Forshadowed

We are not bound by tradition, 

  But of something much closer to home- 

I lay in my bed at night, on my side. 

My lights hit odd darknesses, in spaces from the TV, or the moon- a candle or LED light.  

I imagine your body wrapped and pressed against mine, and that safe and sound feeling  

Of being held to sleep by someone you love.  

No...

It is not our differences that bind us. 

Not you and I. 

It is our subtle screaming pride and need for love. 

You are as sick as I like them, 

And for that, 

I must lean you against my wall.  

I can not play you anymore, for you have gone out of tune, 

And you an instrument, 

I know not how to calibrate. 

White Privilage

I remember thinking these thoughts at age 10. Hardly anything has changed. 

I sift through inflaming thoughts, trying to quell my inner subversities- they are mirrored shadows of demons, maybe even NONE of them real. 

I am 31, going on 32. Here I dwell, at my mothers residence, the same way I grew up so harshly in my first half life.  

Here I dwell, stepping through cat litter, dust, fleas, water, cat piss and puke, roaches, and god knows what else. 

Here, I examine as I have done so many night before, the words strewn across the palate of my mind everyday. They are fears and memories, and all kinds of things out of my control.  

Happiness is a luxury I feel often, that I can no longer afford. 

And I don't know if my day will ever come, no longer so strong in hopes or dreams. American Privialge is many things left behind in unconstrued ways. It is the each of our story of delapidation and repression while portending freedom. 

I'd just as soon as die. 

As I have, most everyday. 

Accustomed to scathing dominions over me, like chains, and hunger, I eat my way through this life, for the love unknown as my most cherished request. Love even, of simple compassion. Genuinity.  

Here, though, the gates of Hell. 

And the only form of Heaven I know, 

Is the little left over in me.  

I have grown strong. 

But that does not diminish the path of an Angel's battle in Hell.  

The dominion is the soul, 

And the demons seek ever, to take that still. 

The Death: God's Dawn

I have been scraped across the planes of this life desert; 

Moons detect and wane, 

Never intruding of obvious malicious intent, but stirring storms oh. 

I wane too, motionless nearly, my bed, a drifting sea; 

My chest a floatation, my breath a heaving rapture to currents so. 

Capsized, and turnt over, I discover the underbelly of water, 

As a lucid dream through death and life. 

Every real face is an embodiment before my floating gaze, beneathe waters vast into God's dawn. 

The love in all of them, that I had seemed, I feel here, now, within me, into eternity.  

Always attributing it to love, but instead if has been a force of my manifestation all along- a force beyond bone, flesh, or thinking- 

A force that exists otherwise.  

A Souly matter.  

The mirror of time places my feet back on streets under light posts, and bare toes scraping against concrete earth. I have danced in that driveway, and cried, and laid out to manny a days. I have wandered these streets like Dorthy, searching for "home". Still, I wound up here. 

Here. 

Visioned back, and floating highly, the water has taken my breath and given me life. Lucidly, I pass now. Reflections on currents before an eternity. 

Tethered

Haven of all

Indignantly altered, 

Respite and soured, 

Brilliant and sore from spiraling upward towards a sun, streaked by man made weathering of skies

And all things below 

Naked in my cot, copied to tethered quilts, sliding into Copeland, and hyper dimensions for sleep, and dreaming. 

Tethered indeed to riveting cocktails and massacres of pride, and not all days I can wear my mask to face and play the charade of crowds. 

Coating old pipes of shallowed ware, the path of essence walks vividly, for myself to feel Into interpretation. 

Scorn and praise are sores on the soul in our bitter cynicism 

And yet bones that grow wings on our back- sheathes that yield strong density and shield. 

I could apologize endlessly, but who will apologize to me? Why weaken myself at the knees as though food to prey, surrendering. As though knots laying deep in the bedrock of my shoulder blades. 

I put it down last night. 

There was a deep chill in the winter air, and I closed the Windows, binding them at the middle, pulling the curtains 

To the oncoming season. 

Breakfast foretold lies, where words are tools toxic for Propaganda's point. 

The tongues of the righteous decieve, and we are all at war, in different forms of worshipping; some however do, 

Prefer darker forces. 

And all of us, seemed to have stepped into the acid trip of living. 

I love everything I touch. 

