Without

Let me show you where the path ends,
Where bodys break and bones bend.
Where minds unfurl
And tragedies swirl,
Where this path comes to an end.
At the end a monstrous beast
Its bite to be feared the least.
Without legs with which to chase
Without eyes, or jaws, or teeth,
Lies in wait for an awful feast.
Without a face it cannot see,
Without a face it might be me.
With broken body and bent up bones,
Not a soul in sight but my own,
There’s none left to blame.
I, without a beast, or so I think,
Remain here on the brink.
An edge, a place I’ll stay and wait
For the bones to heal and the beast make
A quick escape, my fear to take.
Into a fearless sea I sink.
The beast will come.
The beast in me.
The beast without eyes I cannot see.
The path has ended I search for one,
Not made for me but made for some.
And without eyes who’s to say,
We didn’t drive the beast away.
Yesterday’s gone, tomorrow never comes.
At least that is what the faceless say.

Weeds?

A shower comes to springs end.
A new dawn with which to tend,
Each new day having brought a seed,
Whether it a flower or it a weed.
Though who’s to say which one is?
The beholder’s as shallow as it is,
Every daughter and son: a judge unto themselves.
Every court without a jury; mercilessly and unjustly delves
Into the case of assigning value.
Into the ends that suit themselves.

Pebbles

This pebble.
This descendant of boulders,
This son of mountains.
This once strong and mighty thing
I see here in my path.
I kick it.
It matters not.