Amble up the narrow trail, 15 weeks smashed to 10.
Amble through the vastness, rocks named and microbes studied.
Amble to the peak of the mountain, the journey defines my nature.
Amble under the wind, looking for whispers from a lost mother.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
A disastrous lonely beach, dies under a blight of trash. The ocean tries to massage the weary shore, but its wet fingers, spill more garbage. An old woman picks up trash and puts it into her giant empty purse. A man finishes his sandwich and throws an empty foil wrapper at her feet, “You realize your wasting your time! Lady, no one cares about the environment anymore.” His bouncing laughter seemed to drown in the sound of ocean colliding into the sand.
She slowly picked up the foil wrapper and put it in her purse. As if speaking into the wet sand, her voice rolled, rhythmic like the old ocean, “My love for the Earth and nature, is not defined by the amount of other people. If I am the last one who loves, then I will be welcomed to rejoin the soil as a friend and not rejected as trash rotting on top of it.” She hobbled along the shore, each step worth four or five pieces of trash.
The man walked a few paces towards his car the was bleeding oil beneath it, and then hurled his empty paper coffee cup into the ocean.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
Up to and including
black ink, on slicing paper,
rules only, for me.
…
Self proclamation
words as hollow as birds bones
reality breaks.
…
Bully’s moxie. Glass.
The oppressed finally turn
Hate becomes shattered.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
Hallowed void creates a vacuum, and in that desperate pull, one chooses do meddle.
Tell me, scholar of my life…
Enlighten me, one who has intimacy with my circumstance…
When did I in fact hire you, as my handyman of my life?…
When in history, has one chose to meddle, by request.
Dear lost soul, perhaps it is time, to meddle within your own void.
…
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
A battle with self,
defeat’s voice, burns hearts ambition.
Self decides; “Winner is…”
…
Life begins to taper, and I ponder the voice of my biggest enemy. The devil inside my thoughts. The liar that attacks my ambition, my value, and my perception… whispering like a choking cloud of soot.
My mind is obese with lies. Greasy negativity clings dulls the yellow sparkle that used to dance like lighting in a blue cloud. Every day presents a challenge, do I walk the path of success, or do I let the lies bind me and I do nothing. My ears seem hungry to eat the words of the nay say’er. Self proclaim experts of life, the talent-less critic dines in the banquet halls of my heart, negotiating over the business table with my own doubt. Carrying the same brain for forty years, and doubting my doubt. Soon I realize the sour deal of defeat. Defeat for me is being idle. Defeat is burying that heavy bag of gold coins in the the cold wet earth. Will I be buried the same way, full of unspent coins. Or will I cast them out into the world, investing in it, and its people. Then when my empty body meets with that bed of soil, my coin bag of talents will be empty too. My gold coins multiplied and inherited by the Master who gave them to me.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert
Zachary W Gilbert, Author 