I will never apologize for this. For I am the hands of God, the way, another may be His heart, or Her breath, like a Gaia wind. 

Loving you never faulted me. Forgiving you, also is no must, for I share indeed the hand that suits journey's walked.  If I forgive you, it will come because I want to; neither because God "said", but because I felt to, and so I will. 

There is a death and a life that suits every man. Some of it written, some of it chance, some it it law. Most of it 

Mysterious. 

Breaking. 

Opening. 

Tethered, I sleep. 

Kneeled to you once, and now 

I sleep, thinking about my goodbye's to you . 

How the world has turned me cold, and I am returning your sentiments most angrily.

A woman's wrath, afterall. 

The Devil's Inquiry

Thin stacks of smoke 

Top my crawl space

As I postulate, exhaling, and watching them form. 

Thoughts build in me, possibilities

As I let them come and pass quickly, 

Allowing room for the constant incoming. 

Postulating in insights, and watching the herds and the sea, do the same. 

As alive as in the bank 

We move and run through. 

A spiritual war is most real, and more than any true thing I have known. 

It is marked by emotions and actions. 

Marked by feelings and repercussions of actions. 

Love is so wide, and within. As so, stirs darkness whereby, the light may shine. 

However, unholy actions are the devil's palms. 

 Running a muck on man's land. 

And challenging, challenging us so, 

As if to prove a point. 

Why Devil, must you win, so? To exist so differently? I do wonder. 

Sacrificial Altar of Heaven on Earth

Witness. Bare.  Hear You, there-
                 Things break in between.

Take a gasp, breath for air, before once another move.
  watch in glimpse, beneath subtle eyes, while lashes hide
things known to the seer.

Time of occasion, rolling counterparts, filters, fields, slavery,
poverty, loss,

loss.

Hidden, too worried to be scared, life, was a stench fought for.  Fear was a known mask, hiding love,
and causing war between lovers.

     Hate, a breaking of the will, a most bitter seed sown- a deter from anything Holy.  Though, Holy nonetheless.

   Heathen of Creatures, full, joined of shadow, and light; contrasting
to image, mass retardation, mass injury-
joint
of worlds, misshapen, by The Lucifer, and all the demons of man before and past.

  Heathen of things, the world, charred.
  less and less, are roses inviting the crafting of then two of cups.  Ny,
cups are left, sunk at the bottom of bays, growing urchins, from shipwrecks never found.

This is Love.  And how love is lost.  And what the words of it actually mean.

Flesh is ruined for power, flesh is ruined for greed- flesh flesh for sale everywhere,
Lure hollow, hollow for meat..

Sheds, full of cow, meat, pig, and man- sacrificial, without a care, pretending it's God that want's the Lamb.


But what need of Gaia, Ra, or Triton for Blood?
No god of mine.

Need not such source as demons; longing for rich fertile earths
and havens vaster than any Scott-land green- Misting for miles.

Throughout history, man has been in awe of the light.

Indeed there is a God, and it is captured in the halo, we find ourselves enraptured to look upon- Not just the light itself, but it's Aura, we are hypnotized to.

The Rowing

Rowing.

      I a lay over water, stretching out

Tracing the rippling sheathe with my hands.  

  The water is luminescent, and sparkles tangents of sunlight out, in speckled golden bodies across the water. Tiny. 

A flowing body of God, bathed. 

I need for nothing now. 

Nothing more, 

Than this.  

The ancestors on this land, knew this.  

Civilization changed what we used to know, as breath. 

I miss the love everywhere, but then, I know this must be some test of the soul. 

Here, I am placed, here i remain, exist, exude, and be. Here, I Present myself. 

Losing, 

And loving, 

But never in defeat. 

I must remember this above all; 

That to love, is to know no defeat at all. 

Even if the world will chant the opposite in hypnotization.

Breath, a captured feat.  a string-along, and a "make-it-through"
WILL PUT ME AT THE BODY OF YOUR FEET,
where solely, I arise and die, becoming of the ground.  No more do I wish to live for a race, that will not live for itself.  Arisen birth...the passing of all, and in our Eye, we make it through...
through...
to another place..
and another


time.  gesturing.

I may carry this sadness through to any life...for it is stuck on me- in my flesh, and cursed, with eyes to bright and wide

for such a bitterly dark sea.

The depth has brushed the white, and now, it bleeds,
greying everything,

and everyone,

and the salty drop in me.

