John Earing

Standing in a silent crowd wondering if I have been heard through all the meaningless chatter.

My words are great! To me.
My thoughts are my power! I think.
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The most beautiful flower
filling my senses with passion
overflowing my being with plenty
pulling away my pain
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Fake is lies that jest
joking is lying at best
besting is boasting a test
gold was dug up out west
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The greatest heartfelt breath.
It is caught, trapped in my hopelessness.
Prying, wedging and digging into my wants.
Pressure, tightness and heaviness.
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Looking into the eyes of my child I see...
The beginning of the life of me.

Looking into the eyes of my child I see...
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My gaze is fixed on the chance that life can envelope hospitality and relieve scorn covered wrath.
Bewildered by the branding that society states that its impossible to achieve for those with limitless gratuity.
Over the horizon are the dreams of those that have no clue on how to express them.
That light at the end of the tunnel is flickering because of the disbelief that inner wisdom is valuable.
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Darkness engulfing my sight, even though I can feel the heat of light on my face.
Thoughts of white clouds with silver linings, yet the storm brings lightning and thunder.
The waves from the sea of passion bringing the even flow of bitter sweet drops of love that I can't reach with my tongue.
Grasping for the aromatic scent of kind emotion but only inhaling the remanence of past beauty.
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I am a vessel of sorts.
I guess I teach a tough crowd.
I can't imagine being as blind as I see.
The people I help are less endowed.
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I know there is a guy who writes.
He is up most days and most nights.
he breaks lots of lead
and gets pains in the head.
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Thunderous echos pounding my cause.
Standing with hands raised and voices adorned.
Beckoning my intrusion into the blind chasm.
I have returned.
...