Asked Too Soon

                                          Spider, Spider ~ Philip Brent Harris

~~~~~

Tell me the story of the man
who kissed the moon,
the woman who holds up the sky.
Unless, I have asked too soon,
you think I might be high.
Though I have spent little time in bars,
I have spent far too much in cars.
Still, I always knew I could
not escape violence or death,
from my very first breath.

The rope is knotted much too tight.
We will never get it loose tonight.

The musicians tune,
prepare to play,
while I write feverously,
unsure if this is wrong or right
or who might ever see.
Notes flow through me,
all around me, fill my head,
in ways I did not, could
not understand, when younger
or, at least, different instead.

I have never lost my dreams,
though some of them have dulled,
like brass doorknockers
from the junkman culled.
What doors did they open?
What stories might they tell?
Hope or hardship, sorrow, joy,
when those doors were opened,
when they were closed, locked,
when they slammed.

The rope is knotted much too tight.
We will never get it loose tonight.

How does my current story
with my many other stories compare?
Stories which came before,
came after, or so it seemed.
Most, likely terse, spare,
or something that I dreamed,
clinging to a ladder, to a wall.
If it’s the former or the latter,
it does not matter,
it does not matter at all.

I have plumbed the depths
of oceans under myriad skies,
but never have I found answers
to all the wherefores and the whys.
I have spotted some, I must admit,
slinking down an alley,
hidden in the setting sun.
New questions arise with the dawn,
with many, most unanswered
when the day is done.

The rope has been stretched tight,
the trap has sprung,
with none to say if it is right
or applies to anyone.

Each evening, I wonder, worry
as my soul’s curtain draws nigh,
how we live the way we do, when
and where some think their rights,
are more sacred than living
through their most elaborate schemes.
Why else would they go out,
buy a million extended magazines?
As paranoia tells them they must be able
to end plus ten million people’s dreams.

No matter how softly I
or any other whispers,
how loudly we shout,
to illustrate our doubt, minds
blocked with blinders and
soundproof muffs,
tell them they are better than
not only the balance
of the world, but also of
the universe itself.

Do such people honestly believe
the people in their circle,
who look and think the same
way they do, as if one single mind,
have a direct line to the divine
whatever, that they conceive
and limit when they define?
They imagine their birth, their skin
their money, lack thereof will make any
deity give them rapt attention, a special place.

I simply cannot see it.
I think and I have thought,
I am smart, but I cannot
begin to know the answer.
Would they talk to me, tell me,
if I had the patience to listen,
why they should live
while others die, live
lives that might make them wish
that they had died instead?

I am not numbered at the top,
sequestered at the bottom
and any suffering I know
is engendered by me, myself alone.
Feeling bad with food and shelter
makes me feel I should atone.
As the world speeds past me
ever more rapidly,
until I hang on to what I know,
despite missing more and more.

Say it isn’t so.

Now, the rope is severed,
platform weathered into dust
Is it a story I imagined,
or a lesson I should trust?

The more I miss, the harder I try,
believing truly or falsely
that I have found my heart
late in my life.
I have found my source, my heart
long-since claimed and given.
I will say, I’ve found my center.
Even late, I must start
have started and continue,
though I am full of doubt.

Has my life been too easy?
So easy, I invented my own obstacles.
fear and drugs, procrastination,
while others buffed their cuticles.
Can one ever start too late
if they have finally begun?
Was it ever windmill giants
I conjured in my mind,
that drove me on my quest,
kept me from what I’ve done?

After I have written, repeatedly,
that we are all,
everything and everyone,
and that we walk every path,
how can I find fault
with earth or moon or sun?
They and we are but imperceptible
particles within a being so vast
I can barely conceive,
let alone, begin to comprehend.

I only know that I and all
were there at the beginning
and we will be there at the end.

~~~~~

Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength,  Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment

~~~~~

Please, leave a comment and let me know what you think.

See more of my creative offerings and opinions at:

Brent Harris Fine Art

Philip Brent Digital Art

Vida Voices

Scriggler TPM

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