At Risk
I am a man outside-in
my imaginings verge on sane
light up ideas in the dark
churn the cauldron of angels
lift you and your doubts
give you to where you long
and maybe
if I feel the tremor
carry you back
where feeling warm again yet scared
heart racing like a feather's flutter in a hurricane
turn your hour glass once again
I am a man inside-out
vibrating with the collaborative
as flood lights arc
visceral memories resonate through my tissue
recalling the tweak of mind spasms
clenching tight the pages of script
when first a voice utters the word
when first an image comes alive
pushing me into a theatre's black tornado night
I am a man outside-in
knowable from afar
by the never-sleep-look of my eyes
the Murine forever poised between my fingers
calming the synaptic lightning
forever thundering across my lens
I am a man inside-out
re-born in swirling mind's weather
the storm's eye seeking calm
clearing overhead clouds
where some know my blasphemous ignoring of gods
whose sacrosanct eggshells no one is to tread upon
where suits now tremble at the laser of my eyes
crossing me at their peril
knowing I can swallow their light
forever smothering the anger lashing them into their spin
cocooning their palm trees by my own spin of another kind
I am a man outside-in
When Urania sets to flight my head
I hurtle into the vacuous silence
whiteness of black forever filling my palette with color
laced with the dissonance of my melodies.
I am a man at risk
Sublime
I wrote for superiors all my life. For the most part, my writing was accepted and thought superior to others with an engineering background. There were deadlines, but I easily met them without much stress. It was only until I had to deal with accountants and followers of Machiavellian principles late in life, that my writing skill became unwanted or even, subversive.
Ron