The Leash

They may have taken my beauty away.

Not that anyone would apologize or confess guilt; I am etched

in passing figments of stand-by's and imagination, while the real me rotts away, somber.

There is an abyss that touches deep, God, in darkness.  I know it the same way I could navigate these bluffs, that once used to be home to my soul.

     I take steps, looking down, and forward, watching carefully where I land my feet.  Not that it matters.

all the terrain is Rough.

sweeping symphonies play what is in my world, without all the words, that define and ruin everything.

Here, I may be sad, being swept along, by solitary currents and minor dims.  Not to be judged by nature, but by self, in an un-extraordinary fashion for man.

     We remain small and chambered, as if bound by leash and chair, to nothing at all.

Somehow, I am someone's dog.  Worthless.  Sad.  Abandoned and waiting any minute now...for someone to come through that door-starving...but too desperate to notice.

What love is, is more than our words depict enough- it is inescapable and ripe for seeds and planting. It is a force that moves even the most stubborn, and haunts all those romantic, at heart.

My love, had been vast- stretching far our over planes and across seas of stars, and
taking walk in lucid dreams- it won't end.
Just won't.

My soul grieves, waiting, for a sky without man-mad clouds.

Everything Holy, is being tampered with-

the jurisdiction of my Beloved God, seeming no more here...
where we all call home.
maybe for some;
maybe for some.

But my home is farther, much beyond the sky,
and here,
my grief is fresh.
It eats of my bones and my flesh, demanding of me to be able and void from effect.

Cowering now...the world is a scary place.

My love, abandoned me.
I am alone now, only the leash, a remnant of some other side-
a time when someone cared where I would be.  

What use is it, here waiting, hungry, and hurt?
There is a world outside- a world I fear...
but it matters not.
not.
anymore.

The Crossing

Make sense of it.   

A mask is pieced together and traced back.  

A life is worth more 

Than will ever be spoken of it. 

Stories are told, painted. 

Pages, and scripts, become 

Scenes and things, 

Depicted, wrenched, 

With madness and everything real. 

Languages are sung in different tunes and weaves melodies to our souls 

That not our rational mind can know. 

Lives are told, 

And loving is everywhere, 

Everywhere present with me, the least. 

Cushion is this, essence, 

  That soothes discomforts that come to pass. As do things good and whole, the dance is a taking and breaking of the sea- 

A push, and pull. 

Each life weaves like a ray- 

A vast line, In a vast fabric, 

Connecting all. 

  Doubts keep, like tourments. Up, and spilling out, 

In hurricanes or heaves- 

Things the chest struggles to grieve- 

Her, at Sea. 

I thought I was great once. But life can become so many things. 

I, am a mountain now- a sleeping giant. 

Hard, with bedrock- a form I do not know. A form I am. 

Nonetheless, it escapes me now, because it does not mean anything. 

What reality is, shall I ever know, but that it can break you.  

I do not want the world at times, just as it does not want me. Yet. 

   there is a light that warrants change. 

And I am it. And we are it. But will you come? 

Awaiting, a long while, 

The horizon is setting in shades, and your journey is facing me, the West, but I see you in no vast distance. 

I 

Must cross myself. 

There is a train track. And it is a hidden gate.  

I hesitate. Not sure if I want to take this step with nobody by my side.  

But I muster up and go anyways. 

Because nobody is here.  None but The Sky, The gateway, and me, alone. 

Crossing. 

God give me strength. And Cloak me. 

Together, 

We are the way. 

Life in Seconds

Inside my head- 

    I let you 

In side my head. Drip-dropping trough my core... Thoughts smudged and draining. Down through 

My core, you drip. 

Kiss and forgive, as I will squall 

Sinking, tail between 

  

  I will rise up my head blind, in a breaking morning sun

  Let you in I had, 

And my eyes have paled. 

 Heart sore of bruises, my body reflecting those purple-blues and Browns 

As I think of the ages in a timeless and sour impression.  My flesh holds a much more vast verse, and I have always been willing to surrender. 

I shut my gates. Different cloth. 

You and I, torn of two fabrics. 

Consider the source", repeats in my head- updated reminders. 

Words, your words, so good at punching with affection perhaps In between. 

Matters not. I had let you in; you had got in. But I wonder if I might revoke 

The disappointment of your point of view. 

