Activities of Michael Dikeman

We walk though lives passing by. We stay, we go, yet we continue strive. Realize, as you walk, the paths you present, openings for those you may pass by.

They come and go, sometimes you are truly alone, noticing the silence, like the starry night, billion of roads you open for those though, even if you continue on yours unopposed.
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He seemed to be Zeus, his hair aflame. His strength exuded immortality claimed. Laid low immortality came, it can't be, it can't be immortality to blame.

The hair aflame, the strength laid, passed to the progeny it seemed. A loss it seems, a love given and passed. Yet strength wanes.
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Gazing on spastic sea, banding lightening moves across distant horizon. Frothy ocean creeps across sandy floor, closer to sandalled feet, cooling waters lapping on us.

Here we stand, waiting upon transcendent twilight. Cool breeze from the sea ruffling. The children play as we wait, kicking surf to spray, splashing all of us.
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Will you allow yourself to stay in that gilded cage? Comfort, hominess, the safety of the known, wandered in haplessly.

Trapped within, fear holds you still. What could be better than what's seen here? Fed and with your straw bed, settled with what's barely given.
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Surprising things, wonderfully, wholly new from beginnings to ends we find ourselves attuned.
Life's questing will bring a mend to what withered troubles rend.
Finally, greeting those amazing times when all things rhyme.
We try and see what lies ahead, just know the mysteries should not be dread.
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I've been running in this life.
Half a soul with consistent strife.
I've filled this void, with the same pain I feel inside.
Voids I fill with merry drinks, jokes, and all while smiling.
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There was once a life here, now stained and lacquered, but touch and feel, there it still lies, hardened and pained yet still alive.

Not always, but sometimes, I lose them as quickly as they come, images burn through the night, faces and places, they burn through the night.
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There was once a life here, now stained and lacquered, but touch and feel, there it still lies, hardened and pained yet still alive.

Not always, but sometimes, I lose them as quickly as they come, images burn through the night, faces and places, they burn through the night.
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The wood do call in this lovely dream. The blur of red, brown, and green. A hunters dreams, chased and followed, wind wisps and scent unseen.

The gods of green stands high among the trees. Their touch blossoms bring. Given pause for the speed of creature they perceive. No ferocity, just the love of racing among all the green.
Soon past, moving from hillside to Grove, meadow to brook. In this lovely dream nothing is mistook just the privilege of running free.
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