Fourth Zeal

(Late Entry – Written 7/4/12)

The smell of gunpowder in the air, the scent is explosive and I stare, through the leaves of the trees and glare, of the residual smoke from the affair.  Fireflies glow by in pairs, the surrounding thunder is almost a dare, to jump from the rooftop and swear, you can tell by my face I don’t care.  These fireworks light the spark in me, though I only see their tops through the trees, I drip with sweat and Kingston tears from the beginning, as I step from the shower to the breeze.  Reds and blues, yellows and greens, oranges and purples, I wonder what it all means.  We celebrate independence but we’re locked in and connected, It was even before my teens, that I was somehow misdirected, I live a life consumed by examination though expected, to smile and laugh though uninspired and dejected.  Turn every season, turn to the upside, focus on the pause and positive connective.  There is love, there is joy, there is peace, and there is wonder, beneath and amidst the same sky I cry, sounding thunder.  Three-sixty almost amber gloaming, mind racing, soul roaming, across the tops of the trees to the nether, where its never this hot, though there’s change in the weather.  The interest does not come, but there are interesting stares, she likes him, he likes her, the world’s filled with interesting pairs.

Wherever one is from can feel like home, wherever one is going can be good.  I sat on the peak, but for the birds, alone, simply dreaming all the dreams that I could.  Descending, unending, this too shall pass, tomorrow in the daylight I will rest on the dampened grass.  Staring up at the roof that I visited tonight, but the fire worked a menace in me, while it gave off warmth and light, my heart calls out to countless skies, though my voice is silent, and my eyes are open to the stars, here comes the sun, hellos and goodbyes, and a spirit escaping from its confining bars.


Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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