Kneeling, I am many things scathed and worn- heart sore as beating electricity .

Fainted. 

Never mattered. Much. 

    This life thing. 

Gone in seconds, and who would let it change them? 

Life in seconds. 

And we keep thinking we have a rewind. 

The Poker Trot

Belated. 

Like a sinkhole, the world is pulled in, over itself. 

I love, and it drips off my heart and lips like wet paint and charcoaled fingertips. 

Fooled, I ever am, loving the male gender this day and age- so easily plains float in space, with the threat of one falling off. 

Cowering, I take shelter under my vanity. The world crumbles, and trivial ties are lost in the storm. So are lessons. 

Kissing you, was like kissing in the rain, hair wet, and against my face, along with your hand rearing me.  Yet I believe I must of fawled up somehow, watching opportunities pass in what has become a lonely epitome of the era.  

I loved you for the moment in time you would let me in, and knew, it would not be long before cards are shown.  You won the pot, but I had the Aces the whole time. Your winning hand and mine was mere luck, 

And now, 

We dance. 

War-Cry

Where have all the heroes gone? 

And of whom, I can not tell. 

Are we curled up in our beds, 

Or reading, in our jail cell? 

Where have all the hero's gone, 

Of so few left, I can hardly find. 

Yet still it rests in a Mother's touch- 

A most miraculous form of it's kind. 

Are they invisible? Or as weak as I? 

Can they envision, can they fly? 

Can they make miracles for the meak 

Or can it be true, humanity's a dying breed?

This world has bred nucence around, 

That even the cowardly are no longer sound.  

And masses oh masses, they wretch once more with hate, 

And protest now, that it is the only way. 

The blood is unseen that is spilled; while players take to the field. And legislation is passed on holidays when eyes are array. 

"The Devil, the Devil has crossed" we cry; the breach of the Rubicon at hand. But what is a cry for a warning, when there are no ears left on the land? 

Disdain: A Lioness Roars Back

In the secret cabinet,

I detect fears that reek like worst nightmares, swarms of bugs and things. 

Love, is not like this to men, 

Oh no more, the way blood was never necessary to be spilt. 

Under the carpet is swept maroon secrets and cast away dreams- ship-wrecked somewhere, I wonder if they have yet, 

To discover an island, or land. 

Surrender is the life force of humility. I am perhaps stubborn because too many are not. 

Innate, in green plant form, is miraculous life. The color of life gestates as Gaia's womb, where faery magick is once again made whole.  

Tribes die, and rebirth, and you and I have met again, have we not? Perhaps? 

Nay. Even as a psychic, I tell you, it matter not, where u come from, but rather 

What you be. 

Who do you be? 

Action is the divine mark of God. Repentance another. Correction another. There are many, and where the ships have set for Hates, I escape. My soul is free- God's never choosing for me. 

The Walk & Company

Delicate. 

In a turtle's nudge, 

Is strapped my refuge. 

Carried, across a distance surmountable, 

Is a love, much like the bodies of heaven, 

But here it dwells, 

A toppling universe, 

Inside this dark hollow body I carry atop my own. 

Love is the refuge, 

Dwelling in homeland, once..more, 

And for all. 

You, there. In my dwelling, 

And vast hollow space, 

Of spindling stretches

And no shortage of extension. 

I love, in here...walking a vast desert plain, and you, always the clouds beyond it. 

I will remember your face and heart, like a Hopi Master in the Sky, and Mother Gaia below, as two great heads that have revealed me, the face of God; 

Just as you have, 

With your joker self. 

Embodied is every dry, 

And rejoiced again

As I walk this plain. Stretching my limbs towards a distance I may never see, 

There is a great love in the sky, 

And it is walking with me. 

Tao Now

Dare not you, 

How you know I. 

And no fool. 

But bittersweet life-rains. 

No fool to death, but ever stumbling on gain, before once more, 

It is lost.  

Death is a hand of setting sails to sea. Wartime ships that drums from deeper intents by a King.  Indeed, 

Only one Kingdom I know. 

And it is the mountain of the anointed. 

Anointed here, 

Once more, 

Rearing up, in all forms, 

Postulating between turbulence, Rife, innocence, and peace. 

Quivering with an old man's brow, and older the body. 

Attempting to mold things, 

Though I am a seer. 

