Presence - r1

My perspective was bright, from time to
time, filled to the brim with ambition;
social cognition was a fallacy
I would prove innate along the way.
Three years at University,

and I was becoming transparent.
Like so many others, I was determined
to change the world; instead, I stumbled
my way to Psych services. I am part of a lost
generation, beyond Hemingway's understanding

of the concept—like many before me;
like the young adults I see today.
However, this is fact not fiction—soon
they'll be out creating ultra-violence,
listening to Beethoven's ninth,

and calling each other 'droogies'.
Maybe that was my generation, lost
in transition, bred for recognition
of failed architecture. We are the Zoloft era,
and age is unrestrictive at this point;

fed pills and coerced onto couches
to be treated by doctors
with more problems than our own.
It's nothing that can't be learned
by looking towards the night sky.

The stars, while otherworldly, share
with us the same lessons: everything is
always moving—I orbit you, as you orbit me.
Duality is lost in two grains of sand;
don't stare too long at an illusion.

In the Deep - r1

I have been anesthetized by the Deep,
and here under a starless sky
I found a home: a place absent of light
where I can sleep.  No doves rest on
the crest of solemn gates I seek, to greet
with unquiet praise—instead, the wretched
soulless wraiths have gathered round
with hauteur flavor: a fitting station
for those in limbo of His grace.

Cold as winter's breath are the hearts
of those behind these gates, and their shivers
are enough to shake both worlds which men
consider to be night or day. But the words
He whispers still echo in this hallowed land—
so strange it is, the lending of a foreign hand.