I Prefer Not To.
how do you trust
emphatic assertations
claiming of a love so vital
so unknown
safe and new
all is spoken
as though feelings
never had been felt before
for a moment
nearly falling
to the call
of evermore
pre-assembled sentiments
relentlessly unleashed
lose the power
that was never there
a flower now bereft
of petals
left to tend
the aster’s disk
will we ever see beyond the trees
into the forest of illusions
set before us by ourselves
or are we simply at a loss
to bear this burden?
certainly, such implication
complicates the inferences
alluding to this state of indignation
which perpetuates the presence
of my acute consternation
do the constellations hold the key
unlocking unknown doors
to worlds beyond the chaos of existence?
is this counsel, self-contained
a crux which cancels itself out
a crutch our conscience uses
to ensconce us?
every question seems to touch
the realm of truth secluded
which eludes even those perspicacious
erring on most prudent
dedicated students of the mind
have yet to find an explanation
which defines our cosmic purpose
exponentially, our ponderance compounds
without exception
thereby instilling an exigence
unduly excess
we have set the boundaries
far beyond our wildest expectations
to the point of courting disappointment
with our inclination to usurp
our self-appointed power surreptitiously
supposing precedents unseen
which seem to propagate our dreams
so many silently believe
bereaving us of freedoms
rife with possibility
which would inspire community
instead of spurning hope for peace
sapience and salience
presumed part of our “sentience”
are scarcely exercised
or altogether compromised
despite the catastrophic impact
of our calculated actions
we continue on this fervid course
of forced dissociation
refusing to disseminate
the knowledge which facilitates
a self-sufficiency
that would, in turn, sustain society
without burning the bridges
to the people in positions
of imposed disparity based on factors
beyond their person
the irony is so profane
exceeding that which is insane
in fact, it’s that which only fools
would dare to claim not criminal
the truth of this reality
that humankind just cannot see
is every human stands to gain
when selfish hands release the reins
that led us all into substain
instead, with what we’ve stood to learn
so easily could we discern
that only through consideration
of each other, and each station
intrinsic within our being
can we truly attain freedom
kindness is not just a word
nor is it a notion absurd
it IS what all of us deserve
without it
there is only hurt
ceaselessly
caught between
two worlds of wonder
one of which
i revel
in a beauty
yet untold
watching it unfold
in muted ponder
another
so disheveled
that i shudder
to behold
ruthlessly
comprised
of pealing thunder
underneath
the undulation
lies a plundered soul
pandering
the plight
of its condition
haunted
by the light
ever lingering
on yonder
longing
for an answer
to it all
wishes are the whims of wastrels
waiting for the world to turn
upon the drop of faceless dimes
amid a burning empire spurned
timid tales shall move no mountains
mend thy heart by will of mind
ardent kindness fells the wicked
ailing veils of thin disguise
seize the reins of thine oppressor
tyranny reigns not by virtue
if we are to acquiesce to tenets of naught
so becomes truth
heed the words of honored adage
in this era of remorse
lest their greed abscond thy haven
wresting faith through fearful discourse
there are only so many metaphors
that serve to justify this pain
so many words
chewed up
and spit back out
onto surfaces
whose purpose
carries all burdens
these feelings are like water
journeying alone
in a fearless freefall
crashing into the earth below
to join the fates
that all have known
still, each fragment
leaves its mark
for others to embark upon
in the hour
of our exodus to exile
the skies belong to one
as one to all
as life itself
bleeds into the eyes
at the horizon
we take our tragic pittance
wrought from anguish
each within the alchemy intrinsic
to their own
to spin the loom
and weave majestic tapestries
of triumph
to share the secrets
intimately held
by furtive moons
the well of inspiration draws from sources which are infinite
to bridge connection to each one demands forethought discriminate
we must maintain fastidious pursuit of new experience
to formulate the truth of our expressive voice in variants
each origin is cyclical in its availability
therefore we must commit to an atypical agility
lest we submit to dormancy, a fate surely abhorrent
we must all embrace the stormy seas and revel in the torrent
even everyday minutiae has a merit worth attending
it is only in this spirit does our muse become unending
this exemplifies the reason why we must remain objective
exercising our innate ability to be reflective
analyzing every aspect of the open world around us
sees us not to jeopardize our very existential impetus
for many things persist within this life which can demoralize
in manners most ubiquitous seen fit to leave us compromised
thus rendering creative function far less than fortuitous
engendering superlative compunction most gratuitous
it is upon such moments when doth art submit to artifice
and hearts succumb to numbness amid constructs born of avarice
therefore we must ensure to heed a purity of influence
and shore up our defenses courting verity with confidence
to hearken only calls which bear the mark of authenticity
embarking on our journey poised with prudent perspicacity
for muse is but a fickle and capricious force by nature
to abuse it only serves to redefine its nomenclature
hence, we must stay mindful and forgo the fruit found on the lowest branch
lest we are left to wallow in the throes of sophist circumstance
and such is not a fate abating idealization
of our suicidal woes, condemning our souls to damnation
i have worn
this banded armor
shorn away
by silent toll
even now
in days diminished
erstwhile sentiments yet hold
idle hands
have stayed my purpose
vice allays
the spirit’s wake
tears erode
this pallid surface
worthless feelings
ne’er abate
dulling
from the desert sun
has robbed me
of my own perception
burning shadows
stabbed my eyes
and stole her
from the moon’s reflection
our distance
belies summation
amid the sacred frivol
we chose
to quantify
ourselves
defiant
like the sentience
of existence
inundated
with the drivel
waning tides forgot
to tell
timeless dimensions
lay between
the worlds
within these walls
teemed with apprehension
we haplessly watch
verity unfurl
drifting
into ruin
time
was the circumstance
that drove paper nails
through weightless
coffins
to think
we once knew
as desperately
we dangled
from tresses
of concession
composed of gold
which stretched
for many miles
beyond
the trenches
of our youth
i look now
upon days gone
eschewing
but nowhere
are you to be found
lost
perhaps
in the vaulted yonder
where obsidian
gaurds
the earthen tomb
there are more thoughts
within this faint entropic masquerade
than will ever see the humility of expression
were that they could be fit for some metaphor
that might convey a sense of infinite eternity
alas, the landscape which bears the collective essence
of my earthly experience cycles in an orbit
as scant as the tip of this pen
I am but a mere fleck of fading ink
revolving around a feckless dash of happenstance
one that once saw fit to encompass
every fiber of my fleeting flesh
fortifying a form so feeble
with belief that life was far more
than just the sum of its paltry components
the feeling which fate is remissful to frivol
that which defines a purposeful flight
through this finite illusion
alluding to skies that touch freedom
where fear goes to rest
to say I had fallen would be folly
for such would imply that I was not
as flat to the ground when first I found footing
flooded with rains wrung from wrenched rumination
relinquishing all of my being
into hinterland arms of her wintry repose
Max, or Not 
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