 

Gravity's are heavy, like a drumbeat, and artillery- 

Like the sign of the times never to be the same- entering a moment, knowing forever we will come out of it 

Transformed. 

Entering it; we have already. 

Knowing. 

Like simply every providence from heaven. 

Cycle is death, and destruction. Change over time, and rebirth, of grasses atop charred bone and wood.  

It is nature. 

We are simply 

Of it. 

The Spider's Dance

A spider, 

Swaying to the long spin of a single web, 

I am the alone centerfuge, 

Against a midnight deep and speckled blanket. 

The wind, dances me and thrashes as fear plays to the bounce of sharp jolting, and long glides as if tip-toeing on the air itself. 

The sky, not just God's blanket, but mine. 

The wind, not just God's kiss, but Her breath, her heartbeat, her rhyme, 

Her Womb

Odyssey

I am

   like a s
              u
                nc
                   k
                     en sh
                             ip
                      trudged up and stuck

  in old mud, thick from
                                      recent rains.

              wooden and soured,
  my boards lay now in wet splinters
            and dreams lost

    of anywhere to go.

my soul lays here,
ship and all,

unable to release what I thought had been me-



but My soul lives on,

   examining the death of my body.

free, and bound, a ghost, as ever.

Will a ship get to return home,
   if her Soul is abandoned

and laid
  to sea?

Shadow of the Knight

Never a White Knight,

Much rather, a demon's shadow. 

     You will never rescue me, 

Or come to my window, 

  Or understand the tears that keep my heart light by crying mascara clear. 

The dark in me, once hollow, has reared, and is a hell of a Shell.  

    The air and sunsetting are ever temporate to the ways I have loved you and always will.  Needing to say adeu 

     To you, 

And having ever tried; 

  This hour a bit more different,
and these eyes, more many times died,
     means simply, 

I have a different resilience this time... 

  And loving them, has helped me, to poison the umbellical chord between you and I, that keep this pull a go.  

Nay, it was not because they have loved me better; rather because, they, like you, all had the jaws of a snake. 

     If anything matters 

         Anymore, or ever- 

I could not tell you. 

     All I know instead, is how the fire has forged me, taking with it, even my sanity at times. 

     The fire does this,
                not? 

The Dream.

I loved you far, into a walking distance, of realm and oblivion. 

You stayed, merely, walking circles, on flat planes. 

I offered you my wings; and you tore them in disdain. 

Little boy so dead, love in the smallest of things, and I know you do, 

And I know you keep quiet about it. 

I love you. 

I have for a long while now, hand in the fire of your disregard to burn. 

Angel turned deeply in; you force me in, to know the pain you have concealed a remote to. 

I dreamt you held me, while I, on top of you. I kissed you where you pressed back into lips you have felt, and I could feel the doubt there too, in that space, 

In my mind, between us two. 

    you looked into my eyes.

 And I could feel your lips,

 there, In dream of flesh and allure. 

I looked back into you, examining the doubt in my fear over you kissing me back. I didn't know then... 

That I was dreaming. 

And probably, 

Just saying 

"goodbye". 

The Prayer Stool

Is it because I think about you?
Lost already, I had had nothing to lose. Lose but gain,
is but every breath of my soured and honorable life.  No lie. 

My knees kneel
  gestating loyalty beyond the word;
I call it fervitude.

When the Streetlamp Goes Dark

Philanthropist by breath, 

I am in love with the moments, God bestowed...even in what had been a Hellish Tyranny, most days, of my living life.  

Had it not been for the headaches, an outcome all too different may have prevailed. 

But as with most chronic conditions, other things became of my life; quite darker paths, than Hates herself. 

The pain led to demons and pathways unknown;  Shadows of Evils of the self...

Still...

I learned to love, now didn't I? Like a small fairy to the light. 

As the light. 

I shifted still, in the midst of so much null-ness...

That in the end, I quite discovered, God never receded from my spirit, even when I had. 

Fairy indeed. 

Human. Angel. Breed. 

We are God's aren't we? 

After 

All. 

The Rolling In

Whispers in the current, like a fog of something long lost, 

Rolling in, 

And hauntingly calling out to me. 

Mists from the dark, rumble on flopping whitewash, like silent cloud bank. 

