Order
Do I write again
To vent my anger
Festering inside
Or my love
Crying out to be heard
To take wing on the open air
If I write of either
Is it ever enough
What can words do
They're only ink on paper
Or if you're "sophisticated"
A postmodern Renaissance man--
I mean person--
Then perhaps emblazoned on
Your monitor screen
Even this, in a way
Lacking more meaning
Electrons fastened like dead flies
Onto the firmament inside
Forced into recognizable patterns
When their movements- by nature--
Are in truth always random
Never exactly definable--
Is this, then, real?
Is it truth?
If not, what is?

Insubstantiation
I awake from these dreams again
Wondering where my life has been
Wondering where it's going
Always searching, never knowing

I reach out to grasp what isn't there-
Was it once?
It seems not fair
Days into weeks, weeks into months
Time weakens my will to even dare

To try again to recapture
The thrills, the joy, the laughter-
The sterling quality of life in pure rapture
That once was mine, or so I thought-
By no possession can it be bought;

I feel the thief, trying to claim as my own
The vague memories of a man I have not known
And if I did, what would he say?
Could I just borrow these for the day?

Go ahead, says he, take them for the day;
Be merry, laugh, and enjoy all your play;
For this time you may do as you will
But when the day is done, remember, they are mine still.

And so for this day I shall laugh and sing
Lust and conquer, love and do everything;
All such actions failed shadows, yesterday and tomorrow;
But today, all is success, no hint of sorrow.

Now so soon my midnight draws nigh
And my frolic collapses in the heaviest sigh.
My existence, in name only, the returning state;
No means nor magic may delay the date.

Midnight strikes, and I'm no fairy-tale pumpkin
Just bone and blood cased in this tired old skin
For all those questions, the answers I vainly sought;
I know only that I'm alive- would I be better off not?