The Enchanted Lily

In all her beauty, 

She will wilt- 

Stretching up, not for long, 

For her soil is poisoned, like her air...

And the sun 

May not be the only thing that can sustain her. 

The T word

They are ghost hands. 

Black rod irons, 

And people thinking and speaking in the mundane. 

Tongues become transparent and lucid, 

Sheltering only reality mostly, 

As somethings spill, 

Shattering reality, 

And what is. 

I, 

Am the Black Raven, 

And white, 

As forms shift, 

And shift, 

By the night. 

Transparent, and Mysterious, 

Phoenix , and Owl

Shepard & Lion, 

We dance. 

Summoning the great rivers to flood, and floodgates open, as this is the war 

For Heaven and Hell. 

The damned, like the dam, breaks; 

Floods. 

Past, meets it's consequence. 

Hatred meets love. 

And love finds hatred, 

And roles reverse, 

While we, 

Die. 

 

We die here. 

While they, 

Cover it all up. 

But lucidly, 

We all dwell in realms of transparency, so we can not not fully know, now can we?

It will always be there hiding somewhere; 

The truth. 

The Subtleties

The subtlety fractures; 

I feel them. 

As I merge from a smoke hatch, 

My senses acclimate...

And the first thing I notice, 

Is my broken heart- 

The sadness is something I have to search for words to understand, 

Let alone describe. 

And I think about 

How the subtlety 

Is subtleties fractured. 

Man is infinitely, 

Each his own. 

And I think about that that differs 

A man from fully giving into his sorrows, 

Much the way a women may give over to her lust, or a person to their greed, 

Or a decision in the face of two impossibilities. 

The subtlties fracture my mind. 

In some ways, 

I am the energies more than they will ever be me. 

But seems most often, equally I must lay. 

Sometimes stand...

Love's Run River

Hidden away, 

They may never know the contents of my soul. 

It is the thing that makes me hold my breath when I wake, reminding me to breathe again- "it's okay". 

Standing outside of myself most days, 

I can not comprehend even, 

With all these thoughts; 

Notions like intuition, 

Over and over, and time again; 

But with Reality's "set-in". 

Love runs scarcely. 

Black, to void it's eye. 

Cosmic overtake. 

I anchor, as words become silt. 

Energy impressions and action, 

Where love runs like river's dry. 

Scarcely, 

Have I found any valleys that might 

Run over with seeds abundant. 

Scarcely has their been a shelter to live by. 

Fractured becomes, the element. 

The scarcity fractures sanity, like cognition. 

Foggy things torment, until the cloud is elusive but hails in no light. 

Bringer and becomer of light; 

That is what man is. 

Inherent, both destroyer and might, 

Shadow and light, 

Spectrums of ever, I between veils, and veils, 

That will never truly exist. 

Fractured becoming awake. 

And dying like never before. 

And dying like never before. 

Yellow Brick Road

You will never fit. 

Two shades, sultry. 

My head turning to face the wall while I lay on my stomach; giving up. 

The shades in her are grey. 

Grey only. 

He will never know the stare out of the bus window through her eyes. 

He will never appreciate the effortlessness of her fingertips on blades in the kitchen...

And how she makes cooking, look easy. 

The headaches dislodge, 

While the rampant in her brings storms with no forecast. 

The days are taken from me, 

The way my heart has become chipped away at-

But perhaps the pressures have faceted Ruby's there.

And Emerald's ray. 

He will never know, the sweet of falling in love with her, by morning light, 

And laughter consuming like a cursed breeze. 

He will never know, the trust I carry, nor lending it into him in my ease. 

I don't know why I would ever let this man take from me. 

Like pulling open curtains, and finally seeing the reflection I didn't know was there. 

Like loving him, was all about me. 

In the good sort of way. 

Making me better, and he, 

Well he, was free to make of it as he pleased. 

And I don't believe, that there was anything kind. 

Not ONE truly kind thing he did. 

Unless to leave me. 

That may be the only thing we'd really agreed on...

Against our will. 

Or very much for his. 

But, 

It's like watching Hannibal, eat. 

Cold. Unrelenting. Not sorry. 

Well I'm sorry. 

I am. 

Hurt in ways love had burned furies in my heart, 

And now a cold crater, left with trenches of impacts and governed like emotions to the moon. 

Lifeless, I find reason to laugh, 

But the days are like sands and winds to my house of hearts ;

House of cards, 

Faces ever tumbling down. 

I think, "who would ever love me now?", 

Kicking rocks, and walking alone, 

So well, the way, I do- 

The dirt gravel...

She is my star. 

Frozen Over

I am cold. 

Like the heart fauled up, and a morning chill in not enough clothes. 

Succumbed and Seduced, 

I do not know, waking up, 

Where my Soul lays. 

Lies to wake me up; 

And breed. 

Lies to wake me dear, 

And drown me. 

Lies to hold me down, 

Silently screaming in water underneath, 

And there, the hands that hold me, 

Like trust breaking innocence 

In bikes ways, 

And forever. 

She searches, chilly, 

Looking for it again. Blizzards kill hope, as though awaiting for your own lost death. 

I am dying and have been dying a long, time, a long death, 

And maybe that's what she meant, by saying "you don't actually die when you die". 

But rather awake again, I wonder? 

I am tired about EVERYTHING in this life. 

Isn't it a lie, to freeze that over? 

To not want more, some way? 

Because I do, but I can't find it here. 

Here, 

With Hell frozen over. 

Like Love

I guess you could say, 

That when she left, 

She smeared my heart in purple deep; shadowed. 