Canteens and travelers journals, do not document my most intimate thoughts; 

Thoughts that haunt me, 

Like you do. 

On the sands of night watch, 

I sit, and wait, for something to roll in. 

The nights shift from rum-madness one evening, to a starry sobriety under memories of other lives, the next. 

Sometimes, Gaia whispers, and sometimes she soars, angrily and crying in weather adjusted only for the God's to express; and Nature, their ceptor.

 

I leave room, in my body space-my mind; lots of room, as the days pass, and thoughts like memories and notions flood, and recede. 

Love is 

The memories are created, 

No better understood, than by a man who observes time with boundaries and respect. Love is natural, even for us, against the treacherous! 

It is as though, God, created us, instilled to forgive. And instilled even to forgive psychopathy. 

After all, isn't it animalistic to be a psychopath? Playing psychology for sport, and justifying every means. 

Some animals feel. Feel a lot. Are we, animals? Are animals, nature? Is our nature evil? Do they comprehend things we can not? Do they too, kill for sport? 

The way you had. 

The way people will. 

The way, I loved you. 

Before and after, I'd forgiven us. 

Absolved you. 

Freed myself. 

Still, 

Vagabond on the beaches of Paradox's, I'm awaiting Revelation, and watching the world burn well, burn fast, and the people roar against it. 

Loving you, was my fight. 

One of many. 

One, I'd never dropped. 

One I will always wonder about. 

One I have always given up. 

You were wet dripping madness, and I burned to beg, what had become a relishing poison of insight, 

And feelings, 

That made no sense while grasping my hands off cliffs. 

I loved you then. You would not let me. 

I love you now, and here, you are gone, but I feel it holding my fibers for Retribution before Kingdoms create a new history here, 

As earth tears itself apart. 

You stay here, in me, as though loving you was the blue vain, of cosmo's and life-force.  You are my binary, running energy- twin, to the underbelly of my wrath, and roar, like ocean, peace, and rain.  

So when the mists roll in, so do you ; 

my thoughts are on where you are. And where I will never be next to you. And on what lies ahead. 

I feel the best part of you, in the silent distance, where you honor me the most in this form. 

For your words Slayed once. 

I assume, as you have remained so "human"... That they still do. 

I await. 

Traveler, Vagabond, Wife. 

StraightForward Flesh

Dallying off the fragments, 

Edges are approached leaking over boundaries, never contained; slayed for control. 

Hershey's kisses, buy users, by their name brand, and wonder why lipstick is so popular amongst the men to woman. 

Eating up, I soothe your soul, rot, rot, 

As so we love to pickle our liver like youth  in sweet liquers or heavy branding with neats and straights. 

Either way, they bat their lashes, and my claws, glitch. 

Competing, for crumbs like rats and birds, animals are nothing more than flesh. Humans, we are. 

Battling for crumbs always.

"Isn't it a thing?" 

Brute

Sweet unwholesome beast. 

Dost though cower to anything? 

Would thine life matter, mine? 

Your eyes are holed teeth, 

Ravenous like the death of day. 

Hollowed out and shelled, the spirit of Gaia, has been replaced by other foreseen nothing's. 

Light evades you, and lost is the only way your veins grow.  You are jolted,  and will it do good to tame you, creature? 

Beast, so brute and beautiful? 

 

My tongue parts, soothing you, yet somehow I sense, it is wooing for flesh. 

Food there, and you're ready to tare. 

I will never forget you, 

When they take you away. 

When they take me. 

I think I loved you. 

I think I know. 

And it has been beyond you, beast..

But it had never stopped me..

  From doing so. 

I will spend a life time understanding it, 

And not. 

And since you are the brute, you think me weak, I think. 

But I know

I think, 

I think 

Not. 

I am honored to love you, Creature. 

Beautiful Beast. 

Even as ever, it may remain beyond you. 

Love, beyond no man. 

And in love, perhaps you will be made whole. 

This day, or lifetime, 

         Ahead. 

The Driftwood Tao

As the first opening at dawn, eyelids drawn, 

I awake once more, in one many more, 

Of so many more days to come..

Until they simply

Won't. 

As breath, and whatever this silly notion is they call our heart, 

You are there, 

Looking in on me; and the both of us blind. 

In a skylit grey glow of bright haze, 

The birds chirp, as ever, and I still arise one more day with the thoughts of you, that seem now to have become a part of me.  

