In The Hands Of The Misinformed

Illuminating 
star bursts 
shattered glass 
piercing
penetration
shock 
your system 
set back
sound crackling 
bolt of lightening 
never 
- strikes twice 
never 
- strikes twice 
same place 
same time 
wind blows 
dust circles 
whipped into 
a frieze 
there's no place 
- like home
there's no place 
- like home 
lost track 
of ones 
own self 
humanity 
falls 
to the right 
he picks up 
a gun 
instead of 
using his words 
his fist flies 
into thin air 
missing 
- its mark 
missing 
- the point 
of no return 
not unlike 
a bullet 
...in the hands of the misinformed 

© 2015 TrilbyYates

Soothing Vibration

Early morning sun 
begins to wake up
Arm reaching yawn
splintered beams of light 
stretch across 
the horizon 
While a lazy lapping 
of the tide 
comes and goes 
repeating a pattern 
in perfect sync 
with the pull 
of the moon,
as it faithfully 
orbits the earth 
Off in the distance 
a curved line 
remains a constant
just outside of the rim
old and faithful
field of vision;
a focal point for reference  
some things remain eternal
- Sand and sea 
echo one another 
with peaceful chatter 
Soothing vibration
to an often bruised 
and battered mind 
in search of a safe haven,
if only for short 
periods of time 
Refreshing the core 
senses and humanity,
as the day to day 
chip away at even those 
more saintly in spirit;
wresting with their
own moral compass
The tempest shifts
across the shore 
Dancing fools shutter
pulling their collars up
A protective shield
from the perfection
of a storm brewing 
off in the distant future
Weather-vane continues 
to point due north
regardless of which
way the tides turn
or the winds blow...
- Sand and sea 
echo one another 
with peaceful chatter 
Soothing vibration
to an often bruised 
and battered mind 
in search of a safe haven
if only for short 
periods of time... 

© 2015 TrilbyYates



 

The Last Day

The day before
the last day 
of the year 
any year 
with some reluctance 
and reflective pause 
we move forward
spinning like a top
like a wild beast
is chasing us
the wind whistles 
silly baby songs
in perfect tune
of days gone by
but we move forward
because that is 
what we do
that is what we must do
life is a free flow
fast falling drop 
from a heavenly sky
a splendid journey 
from dust to dirt 
and all that is 
in-between 
we make and take
the most of it
...or not 
but it is the most 
we can make
the most we can take
when that is all we know
and given we are human 
with silk ribbons of optimism
tied around our wrist 
subtle reminders
with one foot always
remaining in the clouds
and the other 
sliding into the grave 
just because
because we know 
we know we have 
a shelf life 
a time limit 
an expiration date 
...of sorts 
no deals in a back room
black light swaying
from side to side
shadowy figure
finger pointing
sign on the dotted line
no cross roads
doesn't matter 
what we have 
or don't
how much cash 
is on hand
a bargain with the devil
good faith - last smirk
nothing will extend
our credit 
for another day
so we dance 
with the best of them
we sing 
with the worst
and laugh 
like there is no tomorrow
because there isn't
we have this moment
shine a light 
in the darkness
for those we will leave behind...

© 2014 TrilbyYates 

Those Beyond The Age Of Service

I can feel the beat of the drum
that repetitive mesmerizing 
all to familiar vibration 
that pounds deep in the heart
blood pumping adrenaline rush
of those that can not see beyond 
their own insecurities - fears
egos soar high above 
with the wing span - symbolic majestic strength
of an eagle - hawk mentality
never questioning the obvious
never questioning the past
- those beyond the age of service

I remember that vibration, that sensation
the lacking of humanity and compassion
that fills the hearts - of some
the puffing up of their chest with fists pounding 
words spewing free flowing venom - poison 
like the rumbling sound of the earth cracking 
splitting down the middle - jagged edges
swallowing the souls of those in search 
of salvation and redemption 
the sound of those that continue to reject
- those beyond the age of service

I hear the beat of the drum
an all to familiar sound that pounds 
louder and louder - each day 
and there are no lessons learned 
we fall to our knees praying to our particular source of god 
we hold our children close - they are all our children
close to our chest hearts pounding - rhythmic surrender
wounds so deeply ingrained - subconscious prejudice
there is no power of prayer or ranting and raving
that will ever set the record straight 
that will ever clear the slate
posing the same questions - repetitive prompting
war the only acceptable answer  
- for those beyond the age of service

© 2014 TrilbyYates