the onus of shame

the onus of shame

Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

the trees, their looks bear down upon me
a whole row of judges bent the same forward
their stoic state confirms
they feast rightfully on my shame -;
peddlers of the rain-
the rumblings resonate in the scrum of my ancestors,
a small-broken bird lies, in a puddle, flat mirrored frame
surrounded by lily pads of cherry blossoms fallen
a bloodless crime-
not drowned but that of a twisted neck
captured now placed unto that final nest,
I contemplate the darkening-looming
and attempt to tabulate the celestial math
but I have no means to the master
for I am locked in the strands of man-
for- I am.

notes… this is one of those more cryptic ones that just came to me as is… so, this is how it is… the inspiration was a bunch of trees planted in a semi circle, they looked down at me, or so I felt/thought, and so it was….

daggers for eyes (who am I?)

daggers for eyes (who am I?)

Photo by Sabel Blanco on Pexels.com

“this is who I am!”, how we have screamed into the face of the great abyss that is society at large, with great thrusting daggers in eyes I have raised the same tsunami sentiment in my mind, all in a rage against the factories of same-a-tude that dominate the landscape of this life, a perception at least, I wonder how much of the flock feels less than a part of said flock but does not speak up, but then again there is plenty that have no qualms with the calms that obedience and coherence provides, they are wired that way, maybe not you or I, and some more yet perhaps, that the modus operandi is terra firma, boy, is that arcane? maybe to say, there are plenty that are happy cruising forever in the middle lane, I suppose that is a simpler analogy, but there I am, modifying my own thought, among my own words, my own damn post, for whom? clearly I am not a super digested blog of the norm, I am not a franchise on every corner, a juicy burger or tasty spicy chicken sandwich to order (I am a fan of Chick-Fil-A, I must say, waffle fries… ya feel me?), anywho, even the guy labeled “he’ll say anything” at work guy (me) is not really that guy, at least not all the time, is it fear? or reality? that rejection in social morality will occur, or consequence will fall like a wrecking ball right to my balls, am I half-assing my own existence? I always say and actually think that my “filter”, as it were, is on the shrink, but to what extent (gone)? just enough to hold the waters of the dam back… just enough, just enough an arms length from vanquish, if I had all the money in the world (I would settle for 10% mind you, donations accepted) would I be the same jovial strange soul searching? or would the social context of being free of the complex allow my eccentricities to fully bloom into the garden of babylon I was meant to be? or at least thought myself to be? and would I need such resource to be one hundred percent anyway? is there not a niche, or a cavern, or a crevice I could wedge myself in, sheltered from the storm of the norm, to scratch out my own weird unicorn existence while still in the standard wilderness of the all… I suppose that is the line, the struggle, the game, mental and otherwise, am I really being myself? all the time? …are you?