Sometimes I relish and sometimes I lay abed the sullen sunken draft of what had been done. 

Cowardice is Nuclear, and yet still, 

Here are I am 

     Loving 

            You, 

Angelic 

As 

       Ever, 

  But never far from the fall. 

I miss you everyday, as though someone akin had died and passed. 

Fighting most days not anymore with HOW I could love you, 

But just that 

It had broken before we could see it. 

And just that, 

You were well versed in cutting a rabbits skin. 

No, instead now,

Most days have happened as to configure that death, was the same thing as love. 

And love at a distance. 

And betrayal, like your own battalion, throwing you into enemy hands.  

You saved me. 

Since your desire was only to poison  the bird. 

Instead, 

You let me free. 

Breath. 

  Breathe. 

  The morning again. 

A morning long without you. 

A blessed, 

And strange fate. 

  Waiting. And living. 

Free, from our cage. 

Free. 

Free to love you still. 

 Free to forgive.  

Free to quit questioning why. 

 

And so...

Just free. 

Unshackled. Unbound. 

    Grateful. 

The Doorway

My world is a window, and doorway; 

Cat urine staining what I'd arise to in the morning, with a surprisingly synced harmony between violin soundtracks and birds arising to the sun in song. 

Torrential cries, and heard beside, 

My door, in the doorway closed. 

On the otherside, is a pacing, tormented soul. Heaves, as a Siamese does, 

The cries are almost unbearable, screeching things, 

As is to wake me from a peaceful walking dream. 

Perhaps that is what my life would be like, if so much nasty hasn't starved to thrive in this world. 

Differently now though, 

Like a gesture of gratitude, 

I find a stripped animosity, and a vested worship, for...

I would know no peace, 

If not for the bared extremes of so much 

Nasty, 

In this world. 

And almost all has silenced now. 

The birds rest, as the violin does not play, 

And the cat besides my door only paces. 

A helicopter shakes the sky in a close enough distance, I am used to catching it at now. The birds bolster back up slowly, in chirps and squirmeshes...

As life goes on

And I find the gift God gave me, 

As energy from every last thing endured. 

I have found sanctuary in but one simple philosophy, taking each day, 

Simply one

At a time. 

Bad days roll over, as do great memories, people, and time in our lives. 

They come. Then gone. 

And they mean everything; 

But so does 

Letting them go. 

That, 

Is the harder lesson. 

The one that hurts, that faces loneliness, and underprivilege. It is the lesson of Humility rather than Grandure; and the face of curiosity over certainty. 

The lesson is to love hard, not hardly. 

The reason is to stand, but to come by knowledge to do so rightly. 

And then. Not to judge. 

But to love. 

And to find peace through the empathy of others. 

 

I walk. 

What seems like a dirty road; it is. 

Never easy, always making adult decisions. Making terrible decisions no one should have to face. 

But I have. 

I do. 

Finding not the fault I once did, in surviving, or legality...

I have watched the world fail to Tame me; 

Wildly Free to Love, 

And to Love insanely. 

Passion, on behalf of these people, like my own, and this World, as a vestige I am enthroned to protect...

I am insanely, wildly, passionate about my people. 

It is the peace, the duality, the reality, of the fight. A spiritual principle of such duality Darkness is atrocious at magnitudes God creates Miracles everyday.  They are realms endeavored upon, but lost to our comprehension.

They are the doorways upon which we are forged, and the the graves upon which we arise from, 

   Changed forever. 

And forever changed. 

   I am guided, by failing limbs.  

'Til death do us apart. 

God and I. 

And the Prophets doorway- 

A human Hell, a warrior's terrain. 

A place....

     Where all is stripped from us. 

There may be rings on my fingers, but my  soul is naked and drenched, my skin fair, and bound by nothing but my body. 

To it, I am a slave. 

   God, the Master of my Heart. 

 

It is the Doorway. 

And I am ever in between. 

At deathbeds

No, it might be, that I'm not supposed to

Love you, 

Because we know love is a silly thing 

Wreaking havoc. 

My love for you is almost havoc; 

Save for the peace of soul you have shoved me into. 

Loving you, has been a genuine resurrection into loving myself, 

And learning man again, 

(If you could call it that). 

It is raining outside, just the way I like: awake and at night- 

And I think of you as I often do, 

And wish for some reason that I still had your number... 

