TockTockTock

Mk, here they are. They're not that great and I am a bit new at this, but... I've always enjoyed poetry and ready.

An Epigraph I wrote:


“Even in the presence of others he was completely alone” ~ Robert M. Pirsig

I am not his keeper.
A blindfold denies me the
Knowledge of his whereabouts.
And yet, Gaia has not hidden him.
While his green presence may greet you in your eyes,
He is still invisible –
And lost.
His yellow mask is your Brutus (and his as well).
It deceives everyone of the truth.
Don’t let his blade unsheathe!

His hands are not his.
His legs are not his.
His arms are not his.
His mind is not his.
He is but made in the factory of himself
To create a product to please
The oxygen faces around him.
But he is still alone.
How can he enjoy the company of others
When his true self is elsewhere?

He is me.
I am not his keeper.



A dream I had the other day:

Coughed out of the darkness,
The sapling boy was placed upon his
Galloping, two-wheeled steed.

Its wheels geared with the Earth
To form the mechanism that
Propelled his body, and mind, forward.

He glanced at the vacant, tear-stained
Road as it loomed over the
Fabric of the night;

A light was appearing before him,
Like a train heading towards
The end of a tunnel.

The light shoved by him
And mustered a groan as
It disappeared into the darkness.

After the lone car left,
A second traveler was on a
course towards him.

The traveler, a woman, stopped
Her bicycle in front of his -
He reflected her.

She looked up and said
“The roads will always
Remember.”

Fog Poem

Upon where I stand I am assaulted by Fog.
It encloses me in its quartz embrace and
Causes my surroundings to be but
A smeared pastel painting.

Upon where I stand I am assaulted by Fog.
A myriad of choices machine gun by, and
The end of their lives are masked.
White plus black.

Upon where I stand I am assaulted by Fog.
Each tree’s branches are dressed with leaves, but
The Fog denies me their full image
As they bathe in the blurred sky.

Upon where I stand I am assaulted by Fog.
The Fog is immortal, but moving forward
Allows me to see the trees and their branches more clearly.
Choose wisely.

Step forward in life and don’t be taken by the Fog.
Each tree, a path,
Each branch, a route within the path.
Each leaf, a final choice.