Empty Nest

It was the best time we never had
And she was in costume
With only her round little face showing

As the wagon slowed, we got off
First untying the balloons that adorned its bed
And with that bundle of balloons in tow
She joined the children who scurried and scattered
And was quickly lost among the crowd

With confidence, she played
And with confidence, I busied myself
With the mechanics of the day
And after a moment, I put down my tools
And that day, that beautiful day was over

I looked for her as a wagon arrived
With new children, ready for their day
And when I finally caught up with her
I lied on the ground to watch her play
But something had changed

“What happened to the balloons”, I asked
And as I watched her look for them
I felt compelled to explain to the unseen crowd
That she was in college
And to their unspoken question, I answered
She is short for her age

I watched the happiness drain from her face
As she realized that the balloons where gone
She began to cry releasing a lone Mylar balloon
And as she fell into my arms, I reached up
Barely grasping the balloon’s edge
And noticed it was old and deflated

We fell to ground and were all alone
For the crowds had gone, as had our time
And I began to sing to her, a song she had loved
But the words choked in my throat
So, instead of singing, we cried
She for her loss
And me for mine

And then I awoke into the darkness
And the realization
That she was gone

The Banner of God

The sickening men who rule the land
The things they think they understand
They spread their death for all to see
Then pray and weep on bended knee

They kill those they don’t understand
And deliver their souls into His hand
But any god who’d accept the fee
Is no god fit for you or me

I wish there was a placed called Hell
Where He would burn and forever dwell
For all the things he’s said and done
With the Holy Ghost and his bastard Son

The Fotomat

Sanitized through the sands of time

My memories of the Fotomat

Are pristine and picture-perfect

The remnants of a seemingly simpler time

Poised parenthetically in parking lots

These bastions of drive-thru culture

Housed the hopes of hundreds

That their modest memories would be maintained

And like the photographs they dispensed

They have faded into the landscape

Worn down by weather and time

Withering wistfully into the past

In these days of plentiful photography

I sorely miss the time of these icons

Where the rarity of picture taking

Met with the now rarity of film

See What We Have Made For You

See the fear that we have made for you

It's been designed for your enjoyment

Partake of it slowly letting it seep into your bones

And once it's part of you, inseparable

Then and only then are you ready

To propagate it to others

See the god we have made for you

It's been designed for your enjoyment

Partake of it early letting it seep into your bones

And once it's part of you, indistinguishable

Then and only then are you ready

To proclaim it to the world

See the lie we have made for you

It's been designed for your enjoyment

Partake of it often letting it seep into your bones

And once it's part of you, irrefutable

Then and only then are you ready

To kill for it

An Alliterative Allusion of Affluence

Bobbles bought and brought back home

In big bright bags

Bring but a brief moment of bliss

And wanting wanes once one has won

The one thing of worth that one wanted

Winning a mere whiff of wealth

Then reality rears and ruins the rapture

Of recently retrieved rewards and revives the rational

For repeating the ritual regularly reserved for the rich

Such senseless spending sprees

Are sadly sparse substitutes

For some sense of societal significance and stature

The Naked Canvas

The naked canvas sits silently longing for the artist

Who has long been replaced by a charlatan

One whose canvas would be best left blank

Instead of stained with the paints of deceit

This alleged artist has partaken of the Kool-Aid

Subscribing that anything proclaimed as art is art

But if everything is art then nothing is

And if nothing is art then art is nothing

And in this world of nothing the con artist dips his brush

Feigning emotion with each stroke that mars the lonely canvas

Producing a work void of truth and of worth

Saying nothing by those who have nothing to say

And in a time where the void is filled by commerce

The purveyors of perjury pervert the process further

Giving it commercial value by titling it appropriately

A Polar Bear in a Snow Storm

Illusions

Youth and hope conspire to create a single scenario of success as inevitable and propel the naïve neophyte into action

Fueled by this knowledge, our pristine Pollyanna proclaims its intentions and expectations which fall upon a deaf and cruel world

Undaunted, the innocent doubles its efforts at the cost of all else fully confident that its certain success will squelch its detractors

But truth has the final word on the matter and proves that success is an elusive prize randomly reserved for the fortunate few

Experience and bitterness conspire to create a full future of failure as inevitable and cast the wounded into a quagmire of doubt

Hampered by this knowledge, our pessimistic protagonist’s feats of folly and fear elicit jeers from an unimpassioned and critical world

Undaunted, the desperate doubles its effort at the cost of dignity fully confident that its eventual success will squelch its detractors

But truth has the final word on the matter and proves that actions without purpose procure a hollow and flaccid victory

Wisdom and time conspire to create a rendering of random reality as inevitable and ground the weary on a foundation of understanding

Empowered by this knowledge, our helpless hero resigns from the unwinnable war unnoticed by a preoccupied and disinterested world

Undaunted, the astute redirects its effort at the cost of nothing fully confident that its actual success will confuse its detractors

And truth has the final word on the matter and proves that absolute success and purpose are merely illusions