Documents

The raised voice speaking through and to
Tall buildings such as mine,
Makes me think back
To when they were rounding up the Jews.
It is monotone, drone,
And alarming
Though I am sure it is just a fire drill for the empty school across the street.

I am sitting in today,
Like many a day, and as many my kind,
Feeling as though I do not belong to this time.

Gripping at and grasping holds,
My fingers SEEM to slip every time..

In my head, a philosopher writes, documents..notes, gathers
Ever going off, and I catch but glimpses o her insight...
Of his.

The battle wages on, only this time I see now
How much it is only with self..
All else,
That smokey mirror they rave about.

Life is not clean. Not easy.
Survival 101.

Somedays the documents are tattered and tragic...I'm learning to write about those ones a little less..

Saving them for melodies to haunt and preserve the soul in us
That still cries and writhes
And needs just those hugs of
Not going it alone.

Song...