The Battle of The Inner Conscience Crossed Between A Rock and A Hard Place...

*This is an old piece that has yet to be finished; it changes much from beginning to end. Just felt like posting it. Originality was not in me this evening...



1.
the wind must change, and so do i.
walk i do, beneath my feet a constant change,
i'm all unguard throughout my soul.
let the wind press through my thoughts,
upon my face seems not a mood,
only a look of lost.
ever will there be an answer?
so much so, i search so hard,
still my life will take its pause
from all these bridges that i cross,
but i'm not happy anymore.

2.
so you say,
and some undone along the way,
but none too soon,
to sway and ruin all your dreams.
you're all unguard, not all away.
so some do rest late on this day,
who is oft to know you so well as i?
beneath the moon so well you are,
a breeze of softer-woven scars
that fill your heart, and bruise they may
but not to those so bold to pray
refuge of you through all your pain.

3.
think me not likely to forgive,
your words delivered by a pulse,
still not a heart of which to live,
and not a dream worth any loss
of sleeping or of hoping, for i've fallen.
Aroused by those for lesser venture
to the one and only subject of my fall,
for all be truth in my whole absence;
letting go is so much so
the very nature of my wisdom.
you and i are only places,
never will we meet.

4.
the last, perhaps to say the least,
but not the better, worst or most.
your hate you only seem to boast;
the light of you has everything but ceased.
to you, and so much more than i can see.
the drift of all your dreams will come to be
a lake of your mistakes but not a river to escape
the last of your defeats
because they cannot come to be.
what have you been thinking?
when a paper-thin poet's grin stirs all your sins
into a cauldron of disarray.
A simple grief has you undone again and you give in.

5.
so grieve and give and live and be,
to those who siege some tortured mess,
what now but only to confess,
a sin for saints, a grin for hate,
a love for death, a dream to wake.
your harbor's full of bitter plague,
a carrion to a face so vague,
or mood or sound you can't make out.
calling out of all the corners,
telling some new story-tone fallacy,
some old lie that’s spun anew,
for yours my dear to word and love and follow,...
a symphony of disgrace you'll much rather see.

6.
The eyes that rise have come to burn,
For if they turn its ill-received,
To see the place i stand before,
And wake and break what’s left in me.
I do not know the harbor’s end.
Some say I knew of how to mend all these hard things,
When still truth reigns most presently;
As though I were some ghost of justifiable pain.
If you could hear the sound that all things dear make,
Would then you take your open wounds and scars
To stare against the thoughts that others wear?
Or are you hiding in the meadows of a light so dim
You swim in shadows and you stare so hard
That all is grim and absent of stakes you boast to claim?
For shame is nothing but a whim of what you yearn.

7.
To know what lengths may sleep inside,
Is but one way to yearn, yet hide,
Beget yourself to what you still resign to find.
Running is no use to sleeping.
Dreamers, do but one justice in your hearts;
Place a finger on the ripples for a moment
And save yourselves an essence of that grace before you depart.
You waste and wither, soon you’ll wander;
Do not hold so fast that gain you ever-fail to grasp,
But ascertain a simple hold to anything worthy of your soul.
Among the better do you love,
Why talk and tarry so much as you do,
When you could simply be peering on stars above?
You talk of heavy words and quests,
You open windows full of jest, and yet the best still remains locked inside.

8.
Forego the break of ends we’ll never know.
Abuse the use of easy refuge to catalogue your soul.
Come and go, as if it were a patch of snow,
Leave some tracks to one day follow,
Turn not back to what you let go.
Too much reason seasons sadness in the madness of this world;
Twirl your hair, and you don’t care, so long as you still go.
A place to call a home, a place to sit and stir.
Worlds away might bring you to a time when they will call you “sir.”
They’ll say you were never quiet... always moving, always pious,
Never ever stuck together by a thread of consequence.
For waves of ocean and of wheat,
The best of you still incomplete.
Away to you is nothing new but what has been and what’s untrue.

9.
Now words are pressed hard on your soul.
You want to leave and let them go.
Forget the past; the easy road, you should know better,
That’s not how it goes.
My boy, you’re stronger than they say.
You’ve no good reason to decay
In words so mean and thoughts so dim
Of you whose light is anything but faint.
I see a cloud that’s risen fast;
Storms that rise so fast are also soon to pass.
My time with you is growing less.
My love for you I do confess.
Every time I tell you things.
Every time I watch you change.
Be still and hold yourself from haste.

10.
To leave so soon lets hearts be paved.
Regrets ensue, opinions enslave
Our very notions to call to any motions
Of remaining, lasting love.
Are you not a product of the earth?
Do you not too hurt by the sound of pain unending?
Who are you to go off running?
How may I be of some use
When you ignore my pleads and answers
To questions that you barely bother to release?
Pretend, and find yourself still further
In a place that is hard-forgiving and
Absent of living lively and free.
Sad and free; you make of it whatever you wish.
Your will is strong, your thoughts are right;
Your soul has been pleading you not take this flight.
Give ears if but to hear only things that you feel may be real.

11.
Along the way someone will guide you.
Take that siege, your wings will find you.
In the end is for the end and for the end alone.
Read your books and take your pills.
Recite your lines and get your fill of all the wines
And spirits that do your heart content.
They’re all a product to lament by,
All a way to run away. Yet to this day have I found
Solemn your ways to be so gently running backwards.
Onward, fair bloomer of the stars! Onward,
Let us make of this future what it is we really are.
A movement for the cause of life! A hull of
Straightforward interim; bright, burning beauty.

*I don't know if I'm going to add more; don't know if I can. It has been so long since I have worked on this. I like the last four stanzas or so, but the rest is shit to me. It's awfully futuristic though; kind of explaining my current scenario to a T. I think the last time I worked on this must have been at least two years ago or more. Anyways, there you have it. I must sleep.

-C.A. Dominick