Feeling out destiny

If passion passes today in grotesque form
I’ll wait for it to pass everything altogether
until I can again depend on it.

-M. Taggart

poem

If there are one million things we think we know,
there are one hundred million things we don’t.
And each of them, individually, know exactly what they are,
while waiting for us to unlock a few at a time.
I can only hope we unlock the ones worth knowing.
The ones which indestructibly help humanity.

-M. Taggart

poem – leftovers

In town is a bench viewing a man chewing his brain,
with little resources to find his thoughts; the bench cared nothing
for the perfectly structured oak tree whimpering in the chilly wind,
instead the bench wished to be ripped from its foundation and
connected to the man with the unruly thoughts. There at least
might live something, even if not holy in nature, possibly there
was hope. The man teetered, then steadied himself by grasping
the oak tree, “Aren’t you the friend I need,” the man said while
grinding his teeth and gazing upward and through the leftover
leaves.

-M. Taggart

 

Poem

I’m viewing the grey lifeless skyline
hoping to soon see a dripping sunset.
I’m thinking the decaying leaves
are also disinterested in more soggy
New England October weather and
would rather trade it for the crispness
that often rides along, clinging to the winds,
while the moon is high, full and alive,
pushing away low lying cloud cover
to expose the naked sky and silent stars.

-M. Taggart

Home Again

Everything Changes, once in a while.
I’m not a fan of the word every(thing),
every(time). Not everything is an every anything.
It’s a bit like when someone tells me that, “I always…”
when in fact I don’t always anything.

I drove down a little dirt path, covered with leaves,
to this old, dilapidated, and left-behind mill. At some
point, it’ll not be crumbling. It’ll be gone; traveling with
the current of the lake toward the small stream leading
into the forest and back home again.

It’s possible that we all go back home again.

-M. Taggart

Mill

 

(photo credit- Matt’s cell phone.)