And then, as the rain, seemed to melt the holograms around me, 

I noticed how some things were changed forever, 

And others forever, would remain; 

Like Love. 

Questions permiate on this fire escape with coffee and wind. 

"Heartless" plays, making me smile to myself; this song reminded me of her last I heard it. 

I had thought to myself, "how could I have been so wrong?", 

But dismiss the egoic question, as Ariel seeks to finish putting pieces together. 

Will she ever be done? 

The space to myself, is a processing of just so much, 

As so much continues to fill up who I am, 

As I search still for a resting place, 

In this world of my life. 

Looking out, I see a world buzzing by, and so many things I don't want anymore, nor want to be a part of; 

I search my mind for reasonable solutions. 

"I'm sorry", I say to myself within, consistent with my notion that I've let myself down. 

Perhaps that's a mean thing to think. 

We have let eachother down. 

Ourselves. 

Perhaps that is just real. 

What is in me, is soft, and windy, like whisps of serene over tall grasses, 

And infinite dream; 

A dream that died in some parts of so big a land. 

Maybe what makes me different is how much I long for home; but not here. 

This has never been it. 

Hope never died though. It remained alive. In every life lost, and in every war won, the past would never cease to be what our human light brought to it. 

No, nor, how our own shadows would be vessels to snuff it out, oh my. 

Yet, hope, in nuances created over time, emerging like symphonies and years 

Of blood, and sweat; repressed, our pains would thrive, and though weakening, our hope, would fight to stay alive. 

I have watched her go silent; 

Less, and less, and less to say. 

Seeing almost everything now, and now the getaway is simply to fly free home again, through notes, and chords, that may still remind her, 

Where the sacred exists and can be found. 

It is her home now. 

But she dies and apologizes to herself, 

That she's not so good with the "down-here" stuff; 

Not so good assimilating to a people that don't recognize in her, what to them is foreign; 

But I've lived here all my life. 

Things tie me. I let them. 

Like my mother, though I need to leave. 

What's here anymore for me? 

A city and a land, I can not call home. 

Amongst millions and yet alone. 

Fevers burn, while I sit here, out looking the city, seeing how much none of it belongs to me. 

30 years. 

That's how long it's been. 

And I feel like I am just getting out of prison and trying to make a life for myself in a world it didn't used to be. 

Purpose and drive carry me

Follow me, 

Like breath, so deep, it won't separate from me. 

Yet, I have been lost here so many times, 

As though Alice, but with less fortune; 

Stuck mazing a hole, when above, people burn. My land burns, and I can't for the life of me get out; 

Like a sick joke, 

Watching, it all...

So like tracing falls, and lucid dreams, it is an acid-trip I take in my sleep, 

Feeling the still screaming underneathe 

Of wanting to get free, so I can climb, climb, all the way out. 

Then wake, to find that I was only dreaming...

Still in maze's beds...

And music boxes haunting me. 

Underneathe, I hear laughing as I run, 

While the music boxes turn. 

They make it seem as if time is taunting me. 

Things paralyze me. 

Immobilize. And I find myself curled up often; not able to get out. 

Everything that is real in me, 

Is false in this world.

As if we have become inherent enemies, 

And are made enemies this out of family, friends. 

Both worlds are shot; the illusion and the ground above; 

Nuclear poison reaks havoc. 

Within, and without. 

When I return above, 

What will be left? 

Rubble, and robots; 

Dazed hopes lost. 

Love scattered all over in blood, 

And wept in tears by those who lost, and have lost for too long? 

The rabbit whole twists me, 

But it is just a product from above. 

Anything but a dream after all. 

I am the experimented on. 

The next generation. 

We will come out, no better...

At least that is the expected in our loss of hope; yet fueled may my insanities drive me back into the depths of life. 

And may purpose re-ignite a forbidden and lost life, within me; 

And all that it will ever remain alive for. 

There is Love in war; but only present within the each of us. 

We are the sacred. 

This is why we are repressed. 

And thrown down rabbit holes. 

And burned alive. 

You can not fight fire, 

With fire. 

We are burned alive. 

And immortal forever. 

Burned alive; 

You can not fight fire, 

With fire. 

The Smell of Hell

I am young, but I have breathed in much. 

The fragile of life, like the flower- it's desolance like it's infinity-

Found in both, 

The peace and shadow 

Of all life. 

There has been something I have missed too many years, a longing, a beckoning, 

A wish to leave. 

The smell of wrong in the air, permiated me; 

It was something of invisible faul's that I just couldn't place. 

I kept walking. 

I kept watching. 

The smell only deepened; 

And like madness, I grew to smell it no more, until a fauler one I crossed. 

Never really realizing, it'd never leave, 

Until simple memory. 

Traces back. 

And all at once, I'd be jolted again, 

To the invisible subtlties

That would never leave; 

That indeed, had never gone. 

As cement is dirtied with trash and disease, so once there was blood. 

As children once raised their hand in class, but still a system we built on Indian land. 

And maybe Indian, is the way, not the people, but we lived another instead--

And forcing out, 

We forced out, 

A way of life for one dead. 

There are some who cry, from the moment they are birthed, 

I always riding OUR veil, as my tale, 

As well. Knowing luxury still where treachery is the smell, 

And yet living on the faul, and feelings of HELL, 

Because indeed my Heaven, 

Is so far away. 

I am the ill, here, amongst those who know too many luxuries; 

I am the smell to the pleasance of their odolitries; the mirror to our face in Hell, 

But only because I lived and am "awaked", which they can't know, 

Do I do, and do it, so well.