Thoughts From B4

When I Am Old

Blake’s Fire

Over There

Cosmic Questions

The Tenacity Of Hope

The Demagogue

Why We Speak

Know That I Too

The Secrets Of Seasons

The Walls

For Tommy

Home

Be-Calmed

Reawakening, Upon A Spring Morning

An Ode For My Mother

The Angel On My Shoulder Goes By The Name Of Death

Diamond Lit Skies

Arrows

And Still The Sun Will Rise

When I Am Up

Endings Without Ends

Eternity In A Telescope

The Storm

Reflections

A Piece of Peace

When I am old; out for a walk,

With someone I hold dear

Let us laugh as much as we talk

On all we love and fear.

When I am old, and sit alone,

Reminiscing on the past

Let me know that my heart was known

To the loved ones I amassed.

When I am old, and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire

Let my dreams be long and deep,

Unburdened by desire.

When I am old, and standing there,

Surveying all I see

Let me look without despair

On all that was truly me.

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free

So I can see their faces as I cast them back into the sea.

For I have no time to save them, nor be bothered by their fate;

As I must save the nation from all the Dreamers at the gate.

First, though, I must deal with anyone who does not look or sound like me,

Especially all those sad, bad hombre types who would dare to take a knee.

I mean, they make tons of money right (though not nearly as much as me),

So why should they care about the victims of some police brutality?

It's not like they are suffering, nor having their history erased.

Like all those "fine folks" who are having their monuments displaced.

Yet there's no need to fear, I know what monuments and parks to remove,

And with the regulations gone, new wells and mines can be approved.

So to those pathetic liars who say that this type of order is unfair,

Know that I am just making room to bury you beside your Medicare.

And once that’s done I can finally move on to updating our economy;

So that the full 99% are poor and all the rest are rich like me,

Because I know which type of people have suffered most of all — 

The bankers, brokers, and capitalists with their backs against the wall.

And so now you can see the "stable genius" of my “unpresidented” plan:

Stripping all the wealth and liberties from everybody that I can.

Because all of this blood and treasure some say is spent to secure our liberties

Will now be spent to secure the wealth and privilege of rich old fucks like me

Now, in this land, in times beyond our forefathers,

Beyond those who were first and merely squatters– 

Those who crossed the Delaware’s frozen waters, 

Those brought and sold as economic fodder, 

Those who charged ashore into lead breakwaters–

These people were real, not the myths some now proffer. 

So in this day is it our intent to say 

(As, from our ideals, we’ve now run astray) 

That the reality of their truth has today

Such little value it can be cast away?

Of course, times have changed, and yet so have we,

So perhaps what we need is a reverie, 

A vision of a future that can still be seen,

Free from the authoritarian political machine,

A vision for you and me–for all to see– 

The path from here to where we should be,

One that can clarify and bring into view 

All the types of things we all must do.

So, what should be our new vision's theme? 

"Liberty or Death" or “I have a dream”? 

Or something newer, a rallying call

Like the one we heard one glorious fall 

When, out of nowhere, came a politician;

and I tell you what, he was on a mission,

Because this guy had devised a simple plan 

The “Audacity of Hope” plus “Yes We Can.” 

He made us see that what we face 

Is not beyond our knowledge base,

That we have the strength to carry on 

And to lay down foundations whereupon 

We can build a new future–with all our hands–

And begin to enact all of the types of plans 

That shepherd that future and serve to guide it 

Down a path we can walk with Pride beside it. 

Of course, that was then, and this is now,

So we face the eternal question: how? 

How is it that we can respond to this 

When so many feel things are still so amiss?

When so many people live in a world without facts

While cheering on a demagogue's authoritarian acts? 

When majorities cry victim as they still oppress 

Any who dare to offend the fragile views they possess? 

Sadly, history shows these troubles have been seen before

Whenever bigots and despots blame the tired and poor,

So we must keep up the resistance and fight on once again, 

Just as those before us who worked to move us to Now from Then.

First, we must remember that "Yes We Can" 

Was simply so much more than a single man– 

That rallying call was built on aspiration,

Calling out to us all as if a gauntlet thrown,  

A challenge sent out to the entire nation 

To earn the ideals that we claim to own. 

Yes, we can meet this challenge, but to do so, we must rise

Up to meet the gaze of all those with hate within their eyes-

Just as those before us who stood up to all the tyrants of the past,

Ironclad in their convictions, hope unconstrained by class or caste.

So in this Now we must speak out, vote, and protest; 

We must summon our strength of will and refuse to shrink

From the unending trials of our democratic contest 

With all those who seek to push us to the brink. 

For it is in all of the faces of our can-be-great nation

That we see how it is we will cope, 

Showing all, through the audacity of our demonstrations, 

The true Tenacity Of Our Hope.

To triumph, all the wicked need is our silence as they pursue their tyranny.

For in that silence, we will sadly find that our path lies beside complicity.

True courage stands and speaks its mind; it is undaunted, damn the cost–

It knows the power held in every voice and just how much could still be lost.

This is why, in these times, we must all speak–loud and proud and clear;

Why we must have faith in one another and why we cannot give in to fear.

