A displacement of time
Is a whole new
Idea of recollection
I read in the pages of The New York Times
A nostalgic resurrection
Of the old feelings of joy
And pretending nice
Of a hope for a future
Without the pain
Of ill willed advice
I’m a manic man
On a manic mission
To seed the hope
Of a superstition
In between my eyes
And behind my ears
From the light of day
And the hope of years
Upon the grass
Mistakes remain
Unhidden
By the whisky grass grains
With wirey
Shadows
Wisp over the ground
My own falt
I see lurking around
The corners and through
The fields
But no more power
Will I let it yield
For today starts a new force
Within me
Hope given to me
To push on
That’s all for now
In a fleeting feeling
In the future
Connects me
To the now
Of this moment
Off and away
I go
With my emotions in
Tow
Fly from the ground
In a moments notice
I’ll be down
State
In a new state
Of mind
Unpublished
And unheard
My words
Fall short
When they could
Be bold
In paperback
Or in print
But to me
It’s not important
What is
Is the process of creation
To practice
Daily
With patience
So I am set on that front
Nothing more that I want
A head start
To get going
Before the rest
As we make our way
Through the daily test
Of starting over
And over
Again
Rhythm
To my life
Is a way of life
Living to the beat
As it is created
And as it exists
Inside of me
Holding hope
Holding patience
In a time
When waiting feels wasted
Yet to listen
When people scream
So angry
That I’m not sure
What it all means
But change happens
Not in a day
But in a lifetime
So I am holding
Hope
That we can do better
One day at a time
I wish
There was an only truth
Not many versions
Of interpretation
That leaves us with nothing more
Than a divided nation
Just some wanton hope
I guess
