Winter Cleaning – Thoughts of Lust, War, and Uncommonality

Deep within the recesses of my realm of possibilities

There’s a place where neither stylus nor parchment doth travel

A desert island perched in the middle of an endless desert

Thoughts go there to linger, many eventually turning to dust

Joining the surrounding grains of shifting desert sand

Words gathering debris in darkened corners and empty halls

The world is not yet ready for them; struggling to believe it

Dangerous, erotic, or simply not of the proper correctness

So they wait; the fear of societal norms their iron bars

And the hope, perhaps the dream, of a free world, the key

Year upon year and season upon the following season

Constant change and the compass spinning and spinning

Everything exchanged; replaced and replicated

But in reality nothing gains the perpetual motion

The clickity-clack of climbing to the top of the hill

Nothing more than echoes of a video stuck on loop

My thoughts are still too risky and my dreams still silent

Often when I’m spinning tales, I’m wrapped up in my own

Wondering the outcome should I dare risk a splinter

Lighting peering into the dusty silence of that hidden place

Perhaps in solitude late past the witching hour

I’ll whisper words of lust, words risqué and taboo

Thoughts of dampness, perspiration, and being moist

Wicked thoughts of two bodies intertwined in passion

Heat rising in crescendo and crescendo or pleasure

Completeness only achieved when every ounce is spent

Delicate flesh presented like a sweetened and ripe fruit

Hungry cravings that go without ever being satisfied

Leaving a raw hunger and carnal desire that perpetuates

Throbbing, pulsating, and once again hidden away

How the mind unravels when given the opportunity

And when the erotic is spent, others come forward

Jostling and driving one another for a prominent position

Destruction, chaos, and never-ending conflict

Man versus man and woman versus woman

The great puppet masters trading strings at random

For division has more meaning than any sort of cohesion

Funds to be generated while the body counts grow

Birthing in vogue to maintain the slaughter count

Smoke from the funeral pyres leaves the skies grey

How the motions of eternal war drives all things

Troops keep surging forward while defenders await

Planes keep flying, armor keeps rumbling, blood flowing

And yet little matters to the global masters

Bankers keep banking, investments keep growing

Technologies exploited for their greed and lust of power

Children preyed upon; their fathers and mothers gone

Killed or lost in the meat grinders of the machine

And yet the only crime is to speak of the crimes

The guilty never punished, but the whistleblowers are

As the dawn morphs from thought into reality

Now is the time of closure; the time of renewed darkness

The whispers that have found their way to the written page

Now gently folded and slipped effortless into the flames

A momentary burst of heat and then unceremoniously gone

Away into smoke, along with the sultry thoughts of passion

Too rides the belief that exposure will lead to corrections

Bleak clouds seem to reflect the somber notions of the world

Wars without a path to victory, crimes with no punishment

So much to say, but no audience ready to listen, and no actual cleaning

Author’s Note

I often have people ask me what motivates my work, especially since I have such a broad range of topics and styles that I use.  Often times it can be a single picture, word, or phrase that captures my attention and slowly develops in my mind.  Other times I sit down with a purpose and write specifically about a preordained thought.  In this case, I think it’s some of both.  As our world continues to change, there are lots of people speaking but very few listening.  Everything is at a rapid pace and our minds are being filled with unworthy and uninteresting things, which are unfortunately crowding out the good stuff.  So, in this piece I tried to show the world how a person who sees things for what they are, constructed a figurative stronghold deep within the recesses of their mind where they are keeping the important things safe until again ready for the world.  Some nights, the unnamed person will peek inside to retain their sanity and see the beauty of passionate lovemaking between partners.  The longing to finally expose the horrors of warmongering and the evils of the monetary system.  The affects of human suffering, and being held under the jackboot of corruption.  It’s a big picture look at the world’s problems to see who is really at fault. It’s a place of common-sense in an uncommon world.  They want to shout it out to everyone, but the threat of being summarily erased leads to surrender at the end of each viewing and the truth remains hidden

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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all.I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed.I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another.I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me.I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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