All things come to pass...

Too many lengthy rambles

Too many misunderstood lines

Too many unconventional syllables

Too much unexplainable reality without rhyme

Too little musical purging

Too few understanding songs

Too few four letter words spoken

Too long pacing the cage alone

Lost in a moment come and gone

One said, "too deep, no love,"

"Why can't you just move on?"

too intense, don't belong

... love spelled all wrong...

September13th, 2013

Harlon Rivers

Accepting an Unfinished Life

Sometimes change happens so fast you don’t even notice . . .however accepting life's changes as reality, can be a slow and self-loathing process . . . we are always as blind as we want to be. 

Regrets are a waste of time that can leave you standing alone at the crossroads at the end of that day when the sun goes down. . .

Many footprints are left behind

the countless miles of pathways

traveled throughout an unfinished life.

Barefoot traces of past now’s

wind through the ashes,

as the smoldering embers

of a turbulent past boundlessly linger.


Oppressive signs of crawling

on bruised and battered knees

remain engraved in the dusty wake,

knowing a sense that the squandered energy

trying to shed this calloused skin was wasted in vain

Black and white snapshots frozen in time,

vividly retell the incised memory,

when it was as if there was no longer

valid reasons to believe, as forward steps circled


Unable to beckon the strength to defy gravity,

to rise from kneeling on bended knees

with the resolve to stand humbly tall,

while leaning towards the faltering light

Hesitation mired hopeful new strides

crossing the uncharted threshold

into the void reaching beyond nebulous darkness


There were times when wanderlust blisters bled raw

and thread bare socks wrung red

Holes in the soles of worn out boots

overwhelmed an unforgettable crippling agony

Distraction numbed the forgotten heartbreak

that enshrouded the torn, reducing life back

to the beginning miles,

when thoughts of mere baby steps was existence


There are days spent suspended

at friendless crossroads,

overwhelmed by indecision’s

daunting toll,

only to take the wrong turns

foolishly pushed by a faith

in the winds of change


The low road was recklessly chosen,

where the shade in the shadows

of the gutter, would not hide the burning ache;

days of running blissfully free upon the high road

were short-lived, as the loneliness of isolation

became too much weight to bear


Infinitely searching for an ambiguous sense

of ever belonging, as the notion evolved

into an unattainable, unrealistic destiny.

An emotionally perplexing feeling

overshadows an uncompleted journey;

a misunderstood lifetime journey

viewed from the corner of veiled, curious eyes

spanning the cradle to the grave .


All the while,

slowly growing to understand,

it is better to adapt, accept

you may never fulfill a certain

quest for an illusive congruence anywhere,

ne'er trusting the mind made illusion,

thinking you could, yet feeling adapting

was another word for giving up


One day awakening to discover. . .

There becomes a need to cope with

the disappointment when life unveils

the end of the day . . .

In a conscious moment of listening

to the silent stillness within,

realizing you never will...




© Harlon Rivers

just beyond the washed out bridge

An aubergine damp and drifting fog enshrouded
the partially washed out bridge abutments
as the night's shadows stole the traveler's daylight

once a favorite passage spanned rivers wide, now where journeys end;
once there was a way to the other side of the turbulent waters,
crossing over the whitewater boulder field to the distant washed out cut bank.

the abrupt pavement break dead ended
the pothole strewn abandoned road less traveled,
where raging river washed out the shoreline of the rocky shoal

an unexpected perfect storm’s lightning bolts
snuck up like summer heat lightning turned cobalt blue,
gravity’s flash flood from mountain high sky

the avalanche came crashing down without warning
moving mountains, carving a new pathway with nature’s unstoppable wrath
the gentle bend in the mellow meandering river’s flow now forked unrecognizable.

the bridge that linked that lonesome valley
had left an island ghost town
just beyond the washed out bridge

those that did not heed the warning signs
save for the memory of the forgotten essence of the ancient bridge,
sat at the beclouded mountain waters margin;

now at crossroads burdened in the torn of doubt,
not wanting to go back where the only labyrinth passage
bestow an island whence secluded came ...

September . 2 . 2013

It takes an island to build a bridge...

Thank you for your reads and support...
be well all... ~ peace on the planet ~

harlon rivers