LOVE IS THE OPERATIVE CONDITION

CARE TO THE LAST
The light softly faded inside my bed,

extinguished by the constant roaming

of jackals feeding on the dreams within my head

the laughing pack is howling, moaning,

there they are always on about petty schemes

that ruin if only for a time the lives of my hoping.

I earnestly wake breathing, my first prayer not based on dreams

is to return at night after having found a way to cope.

It is not that I fear the airy loss of life. That I’ve learned to bear.

It is the possibility of a claustrophobic death

that I might miss the last lost light of loves continued care

as I dream my last, own life no more as I take my final breath.

© M Durfee

4.22.2015

BURN THE MOTHERFUCKER DOWN AND IT CHANGES NOTHING

HEIDELBURG   PROJECT

We are the forces of our own destruction.

Our very souls have become the ash

we are supposed to rise from even as we burned

we never realized that ash is matter changed,

rearranged never again able to assume the form

of what it once was a construction of our better nature.

Willing,

ever willing to remove from view

that which offends you

but not me.

Kill it, burn it,

persecute it until it moves

to someone else’s sphere of destruction

and in the new view we have find

it’s not greener grass we have created

only a dry dead hole of devestation

not only in the ground but in our soul.

We are one and when one hurts

all are in pain whether known

or felt or not, no one cares;

they’d rather pain and destruction

than construction.

It is after all only about the bottom line numbers

and if any one portion of one refuses to surrender

in moving from red to black then it must be destroyed.  

God need not damn us, we have damned ourselves.

© M Durfee

12/9/13

Eighth blaze at Heidelberg Project destroys Clock House <<  DETROIT NEWS article.

Almost every image in the video above is now destroyed.

Heidelberg Project @ Wikipedia  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heidelberg_Project

ZEN OF A FAILING STAR

AN UNCOMMON MAN

Be of good cheer in ignorance

to the plight of the living

as your steps tread upon the remnants

of dead men’s thoughts used to pave your path.

Think not of where you tread

or

whom you block through blindness to all but self.

The paved path is full of thought and intentions

of them wanting a better world

only to find that time overtook any vision of life

different than this risen one

under a self-declared moon

greedy for eating the smaller lights

of night’s life.

It is nothing more than a quick turn of time’s ankle

to extinguish a faint glimmer of a common life;

nothing more than a sprinkle of oil or water

to quell the rising dust of the dead

who had nurtured knowledge

of had been common before.

I would that I were a common man.

A human traveler not afraid

to let someone in line ahead of me,

not easily angered when confronted by anger in another,

able to step back and hold a door open for a stranger,

easy to exchange pleasant conversations with the unknown,

able to express my feeling simply with words thank you or please,

think thoughts and ideas freely without reservation of persecution.

I would that I had not become an uncommon human.

C() M Durfee

8/27/13