The river flows unending and undying.
I am a simple boatman straining against its pull.
My breath draws ragged, weak, and sighing.
Why do I work against the river 'neath this tiny hull?
Pole slides across mossy stones seeking purchase
green beauty below the waves shrugs away my effort
flowing away from the goal my pole can not find its place
no rooted strength to draw from, the sky fills with my retort
"Am I damned to work against powers always greater,
for small am I and weakened by the long path behind
I wish not to go that way again it will not to my needs cater
to go the against the tide is where lies that which I must find."
Gurgle and rush goes the great unending and undying river
just as it always has done and just as it always will.
Back to the poling against the current as muscles begin to shiver
the emerald hair waves to me in a dance that is never still
A simple idea cracks through my weakened thoughts.
"What about going back so the undying pushes you?"
Grim the line that is my mouth "Not till boat and pole rots"
My forehead lines with beads of sweat like morning dew.
Down again goes the pole into the emerald hair for hold
as shore line becomes familiar now as I founder against the flow
my mind goes back to when I began, my gaze fierce and bold.
That was a time I simply did not know how far I had to go.
The river flows unending and undying.
I am a simple boatman straining against its pull.
My breath draws ragged, weak, and sighing.
Yet still, I work against the river 'neath this tiny hull.

The cave man wrote his life in his cave,
And I write mine in an electric box.
Ideas of primitive man, he must save.
How different mine, than his written on rocks?
His pictures of animals, hunting, and fire.
Mine are of philosophy, people, and me.
His moves not at all, Mine moves by wire.
all of his pricless, and mine are all free.
Will anyone try to seek my history through this net?
or is it that this box is just storage never clasped
Or will memory of all fade black as Jet.
for the history not written is never grasped.

I hold a vision of the sky,
Big fluffy clouds float into view.
I see all my life and sigh,
all I see is you.

I have an inkling of violins,
there sounds perfectly meshed.
I hear all my life and grin,
all I hear is you.

I remember the feel of silk,
lissom as grand epiphany.
I feel all my life and muse my ilk.
all I feel is you.

I have an impression of the smell of the rose,
the exquisite sensation unique.
I smell all my life and remember all the lows,
all I smell is you.

I recall the taste of pears,
imaginary juice runs down my chin.
I taste all my life and forget all my cares,
all I taste is you.

I taste you on my mind,
I see your face behind my eyes,
I smell your sweet perfume,
I feel longing for you.
I hear your voice and turn to find...

Nothing....

My vision is blurry,
I hear weeping far away.
I smell sadness on the air,
I taste salt in my mouth,
I feel tears upon my cheek. 

 "Oh, where are you."
I hear a voice cry,
and I wonder who speaks.
For I am alone.

 I see a visage in the mirror.
a tear streaked face,
and I wonder who cries.
For I am alone.

I taste the tang,
of fear and desperation,
and wonder what I fear.
For I am alone.

I smell the scent
of regret and anger,
and wonder who it is for.
For I am alone.

All senses point to me,
realization sinks in like poison.
All senses point to me.

I am,
Loss makes a hole.
black silent void.
Anger burns to ash.
consumed, empty.
Pity steals your sight.
blindness of inward eyes.
Fear covers life.
smothering, blackness.
I am,
Black silent void
consumed, empty
blindness of inward eyes
smothering blackness.
Hope makes something.
filling dark space.
Forgiveness regrows.
building that which is lost.
Generosity returns light.
teaching the inner child.
Courage breaks boundries.
finding my path.
I am,
filling dark space
building that which is lost
teaching the inner child
finding my path
I am,
The black silent void filling the dark space,
I am,
the consumed, empty building that which is lost,
I am,
the blindness of inward eyes teaching the inner child
I am,
the smothering, blackness finding my path.
I am all those things.

P.S. this one is way to wordy but appealed to me when I wrote it

Expression begets

Entropic cycle forgets

Salvo of regrets

I saw a burning bush
seen, believed, and loved.
Myself turned inward
what I saw was burning,
not bush but soul.
My back turned,
I seek not warmth,
just wish for independance.
From all I turned,
which sent me reeling like a top.
I must face something,
so I face myself.
Let what comes do so,
I turn no more.

P.S. To those of you who can read between the lines this is my life story.