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I fear that tomorrow may never come,
the stagnation and eventually entropy of the present,
and while I am aware that nothing lasts forever,
that does not guarantee change.

And even a guarantee of change
is not a promise of positivity,
for the future is like Schrodinger’s Christmas present:
we do not know it until it is unveiled.

To me, the waiting is the worst,
casting my eyes at the calendar
and asking in earnest every – single – day –
if tomorrow will be just like today.

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The Night

The night passes
like a cheap whiskey:
it burns me.

It calms me
like a hot shower,
like a sweet dream.

It excites me
like an evening gown,
like a flash of skin.

It frightens me
like a coming storm,
like a night without stars.

It saves me
like a fierce embrace,
like unconditional love.

Like a long draw on a cigarette,
the night passes through me,
and I taste the fire.

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I am here

Water flowing over stone;
the wind carries the night;
only fire and dawn are absent,
but now I am here.

Couples curl together in alcoves;
others seduce novels and schoolwork;
no one stands alone,
but now I am here.

The water sings;
the people speak;
silence is unheard of,
but now I am here.

Through the sun and the heat,
through traffic and congestion,
I have traveled long,
and now I am here.

Now, I am here.

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Festival

Woodwinds pipe proudly,
like playful skipping stones,
while dancers flow like water,
and their feet take flight.

Food trucks circle the celebration,
and send out sizzling invitations,
but their cooking fires can’t compare
to the passion of the people there.

Even after the vendors have all departed,
the temperature keeps climbing higher,
the heat of the moment waxing full
with the evening moon.

As the festivities come to a head,
the energy crests like a breaking wave,
and the feverish bacchanals
greet the dawn with rosy cheeks.

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Lachesism

The world falls away around me,
and in that moment of destruction
I am free.

I plunge forward,
shaking with velocity,
as my energy potential
is unleashed at last.

And I jet through the night
to the thunderous soundtrack
of hammering heartbeats
and screaming skies.

I discard the veneer of civilization,
and crash into an unknown world
as life’s little compromises drop away,
and the frontier hits my backyard.

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King of the hill

I’m the strongest one around.
I tell myself this because it’s true.
It’s true because I tell myself this.

I secured an iron-clad throne
atop the summit of my country,
and ruled with unquestioned authority –
until they came.

They passed through my world like a storm:
powerful and unstoppable.
There was no malice in their actions,
but they left desolation in their wake.

My fortress lay in ruins:
the walls were torn down,
carrying chunks of my foundation away,
and forcing me to face the real world.

The mountains of my childhood
were merely hills inflated with hubris,
and the complacency of my years
never recognized the truth until now.

I was a big fish in a small pond,
and I sat there like a fat little frog
who’d convinced himself that a gilded cage
was a golden throne.

I could rebuild, but honestly –
what’s the point?
I can’t return to that way of living
without blinding myself to the truth.

The once and future king no more,
the little king of the hill departs.
Regalia removed and forgotten,
I track the footsteps of giants.

But I do not seek to cast them down,
instead my heartfelt wish
is to lift myself up to their level,
and walk among the gods.

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Building block

Love is the foundation of all things.

From Love grows roots,
diving down deep,
anchoring us to the world,
anchoring us from the world,
and all of its storms.

From Love grows branches,
reaching high into the heavens,
catching the Sun and the wind
in gentle green hands,
tender to the touch.

From Love grows fruit,
succulent to the senses,
but the worth of such treasures
lay not the way they make you feel,
but in the seeds of future growth.

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