I God
You will never conquer me,
I am the wind; I am the sea,
I am the power beyond your bound,
I am your sight; I am your sound,
I am your power of speech, the power to live,
I am the one who gives, the power to give,
I am the ocean, and all the tides,
I engulf the moon, on all its sides,
I taste gravity in relation to song,
I am all right, I am all wrong,
Magnetism salutes me and bows its head,
I am the living; I am the dead,
All eyes to see your innermost deeds,
All ears to hear your innermost needs,
Inside me lives the heavens, and night skies above,
I am your hate, but also your love
Random Trash Wisdom On A New York Street
The palace crumbles on dirty streets and becomes ash,
The ash is blown by a small, cool midday breeze and swirls in small whirlpools like sand,
I shuffle my feet with small rhythms that jog by in my mind,
Many languages tickle my ears in these dark bluesy streets,
I see ghosts walking in every direction,
Leftover from the nights spent singing and screaming to the human spirit,
Edgy sullen eyes lowered against a lamppost, watch the change drop to the cup,
A tiny unwritten, unplanned melody over the sound of the streets, teaming with life and love,
The candles in the window flicker side to side and dance seductively
Like a woman who forgets the crowd in a slow jam,
Rich, notes melodically caress this open soul,
Like a sound wave, the emotion and energy sway from negative to positive as does the
current pushing our minds to think and wonder,
Curiosity is my favorite feeling and lets me know I am still young inside,
The days are long and solitude is a commodity among this tightly meshed fabric of
humanity riding seas to shores of the once new world,
To search the bottom of the oceans for what is not yet charted,
To step where there are no footprints and respect the peace this place has known,
Before our human need for order and division, time didn't exist in this place,
Just an endless, beautiful cycle of energy given to energy,
Infinity is god, and the night always breaks into light,
Huge, atomic star, that feeds our lives and skins,
Pumps and breathes onward beyond our known grasp,
This gray, chain link view stretches time like a rubber band,
When the view gives way to journey it snaps back and time contracts,
Perception drives this phenomena to the observant soul,
Just glad to hear laughter,
Just glad to hear her,
Whispering in my ear,
Accepting the idiosyncrasies that repel me from myself,
Tired, needing some sanctity, some respect for the quiet evening,
Trees, water, the low setting sun, and her embrace.
Poem © 2001 Patrick Maxwell, all rights reserved
appears here by permission
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