Caged
~
In caged freedom I wish to touch above the sky
but arms while strong will not suffice
and didn’t teach my wings to fly-
A cage of gold becomes the life I ever known
and seems so far as ever flown
was in my dreams,
but real they seemed
with strongest wings I flew so far
that when I reached to touch the sky,
I touched a star-
–
H.O
“Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.”
– Pamela Vaull Starr
Without Sound
~
Lost in my own silence time passes slow
my voice within repeats the same, strange
how language is pointless and yet
I choose one, to speak words without sound.
I am most naked alone and quiet I found
stripped of looks and gestures I flow
in between the seconds of the clock
as it marks the days’ time, strange
how time matters and yet
I choose to let it go,
lost in the words without sound-
–
H.O
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.”
― Jalaluddin Rumi
Misperceptions
~
How can ever fix what sometimes is broken
changing what I see to satisfy my ego?
You are who you are,
nature took its way, happiness a token
for a few reserved
but we all deserved-
Easier to accept there is no single road
and everyone must choose
one that’s near or far
sometimes leaving scars,
mines just didn’t show
for the longest time-
How can I then fix what may not be broken
but misguided views
of how life should be?
I am who I am with my imperfections
nothing left out broken,
nothing new to fix
but my own perceptions-
–
H.O
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
― Oscar Wilde
I May Not Be
~
I may not be a gardener for I have not a garden
but a lot sometimes arid with a shortage of rain
and no flowers to bloom in the spring of my life
but the dry crawling weeds of the leftover pain.
~
I may not be a healer if my wounds remain open
don’t know how to appease my own restless soul
while I count all my years with the passing of days
letting memories haunt me as I get lone and old.
~
I may not be a lover when I’m missing such love
that in wishes is drowning in a glass of red wine
and in verses my dreams I can hide within words
with nobody to claim me or no one to call mine.
~
I may not be a poet when I’m lacking the prowess
transforming emotions if the muse sometimes call
and when try to remember all the things that I was
I could sadly consider I may be none at all-
–
H.O
“We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.”
― John Hughes, The Breakfast Club
Love, Love Not
~
What if I don’t choose to love again?
stacking memories of love with memories of loss
bittersweet cravings adrift in my distractions.
It is not that I lost my desires or attractions
nor the muse that inspires my pen
but my options run wild in this game
and sometimes it is easier alone-
Nature is long past, I’m already done
with my disillusion,
everything exhausted , nothing else to claim
if only a resolution
not to love again-
–
H.O
“We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and—in spite of True Romance magazines—we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely—at least, not all the time—but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don’t see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967
Late
~
Such fear that I’m late-
I woke up too late from a long spun dream
on butterfly wings that later flew away
and I fear I’m late.
Life just passed me by and never said goodbye
so I never knew I would wake up late
‘til I heard the flap when the wings collapsed
on my butterfly, and my dreams just died,
as I woke up late-
–
H.O
“Don’t you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by and you’re not taking advantage of it? Do you realize you’ve lived nearly half the time you have to live already?”
― Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises
From Cold to Fire 