Poet Dragon

People aren't born for what they do, but what their parents dream.
People don't grow for growing's sake, but for the future's gleam.
People don't live to one day die, they live to put off dying.
People don't work to build themselves, they work to stave off crying.
...

What was there left of her
after the bad men touched her?
What fragile sense of wonder shattered?
...

I greet the burden of your soul
and wonder if your heart is whole
when one can hold it out to share
beware of love, beware.
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When hopelessness or passion's throes ignites us,
lost emotion casts confusion everywhere.
When hatred of our flesh's prison grates us,
how much easier is forgetting that we care?
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Pierced by an arrow,
pierced by a phrase
Killed by a sentance,
trapped in a maze
...

'Out the window lies the future,
where we can see, but never reach her.' - P.N.

All the world is hopeless,
...

Why the rage? Why the burden?
I can dropp it all without a second thought
except to linger and spread word of handsome things
...

We watch the fireflies flicker
dim and dangerous in the darkness
and dream of stars above so bright
that they outshine the moon
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They are glasses half empty,
and hearts half full,
riding their dreams until their courage fails them,
stopping halfway
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He traveled to the canyon,
and thought it worth its name
a canvas for the sunset's gleam
to luminesce with flame
...

He lives each day
one hour at a time
listening to the old
and rusty gears
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Whispers, like echoes of a faint past, crowd around me
They bathe me with their memories, their impositions
Laying pathways of guilt and gossip across my soul
Speaking softly of sins and sorrows that are not mine
...

Consider the empty black ease of death
so much more peaceful than the meth
and without the shades of gray between
simple, dark shadows, invisible, unseen
...

How do you see the dragon? Wings unfurled, claws spread?
Does the mouth gape, does the mind function?
Is it a part of you, intimate and undeniable?
Or merely an imagining, metamorphed into a metaphore?
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In the wind of the grassland,
where green grass grows tall
above your head
...

Fell greed begot by man, by men in numbers
lost control of themselves, became wasted
needed to fill the fell void, the darkness
in twisted desire, seeking without thinking
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Consciousness is the narrow path,
beside the road of our senses.
Our senses are the narrow path,
beside the road of actuality.
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Summer lifting, rising currents
Past the moon, past the sun, through the stars
Cosmic is something summative, some singularity unified,
Transcendental Liberation is not an ego friendly journey
...

There he is standing on the field, looking around and laughing
he wants to see what you see from the stands, himself basking, charming.
The ball slips from the fingers of a dazzled referee and he kicks out,
deftly he is gliding in and out between his opponents, he is glorious.
...

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