War of Our Own

War Of Our Own


Twenty- six windows break simultaneously.
They implode from the inside,
forced by a reluctant fire.
It is the comforting flame of reality
muddled in a never ending story.
Roses have bloomed in the flame of adversity.
Strength again has defied reason as
the canopy of beauty is forever lodged inside the outside,
The beauty is in the randomness of the shattered glass.


And right there at the moment ,
when flame and oxygen meet,
when silence seems to be a necessity,
and everything
clear and obvious
becomes
hazy and illusive.
Lost in the fields of joy,
And slipping further and further from home..
That is the moment when truth will shine into the heart of the doubter.


Standards that seem to be out of reach,
the ones that lead stray dogs to open flames
combusting into black ash of wasted potential
seem to blow into oblivion
by some strange west wind and are
scattered and strewn through graveyards at night.

The little lake and its companion dam
seem large and majestic from this line of sight.
Sacred moments cascade through thoughts,
Meeting us under the charcoal cover of midnight skies.
Reveling the holes that will never be filled, disturbingly vacant.
This is where it resides,
The pain, the flawed destiny and
all our illicit thoughts and contraband fears.

Always the same seams show through, discarded by our mouths.
Insides flowing out onto fields of dried daisies,
covering everything that is or will be anything.
Staining the soul forever, stained for life, colored black before death.
Cosmetic lives always wash away.
Wills, for all eternity, reside behind the make up of supernatural trust.
Companionship never supercedes relationship and now
It is Troy and the lovely horse is at the gate.

Sunshine forever, if never the eclipse would intervene,
Darkness of unpolished and loathsome confusion
distorting everything that is not seen.
That which is seen is by no means all that is presen.
Paths diverge and converge in an endless array of geometrical puzzles
Never really mapped by human existence,
but traveled solemnly to a momentary lapse of pain,
bouncing hypocrisies and substance like a schooner in a storm.


Remember, suspension and depression convinced the old rat
Leave very well alone!
But if not everything, the harbinger predicts, then nothing.
So nothing somehow becomes everything
And everything is always forgotten.

Caught and bound in time
by a loose string that is knotted at both ends
Easily relinquished, yet tight by thought alone.
It grips and tugs at each end
A constant tug of war,
battle of wills,
war of our own.

Passing thoughts, forever light covered inlets
Thoughts owned
then relinquished,
then owned again
thoughts that lead us all to our homes!

Brad Deifer
bdeifer@aol.com