294. Symbol.

 

293. Gratitude.

Learning to discover and create new and better ways to help people who are in need in an emergency, and while working, imbuing others with the positive energy needed to do the same.

Creating a company and a vision with the potential to save the world, and keeping the natural propensity to do so alive and well with people as a part of the work there.

292. Restoration.

There were muses of an urban sprawl
and an urban brawl,
the only thing that counts is a story.
and you get a different bite to you
as you're shaped by the lessons of time.

Observe,
Emerald skies' fancy flames
licked by a tiger's sense of
courage and respect,
lived in the calm before the storm
or a painting once remembered
by the heart of a callous man.

Pictures weren't easy to come by
and I had a certain appreciation
for an artist,
and a certain respect for
the pavement
and the way it wears a boot.

Then a re-story, in this time of
ineffectual butterflies and
a drastic need to legitimize the tale.
Tailwinds...
My caution came up
I remembered the ways in which a war becomes empirical.

Maybe she was also an edgy lass,
Maybe the story was first too hard to tell.
Though, I'd taught myself trust and faith.
the austerity of a sensed medium
the rememberance of someone who was there

Love, had so many words.
She'd teach them, as we'd listen.
Rendered in
Four quarters of a heartbeat or
a barcode valentine.

Iconic, how it was still, and up to her somehow to decide.

291. Cadence.

I thought of pristine moments like this one

As cages

Each one of them clearly defined by the situation before it

And the consequences afterward.

Each memory boxed up,

But still pristine of itself.

Deviation seemed the wrong word anyway

The way it rolls off the tongue

Half a syllable caught in the apex of time.

Max Weber probably understood

The desire in each of the boxes.

Can I own you, dear, are you mine to keep on a shelf

I can return to you in perfect condition just after the lapse

Of your appreciation of all the achievements

Wrapped up in this…

The reality was as pristine as the bullet from the shots a man fired

with my name on them.

I’d wondered if the devil had come by any other name

With a heart like a butterfly net

Weber’s submission to the difference between wants and needs.

I wonder if she’d written it for him.

Wisdom I’d reflected on

In humble moments from the same row of homes

Between the want in each shiny perfect glimmer

And the gray lump of lead at velocity.

I wondered what one moment was worth

Then I kissed her.

To some, it was maybe the difference between shamrocks and clover.

To me it was the way it always works out,

In the rhythm of time

With our dreams arranged in the cadence of

 the distant drummer.

***

 

 

It's a size 10 boot by The North Face bae. Geotags included.

290. Apex.

289. Judgment.

288. Teleology.

287. Catalysis.