Inspire Me He Said . . .

Inspire me, he said.

Craning to the Heavens before faltering and crashing to Earth.
Picking himself up and dusting himself off, he looked skyward once more.

Inspire me, he said.

Reaching for the unreachable, he slipped, tripped, plummeted, fell on his knees.
One foot and then the next.
Breathe the breath.
Think the thought.
Dream the dream and try again. 
Bigger.
Better.
More.
Fight for the light.
Need the need.
The passion of the doomed.
The spinning rock gives you one go.
So go.
One chance.
You can't stop time, can't stop the turning.
You can only ride the ride.

Inspire me, he said.

This time was different.
He didn't look up, didn't look down, didn't look out.
He looked within.
Lightening flashed, thunder clapped.
And kept on clapping.
There.
Inside.
The thousand points of light burning away.
The fire inside.
The need.

Inspire me, he said . . .

Looking Back At Myself

I like my lines.  Those etchings in my visage. Those ephemeral furrows of a life lived.  Of laughs had.  Of laughs made.  I'm proud of those little reminders of years ticked off.  Of experiences had.  Of battles won.  The older I am, the more I've survived.  Battle scars of wind and time.

I don't feel old.  Don't think old.  I feel as young as I ever did.  Just grumpier.  Just more placid.  More satisfied.  More unsatisfied with waiting for life to happen.  Go and live it.  The secrets of life seem less secretive now.  What is important so much more tangible.  Friends get divorced now.  Friends die now.

Each new stage of life comes more quickly now.  Races up to you and is gone again.  Before you saw it.  Before you knew it.  How did we get here?  How long ago?  Familiar refrains now.  Black and white long gone.  Absolutes vaporized into reality.  Seeing the depth beneath the water.  Like a graph turned 3-D.

Seeing the world more simply.  Beyond the politicking.  Beyond the superficiality of man made desire.  The rational reality of fact.  Simplicity at a higher level.  A Universe immune to us.  A world that outlives us.  Every one of us.  Being born to die. The understanding of which lets us live more fully.

Gaze into that glass.  Revel in the evidence of time.  Immemorial.  In memoriam.  Age is a gift denied so many.  Too many.  Live your life vicariously through yourself.  Be a living monument to the passed.  To the past.  But most of all -- relax.

Pen

The tease of inspiration,
Of art held at pen's edge,
Struggling to stay distant,
Begging to be intimate
With the paper.
The pen drifts across the sheet
Lazy.
Willfully aware of its limitations,
Fearful of muddying the waters of inspiration
With so dull an instrument
As its own hand.
Guiding but not grasping
The depth of its own desperate genius.
Letting it happen of its own accord
As all art must for those without the gift
Of conscious talent.
Drifting, dancing,
Reckless but free.
Flitting and teasing
Gently and awkwardly caressing
Like a hand in the dark reaching for a body
Waiting for the electricity
To strike
To heave up and explode
Like the birth of a
Universe.

Water

Tripping light across the water
Bubbles burbling, gurgling,
Living and dying on the surface -
Scratching at the air
Before retreating to the depths of their own ego.
Existence passing below them as they
Transition willfully
Futile in their hope to move beyond the water's scope
The world they'd know if they could only
Know consciousness.
But alas . . .
Impossible for something that fails to exist
Longer than it does not.

Rain

Rain falls from the heavens
Misting sheets like curtains
Wash the roads
The cars
The people's crowns.
It clouds his life
Depresses him
Uncleansing drizzle
Tripples, freezes his hands
A cigarette comforts him
Smoke wafting past his face
People hurry past hunched
Stooped in an effort to avoid
The downward plummet
Liquid clouds falling to Earth.
Buildings rush skyward
To meet the droplets.
Millions, like an invading force
Invading his world, his thoughts.
Consumed with Rain.