Machine gun …logic

What a thinking man understands
Life tends not to conform

to our demands.

Just who, what gives
To do what it takes …

to make a scene
into the production
of our dreams.

Despite our mistakes
we continue to dance

To learn and to grow fonder
of our increasing skill

To further enhance the poise and fluidity
Of our motion.

In the evolution of our ability
To enhance expressions of our emotions

Stages, set and open fields of play
Without mistaking our primary goals

through the myriad flurry
of energies gathered

When we are fully in the flow
Of something greater.

Caught up in the embrace
Of the divine will
of the universe’s creator

If you can recognize
the wind, even when it’s still.

Do we read the signs?
Have we made-up our minds?

Are we struck blind?
Do we mark time,

undecided.

Our senses dulled by the incessant whine
Of those who seem resigned

To seek to distract and divert attention
From a ploy designed to conceal trapdoors

From the arsenal of evil designs
Upon the weak or foolish.

Or anyone

Spellbound by the design
Confused, by the illusion.

Though, i Forearmed by the runes
in the signature Of raindrops,

written in the ripples of a quiet pool
Cast in the subtle flow of shadows

like fallen soldiers dance
into the waiting arms of death.

Drawn to the whims
of forces unrestrained.

Spreading like so many
cancers of our minds

Then, too our intentions drift
As our perspectives shift

to new targets of opportunity,
gathered.

Do we choose sides?
Are we just along for the ride?

From resting stops
when we regroup

To the places
where the first traces

of our next movements
are launched

the importance of what matters
is never lost.

Individual action
Organized thought

C2


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