06-17-2015, 10:00 PM
I am the sum of many parts, some circumstance and fate.
I know myself or think I do, but through a compound eye I see
the circling dance of others who divide their lives by love or hate;
espousing this, negating that, assured by their life policy.
To those who see in monochrome I am a man of grey;
but slit me with a keen-honed word, or puncture me with poisoned pen,
and all the well-red blood will pour, from all who had a part to play
in casting me to be just one among a million, million men.
Surprises now are less and less, fresh thoughts a memory.
So dance for me a different waltz, and swirl me off to somewhere rare.
Spin while you can in certainty that this is how your world will be.
Take me along but bind my eyes, abandon me when we get there.
No, I am old and you are young…you follow on my trail.
Look down, though, when the scent goes cold and only stones in faded view
will guide you by that final sense; touch each before you grow too frail
then sit and call out names you knew, they will be calling you.
If love and hate should follow you, your journey will not end.
You’ll walk alone— a penalty— for wearing truth’s concealing mask,
instead of being someone else; a lie in love, a pretend friend.
Late daylight dawns, where is the way? But it’s too late to ask.
Though I am lost I will not ask where is this place…where am I now?
I flew with trade winds, words were gold, and all desired my contraband;
but current wins against the breeze. Once no one steers, the pointing prow
on awkward tide turns out to sea, then grateful founds on foreign land.
Tectak
From “A Diary” 2009-2015
I know myself or think I do, but through a compound eye I see
the circling dance of others who divide their lives by love or hate;
espousing this, negating that, assured by their life policy.
To those who see in monochrome I am a man of grey;
but slit me with a keen-honed word, or puncture me with poisoned pen,
and all the well-red blood will pour, from all who had a part to play
in casting me to be just one among a million, million men.
Surprises now are less and less, fresh thoughts a memory.
So dance for me a different waltz, and swirl me off to somewhere rare.
Spin while you can in certainty that this is how your world will be.
Take me along but bind my eyes, abandon me when we get there.
No, I am old and you are young…you follow on my trail.
Look down, though, when the scent goes cold and only stones in faded view
will guide you by that final sense; touch each before you grow too frail
then sit and call out names you knew, they will be calling you.
If love and hate should follow you, your journey will not end.
You’ll walk alone— a penalty— for wearing truth’s concealing mask,
instead of being someone else; a lie in love, a pretend friend.
Late daylight dawns, where is the way? But it’s too late to ask.
Though I am lost I will not ask where is this place…where am I now?
I flew with trade winds, words were gold, and all desired my contraband;
but current wins against the breeze. Once no one steers, the pointing prow
on awkward tide turns out to sea, then grateful founds on foreign land.
Tectak
From “A Diary” 2009-2015