Why we must stand firm in the face of hate, even when it feels we must move the heavens;

Remembering, always, the simple, eternal truth that from our lips leap weapons!

Does the winter really turn into spring, Does it go from a white to a green sort of thing? Or, is a winter a thing of its own– A singular winter, past, off to places unknown?

The Walls The Walls The Walls How they look upon me.

Their eyes, Once so bright and filled with light, Are now dark with dead of night.

I can hear them Creaking, Speaking to me as they sit Staring oh so insufferably.

Listening, Always listening to my every breath —  Filling me with thoughts of…

The Walls! The WALLS!! THE WALLS!!!

How their dark stare mocks me, But truths belie.

For, as they sit, Stoic and unyielding, I, too, look on, a sly smile smiling back at them.

Tick… tock… Tick… tock… Finally, my ally has arrived!

Time, my friend, you are, as always, never late; Nor are you a moment too soon, for now we fight–

THE WALLS!!! THE WALLS!!! THE WALLS!!!

No longer will they close in on me, For this time, it is not me but We, And together, we can hold back Their long, dark stare.

So now, Walls, you shall yield to me, No longer closing in But instead, holding back the gloom of night.

So, as time turns my Nows to Thens, And the walls’ eyes glow grows from red to white, This is when Time shares their gift with me– A brand new day with hope in sight.

One where the world is colored with delight; Where walls don’t look in but do look bright.

A day where I can say unto you: Walls, walls are all you are, And I See Through You.

Fire, fire, burning bright,

weaving shadows from the night,

how did mortal man learn to

unlock the secrets within you?

From what darker, distant past

did we emerge, free at last,

once we'd learned to tame then free

thy flaming volatility?

For the magic of your light

gave us ways to fend off night,

steal back daylight, and explore

lands unseen by man before.

Fire, with your powers near,

we outshone our darkest fears

so that, in caves, we could start

making works of timeless art.

What hand or eye or mind was first

moved to quench deeper, inner thirsts;

to–with pigment, coal, or chalk–

imbue their Self upon the rock?

So, with these powers over dark,

one last thought was left to spark,

as we, through art, learned to see

our true immortality.

-- @thoughtsfromb4

In friendship's garden, where we once played,

Our words were spring flowers blooming gay. 

All of grammar and logic at our beck and call, 

In the linguistic realm, we controlled it all.

Sadly, your heart is now but a brilliant star,

Yet one I can see wherever you are.

In this new silence, all our past words take flight,

Carrying me through the new, bleaker nights

Our past conversations, now a whispered breeze,

Just a rustling of leaves beneath the trees.

In brighter days, we shared all of our hopes and fears–

With love and laughter, with empathy and tears,

Forging bonds beyond space and time so that you and I

Will meet once again in a realm without goodbyes;

Where friendship’s language will again know no bounds,

And the church bells hang still, without a sound.

We're all searching-- searching for a place where we feel safe, a point we can retreat to and set out from, a place to call our own.  It's a feeling, really, a feeling that one finds in that which we hold closest to our hearts: a loved one's embrace, kind words from a friend, a song that brings a smile, memories of long-ago summer afternoons,  when cares were few and simple. We're all searching--searching for that feeling; a feeling most often found in a singular place. Old or young, man or woman, rich or poor, no matter race or religion, creed or country, sometimes we just need to feel like we belong, like we are part of something.  For some, it is a house, and for others, a neighborhood. For some, it is a town, and for others, a team. For some, it is a school, and for others, a state.  For some, it is a country, and for others, the world at large; yet, for many, it is simply their own small corner of it. But no matter where it is or why we feel it, it is ours. Where we can go to renew ourselves and our spirits. It is our refuge, our place of peace, a place of love, a place called home.

Cosmic Questions

What questions would you wish to ask of the stars, if we could speak their language or they speak ours? What answers would you seek from their brilliant years to help ease your worries and quiet your fears? Would you ask them for truths of days long since passed, or ones of new days that now come all too fast?

Or perhaps you might ask them what you could do in thanks for their stardust that resides in you?

Over. Still, I linger…There. Where all things once seemed so fair. Perhaps I’ll walk. Wander. Where? Because everything was there? Now, though, I'll not wonder There, for it is just passed despair. Instead, I’ll grow, ponder errs, giving all their fair earned share; Moving on with grace and care, knowing everything is rare.

Becalmed upon a boundless blue sea of tears, I fear I feel there is nothing left.

Alone and unable to locate any hope to which to cling. Deftly bereft

Of all I used to find so easily upon this sea of me I sail my ship.

This sea with waves just for me–inundating my ship and me with every roll and dip–

Uncaringly rejecting all my attempts to right this wreck that’s in the making.

For with each one, I grow so much more weary of the deadly toll that it's taking.

Clouds drift

Sun lifts

Minds slumber, peacefully adrift

Birds sing

Bells ring

A quiet morning in the spring

Blue skies

Mind’s Eye

Takes it all in to clarify

What’s This

All This

Is there anything still to miss

These days

Always

Infinite things to do and say

But still

Dawn will

Bring back a grand new morning’s thrill

Day breaks

I wake

With brand new paths that I might take

--by @thoughtsfromb4