"To Protest"

Take your banners; men,
Take them among the cold winter streets
And weave in autonmous lines,
Your warm breath illuminating
bloodied statistics.

Take your banners; you dreamers.
Expose the youthless eyes
To what you consider to be just.
Let them know you think it true.

Fight for your cause, humble warriors.
Bring the troops home, if you must.
Let the talk of change flow.

But when your warm breath turns cold;
Retreat.
Let gold-paved dissilusion resume,
And take to the woods, you cowards.
Have you no idea how to inspire?

Take your banners in flight; men,
And bring your cause to the wild.
Stake your words at the feet of the trees.

"Ha,"
The wise ones will reply--
Hinting at a fact they have long known;
At the words nearly engraved in their withering limbs:
"nothing ever changes"

A Provisional Insight

It's the difference between quiet winter air

and department store soundtracks.

It depends on how you feel, my friend--

Like a windfall occurrence

after many unmarked calls.

Or when I take

Impatient walks through those clothing isles.

Hours on my toiling feet.

If I spot you even once,

it'd be worth my while.

(You're never around)

And Sometimes

It has a lot to to with the bicycle racks;

They aren't too beautiful

without your standstill spokes.

I left you flowers in them.

(You never knew)

I don't want to know when you work.

I enjoy to come alone at random times

to gain an insight

on love.

"The Wayfarer"

This is NOT my work. Yet it has inspired me. A friend of mine on another blog shed light on this man's words. I seek to become the wayfaring man.

The Wayfarer

The wayfarer,

Percieving the pathway to truth,

Was struck with astonishment.

It was thickly grown with weeds.

"Ha," he said,

"I see that no one has passed here,

In a long time."

Later he saw that each weed

Was a singular knife.

"Well," he mumbled at last,

"Doubtless there are other roads."

-Stephen Crane

Expect Delays

When The Time Comes

“Stand clear of the closing doors.”

Please.

Let’s be listless for a while,

I know a place.

There’s a room in this city...

Full of smoke.

If you’re lucky,

It’s at the stop with the children

slowly reciting valedictorian speeches.

Look for eyes that frighten you

like the aspect of love.

(That’s the one.)

Head a few blocks north,

and ring a door or two--

I’ll be down in a minute.

Write Back, In Black Ink

The bottom line is, the past was never black and white.
(I've been telling you for quite a while now)

It's about time we met in a field somewhere
to discuss our differences,
so the grass can tell you what I mean.
And for Christ's sake
the birds can play their part.
I won't even say a word.
(but I swear I'll get the idea across)

Perhaps I'll remind you that I once loved you,
but then again;
I don't want to break any promises.
My eyes will suggest a desire to touch a star
(It couldn't get any harder)

Maybe we'll meet there instead.
In the past,
Wrapped in all sorts of black and white.

A Plausible Escape