Weight of the prolonged

Under the weight
of the prolonged
rests the peaceful
disintegration
of a name.

			What is your hope?

It is feeling,
oozing past reality
to where experience
suffers spasmodic fits.

It is the long 
and sullen
attaining 
critical mass.

(The belief that)
with a push from
the other side,
the anguish disperses
and comes relief.

Maybe this is 
where you find
it.
In the remembering.
In the soothing.

To mean,
to suffer --
sister soldiers
of internal discourse.
To verily believe
the unbelievable.

Swell of burdens

It's peculiar the way that carrying out can usher in:

Burdens.
I've seen a swell of burdens 
carried out the door.
Burdens that fill bags--
   literally fill bags--
beautiful bags that sat at
cross purposes.

I saw a beautiful being
tote those beautiful bags,
swelling with burdens,
out my front door.

Such a sight and such a sensation.

the call to reason

If you seek relief in the transient balm of your age,
you will note the whimsical fury of the present
and the thorough disregard of your effort.

Contrast, then, the stark and fleeting
with the perpetual ease of
the will to forge a new meaning in your time,
in your space;
meaning that will envelope the I in an inimitable way.

The goal of any person: the call to reason.

Of anything

Reward! And opening to majesty through struggle,
bitter and blighted.
The freedom of sensation!

What release from these pangs.
When confined and proscribed,
I yet burst at the slightest hint of choice.