leaves on a cold day

Raked together and thrown away

Or do they linger around

Like the smell of smoke in an old town car

Can you see them trying to survive

Like summer grass planted late in July

Do they hold any hope of reimurging

Like dreams floating up and resurging

Or do dreams walk away quietly

Not disrupting the feelings inside me

Or do they burn out bright and wildly

Dreams exist

Dreams must not die

It gives me hope

To run fast or fly

Some are real

Some uncertain

Take the time

Pull back the curtain

In each of us I am certain

Behind humanities weary seam

We will find

Each one of us has a dream

With Love

I see the headlines

Death and violence

Run rampantly

The morning

I crack my eyes open

As the world bombards me

All this violence

Is all my eyes see

Violence for fame

Violence as a game

Violence on Social Media

Violence is what the media is feeding you

Or have we become more barbariac

In the way we live

Willing to do whatever it takes

Taking other lives

Even though it is not ours to give

Guns

So many guns

We fear each other now

More than the burning flame in the sky

The sun

Daughters and sons

We are all one of the above

We can not fate hate with hate

Rather with love

Unknowingly Unknown

A case of distracting news

One that one can not simply refuse

The future of art

Is held in the arms of one minds repose

Unknowingly unknown

Somehow the highest calling

Is called from a distant awning

The creation of art

To focus on filters

Rather than a focus in part

Somehow the filters of heard and unheard

Call out some higher prestige fallen

On a certain selection of words

The construction of words

All hail to the critics

It’s all pretty sick

A devastating form of salutation

Pounding into my mind

I hold back the gates

Unfiltered

Untamed

I learned from my mistakes

The best form of creation

Happens in pure refinement

In an attempt to fasten the muscles

To make a call to creation

A new creation in the making

A Tradition of Bad Decisions

Oscar has no love for fraternities

On that note

Oscar’s love left him

When she was in a sorority

I guess she had different

Priorities

While the majority of the US

Has the tradition of bad decisions

Oscar from Paris

Sees it much differently

He said that everyone

Was into his french accent

He was a type of delicacy

At these types of sororities

But they lacked in advanced thought

Somehow this childish nature

Would furnish a top degree

Oscar could not disagree more

I found this conversation

At a bar in Brooklyn

With delightful fascination

Oscar and me

Talking about sororities

In New York City

A Sweltering Embrace

The long sweat drips down my face

Leaving a trace

A vibrant jet stream

Cooling attempts being made

The sun spares no shade

On a New York City day

People walk carelessly

Trying not to perspire

None at all is desired

The subways bellow a thick

Steam as you enter in

Blowing the summer wind

Not much you can do

To evade

Or catch any shade from the heat

It is a element of highest rank

Infiltrating the smallest space

Under the heat of summer

With a sweltering embrace

Sweating Souls

Love makes summer seem

Soft and seemingly subtle

Keeps the air

From sweating my soul

Hands touch hands

Cheering in splashes

Crashing soft on the shores of

The ocean

Winds of sands blown

On the southern beaches of

Virginia

8 hours from home

For it is in Love

That we are truly never

Alone

On Repeat

There comes a point

When the life you dream

Becomes the life you live

There is no slowing down

No retreat

What you have to give

Must be in high quality

And on repeat

The dedication becomes meditation

Reaching for the highest moment

Unknown

The moments continue to grow

To make new opportunities

The moments can be less

About what you do

They begin to define

You

The Possession of Fluent Success

The unknown path of success

Teeters as much in my hands

As it does at rest

It balances not with my abilities

Talents or goodwill

It will find a line curved

Sloped sideways

And up a hill

The great challenge is to wait

Undisturbed

Knowing that I am

Unacquainted with the ways of success

It must pass from my hands

Through the eyes of onlookers

Into ears and slowly through hearts

Then it must make it way

Back out through the mouth

To adhere to other ears

Drumming to the sound of what is new success

These ears must then determine if my notes

Pass their discernment test

For which at this point

I have no possession of fluent success

It is now in the air we breathe

The sights we see

It is out there tucked away

Against the mess

Somehow

I can not define

What is success

The Great Pressure

How is the brain

Wired in such a way

That even simple tasks

Under great pressure

Can seem so unachievable

So distant

Out of control

How is it that ideas

Thoughts and motions

Can move my head

In evening rest

To stay awake all night

To turn left and right

So irritable the mind can be

When the pressure is turned high

On me

Unequivocally Cliche

I don’t believe the cliches

Until one day

I stop right in my tracks

Others unable to help

When I truly ask

How is it so unequivocally true

That one senses success

They become less understanding

Of what they can help and do

I never believed the silly cliches

Until this happened to me one day