Chiseled by thaw

Here we all are

for what we are . . .

Always apparently driven

by a hidden apprehensive formula

towards the outcome of success

until success provides us fully

with shortcomings’ truths;

our lives are as the predicament . . .

straddling cross hairs of awareness

versus the consensus stability

of our status,

until all of the intimate

strategic anchor points

that came for them,

are now gone.

This stressing over an emphasis

on whom you know

until who you know

doesn’t really mean

that they really know you.

And always, as if automatic,

the ever-present adrenal surge

to project

as if stage presence ever wraps

the gift you give yourself.

Featuring your multi-sensing

of the people-surround for clues,

driven by

a disenfranchisement feeling

filling your void

with justification,

and with a pathos

that is so self-concealed

by its self tailoring

of a rationalization wardrobe

designed from all occasions

until you, don’t even believe

what you are saying.

Yes, we are secretly driven

with a primal endowment

towards purpose

as if by that

protection ever comes,

but by the quality of your intent,

by way of honing in

on “effort” styles

and positioning them

with ‘cause-worthy-ness’

as our trump card

until we’re done being “up”

and the causes got campy.

Even now

tapping into a network of sensibles

and full spectrum sensitivity

is as if we could

still leverage ourselves

at any point in time.

And now at this point

with that

‘intoxicating disenchantment’

always giving us

cynical audience applause,

to spite of our best efforts

and here we are . . .

(not you personally

but a you you know),

based on habits

of evocative uninspired long suffering

and a sweetness for

“self-love at a distance”

remembrances

that so-called friends come

to give to others,

just like you

and even though they,

being strongly loyal

to their own

dark nights of the soul,

they now hang out

like a prayer flag

of past habit’s reward

through a religion

of un-kept-ness

that is coming to grips

with performance’s

past gold stars.

They, for themselves,

are their own entourage

of versions and idiosyncrasies.

They, themselves,

rolling over easy

now that they are not

the lead dogs,

even of them self.

Their current presence

will become

their clandestine backdrop.

Gravity will overstate

their diminishing case

for whatever was their radiance

will have had bask and fade.

Timelessness will have outwitted

their every plan.

Their own purposeless in being

will have the last say.

‘Empty inspiration’ will have floated

their entire life away.

The story will cease to make sense

or subsequent amends

and yet, their minds

will still be filled.

Each one’s own spirit

will still have desperation

and allure.

Each one’s own passion

will be discovered to be coming

from beyond

ones disappointment’s deep.

And that spirit of theirs,

the one within the ice sculpture

of their lives,

will eventually and truthfully

be chiseled by thaw.

And you will know them

from the inside out,

much in the same way

you have come to know yourself.

Spirit will radiantly emerge,

melting all else

as all lessons eventually occur

and all methods

ultimately and blessedly concur.