Standin' here smokin'

Like I'm somethin'

Staring at a solemn moon

For a moment this

Storm subsides

Calm rushes in

Like all good things

I feel it crashing to its end.  

Patrice O'Neal died yesterday.  Twitter told me so.  I couldn't put a face to his name, but a Youtube search jogged my memory of the comic's performances on Comedy Central, specifically the roast of Charlie Sheen.

I chose to view a CBSNews.com broadcast.  As the narrating reporter summarized highlights from O'Neal's career, details of his life, what it had been, and the circumstances of health surrounding it's finale, I drifted away.  

I heard the tone of lie's in the reporter's voice, I didn't need to see his eyes.  The facts were facts.  True, undeniable, unarguable facts.  The piece was written to be informative, as good journalism should be.  The narrator's voice though, it was a trained pacification.  It was a lullaby to the general public, a cue that their emotions should mourn, ever so slightly as his had.  He spoke with underlying empathy.  It was a conjured sorrow though - one that he had practiced in the bathroom mirror, in front of his wife.  "Does this sound sincere?" he would obsess to her.  Her reply, an appeasing, coldly insincere, "Yes."

He reported the true news with emotive lies.  Before he had been assigned to read this story with his just-so voice, he had not known who Patrice O'Neal was.  This was his career; pretending that he cared.

But it was just another man.  Just another dead man.  He forgets that some day he too will be just another dead man.

I know this to be true because he forgets to drop the about-to-cry intonation as he signs off, pouting - "Ken Lombardi, CBSNews.com."

Inquire within.

The answer to every question

Comes only from inside. 

Today is one month

Past my twenty-ninth birthday

Eleven months

Until my thirtieth.

Three decades.

I'm satisfied with

All I've done so far.

I haven't known

Where I've been going

But what is it to be lost,

When the entire universe

Welcomes you home?

Even in the lack of illumination,

When you're lost in the

Depths of the forest

And this tree looks

Like that tree

And moss grows to the north

But who's to say which

Direction is best,

Wandering is more

Like exploration

Than being aimlessly lost,

Being lost is clinging to a fear

Of today's here,

Being gone; the fear of change.

The paralyzing trepidation

That the next step you take

Will be with foot planted

On eroding ground

And every inch of progress

That lies behind

Will be abandoned

You can't stop traveling though,

Unless you should actively

Assume responsibility

For terminating your journey

Because the jagged rocks

Have destroyed your sole

Or because you can't bare

The constant unknown

The unpredictable predictability

Or that day after day

It all still looks the same

It continues until

Your feet will no longer carry you.

Then the expedition is done.  

We are the voice

Of one

The one who cries out

In the wilderness

In the barren,

Voiceless land,

Stifled, muffled for

Far too long

Collectively we cry

In sackcloth and ashes

In unison our words arise

We call forth the land

To grow and nourish

To prosper and flourish

Our desperation yields

Bountiful rivers

Teeming with life

Our insistence sows

Fields of inspiration

We harvest out of necessity.

I hate the letter 'A'

In it's capital form

It's how they misspell

My name

Every time.  

Isaiah's Lament

I am the voice

Of one who

Cries out from the

Wilderness

Calling an end to

Infertility

Calling out for the rain

Crying, wailing for

Life, for growth

Weeping for

The reaping

When nothing's

Been sown

Yearning for change

I am the voice

Of one who

Cries out

Alone from the

Wilderness,

Come alive,

Stop being dormant,

This is not the time

For docility,

Rise up,

Prepare ye the way,

Forge ahead,

Lay the ground,

I am the voice of one

Where there is none,

Sending forth a cry;

From the wilderness

Awaken from your slumber,

Hear with your ears

See with your eyes

They're only closed;

You're not blind.

Corral your fears

Leave them behind.

I am the voice of one

Crying "Freedom",

From the wilderness

Shake the chains,

Break the fetters

Stand up on weak legs

Build them to be strong

Make no allowance

For hindrance

Come forth and create

Bloom in your expression

Come forth and dance

Come forth and live

In this very moment

I am the voice of one

Calling out

From the wilderness

A rally for change

Not Obama's vision of change,

But the people's

The breaking of status quo

Disposing old notions

Embracing healing

Throw out your laurels

Be reborn

I am the voice of one

Crying out

From the wilderness

You are enough

You are beautiful

You are capable

Arise from nothing

Compose yourself to

Be something

I am the voice of one

Crying out

From the wilderness

Shed your duress,

If you need to leave

Start planning your egress

Embrace your own being

Know it, grow it,

Never let it go

In forfeit or for profit.

I am the voice of one

Crying out

From the wilderness.