Moving On - Children of the Children of God

He never fears, only when he will risk losing what he loves
He could be unloved for what he is, or unappreciated for what he could have become
He might lose regard for small signification, the train halts of life, dormant in journey

Maybe he’ll spend his life forming ideals, and then arbitrarily knock them down
Maybe he’ll get a business degree or go into acting, lying, directing, or screen writing
Maybe he’ll be an amateur and wish he had finished his education, or could he be a father?

What if he let’s down his close brothers, his fore mentor, his trailing siblings?
What if in trying to remedy, he cuts down his mother, so low in shame she won’t recover?
What if he takes painful revenge on his deadbeat father, roots putrefied like dead ingrown nails?

Losing touch with old friends, makes new ones… forfeits them again in rearview, on and on, why?
Disabling his social life permanently, why try?
Unfit to worship his partner intensely, doubts exclusive bond… Is there one coiled lock?
Maybe she’s just around the tree, too far to reach, dying alone, can she wait? Can his eyes open?

Sketching, the pen twists in curves lacking meaning for both himself and anyone reading
Found that calling the bluff pays off more than yielding to a feeble predicament
Finds that formal inculcation is someone else’s diet, like photocopied dishes of projected ‘what ifs’
Finding more, and more is uncertain, enjoys the lack of order, it’s so dangerous!

Lost himself in music, not being able to compose his very own song, forgets his rattle
Painted essence oils on clean canvas, but it is still a swindle of the earlier epiphany buried deep
Drunk in books, wipes his mouth from savoring lives of people he can’t afford to incarnate
Attracted to Queen Cobra who taught him, in ways of dysfunctional contiguity scents ophidian

He fears what loosing strength might mean
He fears what having strength might mean!
Trepid of extinction in a wilderness he loves, resents structure who like a virus eats at his animal

All the lives he gave that other’s might live hereafter
All the years, gone forever… He just wouldn’t give them again now knowing where they go.
Lives he takes with him to disaster, the dark pits of death, then rebirth tunnels enlightenment

Parented the offspring, not his own, being yet one himself
Worked hard to become, but it wasn’t becoming
Barely fathers himself, at times suspects his regarded depreciation and jabbers endlessly

Fears come and go like his patterned virescent skin, and he feels naked without them
He fears what talking about it might mean from those who don’t really know him
He fears what being free from fear might entail, but fears are just part of his defensive shield

Again, the time has come to shed his loyal skin of defensive insecurity once more
In a moment he’ll beat the old drums on full moon again and again till dawn is born
Enjoying nothing more than a rhythmic dance dressed with the amethyst sky