FRUSTRATION

By, Stuart Platt

Tension
Pulsing, Burning
Memories fade to Black
nothing...
mountains are climbed
boulders towards heaven roll
frivolously falling further down
life's existence foiled
circular motion forced
round milky way's edge
unrequited, unending
satisfaction, no guarantees
tip toeing toward turning
failing to pass the course
we will weep when we wash on
sleeping slumber of solace
usurping Satan's stare

Photo by Chris Robinson

Water

Rain slowly drips from the clouds like a leaky faucet, a light mist fogs the windows as a small grouping of droplets form into a community. Together they slowly conform to one single unit, one mind, one soul, one spirit. Yet each droplet is its own being. Its own personality. Its own consciousness. One individual thought in a sea of flowing rain. As one they are nothing but a drop, a speck in the large scaled existence of the universe. As a unit they comprise a driving force capable of causing the untold tragedy of entire planets. We need it for survival. It sustains the erratic system of life on which we cling and is the very fabric of our being. The majesty of its beauty holds spectators breathless as it dances through nature a holy trinity three in one. Immersion in its depths will awe those who brave it, many fall victim to its might. This deadly temptress of navy and gray may also heal those who thirst for its power. Then all at once the time will come when the sun breaks through the clouds and everything will fade into nothingness.

I Like Pants

By, Stuart Platt

I like Pants as every boy should
On or off my pants are good!
They keep me all cozy, like a warm woolen blanket
and if they are gone I can't hardly take it
My Pants are my friend at good times and bad
they remind me of friends that I've never had
Pants are the thing that keeps me all quiet
they even remind me when I need a diet.
A feel very lonely when pants are away
I wish that in public that they'd always stay
For me and my pants we'll be friends forever
until comes the day when seams start to sever.
I like Pants

3:16

By, Stuart Platt

What is it about the night that brings out the philosopher in us all?

There seems to be a silent longing to know more about life and meaning.

The quietness.

It screams in our ears so loudly that we feel as if our eardrums might burst from anymore.

Minds racing thinking about yesterday and looking forward towards tomorrow. Responsibilities, Work, Obligation, Bills, Friends, God, Love,

All these come to the forefront of the mind in the silent deadness of night.

It is in the light of day that we lose ourselves to our life.

In the hectic blaring noisiness of the monotonous rush and bustle of the day.

We lose that quiet part of ourselves that longs to sit in silence.

Perhaps that is why we come back to ourselves in the night.

A haunting shadow, our fears and desires, our phobias and dreams.

Maybe that is why we fear the sanctuary of the night.

Do we fear His still small voice?

The Waiting Room

By, Stuart Platt

Uncertain, walls stare blankly back into on lookers eyes
Thoughts reel through each mind leaving a trail of fear in its wake
Lead hearts await news ranging from mild to life shattering
The clock ticks away as if to prophesy some foreboding demise
Cold sterile greetings of employed cronies one’s only reassurance
Nervous gestures, worried glances, pointless busy-work are these our comfort
We throw away millions of dollars of our hard earned income
Only to pay some worthless quack to give us drugs and send us home
Our own personal professionally trained drug dealers
The television drags on in a monotonous attempt to distract our apprehension
As if to say, “bright colors and sounds will calm your fears!”
A generation so addicted to noise we drown out all emotion
Other evidences of our addictions sit affront of me in cylinder
We use temporary stimulation to ease our permanent problems
What are we waiting for…