(A Fulcrum’s Lean)

Movement is life’s natural state
therefore stagnation is its end
this known played out continually
throughout the illusion of all time
to refuse this fact is not unlike
an ignoble bard out pissing into the wind
visually then this imagined shape
pulls forth of mind in conscious stunned
how grim the cold cloaked reapers grin
turns out the joke and sets one’s life on end
below it sets and not above; for everyone
comes alone in time to this very sway
unfettered and under life’s toad stool
fodder for earth’s meek; at lack for light of day
upon hoof you rise and view this scene
surreal or worse, of which you do not know
direction’s points lay unseen beyond horizon’s rise
as stood on and centered down upon
you find yourself staged to fall
when living’s imbalanced beam
on fulcrum’s point does lean
ah, the fear that brings such sweat
at last a sign that you are still alive
tensions shift from mind to legs
life’s shoulder dips, eye blinks, what surprise!
unknown what lays beyond one’s view
the point, however mute an unconscious mise
today slips freedoms only gun
as you squat and lean to keep the ride concise
realization mimics irreality’s twisted gleam
a life, you, astride the providential beam
above the fogs of fictions fact
awhirl on this unthinkable precipice
an attempt in standing tall induces your cruel fall
in violence forward lean exhale and take a backwards roll
attempt to stop the toiling whirl and right the tilting beam
In and out each day descends
into the potential that this trial foretells
upon your breast the shadow wanes
as to right or left thoughts you swoon
lone centralist of compassions trends
at tightened waist you bend
head down now, eyes focused in
to the stepped position that legacy
of an unconscious thought
that brought you to here on edge of cliff
and not alone, as all of the world so follows swift
imagine imaginations twists as that load so crawls aboard
from horizon’s mists stacked end to end
all of life on earth is packed upon the fulcrums single point
oh ouch, its point impacts the flesh
as in the mists of time it pierces beam and sole
the arising thought to flee or stay and fight
which to attempt, save face for all
or fall into a gapping whole
looking up then from this steaming fray
seems best as now all of US stand blind
weight and mass approach crisis critical
your next move or breath may cause your will to crack
alas! what horror, that itching sound of thoughts amiss
you, remain rigidly stuck
in the mess at the center of life for all
therein what remains of self
the speck which is antithesis
to the visualized and weakened focal point
the tip of it upholds this world
as to yours, what exactly does it do pray tell
sounds gurgle from the unspoken guests
to speak and answer on this topic’s bane...
any and all relationships bourne not of freedom
but of necessity in one’s times of need
without a blessing one from above or from family
two tied together without a future’s thought
eyes lit, if just for that moment
on chance the love will last…
 
( A work in progress ) to be continued...

(2010)

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