Deadstick

Deadstick 1/6/2012

The ancient gray is calling
Because history repeats itself
As we circle the heavens
And spin backwards in our minds.

Back to where we were before
Without any recognition
Barely understanding the present
And much less of our past.

Bury the stone heads
And leave them in the ground
A curse and a reminder
Of who we were
And who we are.

There is more buried
Then there is alive
And there is more remembered
Than we have left.

See my head
And see my hands
Because neither one matters
And neither one cares.

My likeness is nothing
In a world gone insane
And it is a miracle that I exist
Or ever knew at all.

Dreaming is dreaming
But you can’t always believe
What you see or hear
But what are we to make
Of the mind’s eye
Awake in the night.

We cannot see the forest
And we cannot see the wolf
Hidden amongst the trees
Dense, dark, and mysterious.

The legends and the myths
That pass backwards into time
Ancient and unexplained
And more often true than a lie.

Just because we don’t see it
Doesn’t mean that it’s not there
Because there is more that’s invisible
In all the space between.

In the creases of half remembered dreams
There are tiny bits of diamonds
Glittering in our thoughts
But forgotten in time.

What we think
And what we speak
All comes from somewhere
And if only we could understand
What glory we could have.

Black, white
And a million shades of gray
Confuse the lines and shadows
And hide the menacing truth.

That we are the walking dead
Marching into our graves
More asleep than awake
And more docile than sheep.

We search the world
Looking for answers
But seldom do we shine
A light upon ourselves
Or question our heart.

Leaving our darkest memories
To hide in the corners
Festering and growing
From thoughts to action.

We hold the greatest of truths
In the moments of solitude
But almost never do we awaken
And act upon the knowledge.

As for me I chase the words
As they flee from place to place
Trying to capture feelings
Before they swallow me whole.