( and respect). 

Love is truly a lotus. Rare but not terribly 

uncommon; using wasted nutrients and abundant mud mass to become a awe-ful beauty. 

Rare indeed. 

It is I who have won. 

And you. 

I will love you forever, regardless. 

How guard-less.

How sabotaged, you'd dared me. 

How relished I became, lapping it up. 

Seeing now, 

What you'd meant. 

And laughing; 

And horrified. 

Because I lost. 

And you lost. 

Until we bet another hand. 

And the luck comes in Aces, or timing, or fate. 

I love 

 you

Always.  

And it is your win. 

And my loss. 

Until we're dealt another hand. 

Who will win, 

At deathbeds? 

Unhinged

Paint me docile, ( you son of a bitch!) ehem, 

While I correct my smartphone's auto correct mistakes, 

And stumble over the joke itself! 

Paint me Fuckin Docile!!!! Ha! 

Try. 

Words are formed, 

Everywhere, from everybody, 

As if they are relevant and superior to others' formations of. 

I calculate, and forget, and scramble 

All too often- paradoxical traits all abided by me. 

My mind's madhouse is an Einstein's desk of calculated storehouses from different sources. References and files I abed away, to return and flip through. 

The Smelting Address

Garnered. 

Shaped. 

I lay my head on the white railing, peeled and coming out of the cement. 

Dreams, far off, while life is a snapping finger, for me to "hurry; hurry up!"

My experience is stale- yet I have never become more alive...

I tremble, heart to heart...watching love so inevitably die. And grow. And live. 

Nothing is basic, so I stare at the would-be world, and watch them. Watch them all. Even when I pretend not to notice. 

Screening reactions, sometimes it feels so good to just let it out. 

But she does cry often. 

Comparing the broken against the broken, I have become rubbled bits... 

Loving others, even less whole- trying to forgive it all, that this is my lot in life. 

Words echo, and I must remember to put mirrors to their faces, and reminders to their heir. I am wandering no more, lost woman. Losing myself, I may be. 

Doubts creep up like roots and join with my heart- snare or connection? I love like leaked mass all over white clouds, because simply, God gave me spectacular eyes to see with. 

And while they Drench their women in deceit, I see still the small essence of love underneathe, and forgive even the most cowardly. Forgetting that to do so, tip-toe's my brave.  

It is a pointless dip, in a mighty pool, to love, the way I do. Fallen. So wretchedly in love, with beauty the way I do. Forsaken, for bimbo's and mean things.  As I tread so not to be, and fall short; 

Raised by wolves and growing with snakes, I must learn the charm of all things; moon and men.  

They will never know how I have loved the each of them. Watching them pass it all by. For something so small sometimes. 

So small.  

I suppose it is the means that would justify the end, to these...."types", I hiss...

For they may find happiness in luxury and idol things. 

While most simply, I can not, 

When there is a lulling by the drenched under sea, that has been my life through birth. 

The eyes, I see through, rapturing.  

I pour my smelt tears, and ash, and blood all over this fire, 

For loving has been my every 

Way 

In. 

Initiation. 

I can not tell, if to stay, is like waiting for the lava to stop at my feet or Bury me. 

I love hollow things. Seeing their vast in ways, perhaps they ponder on. 

And ineffably in ways, they will never fathom. 

I loved man. 

Time and time, 

  And time again. 

Breathing myself to sleep, 

Breathing you out. 

Every night. 

With every breath. 

Because you refuse to love as I have loved thee. 

And this to most man. 

And this to every. 

Dark Magick

I will refrain, like the witch in the night. 

I will obey the will, as not to manifest it, by Ego's Oligarchy. 

I have had so much time to perch, on the bonsai of my own mind; 

To dance, and flee, and bombard, and travel, and run.  

I have had time on the banks of two moons, and seen so many a thing, my skin tingles with memories unknown to me. 

I ask Eywa. I ask Eywa. Gaia. Mother Earth, and the hissing in my ears like high buzzing is no unexpectation. It is deciphering, that takes the time, so I 

Close my eyes. 

I am breathing him lately. And he is everywhere, when I close my eyes or think. I know it is love, 

But has love cursed me? 

Before I could ask God's forgiveness, for being so weak... Spoken back to me, was "not to"-"There is simply nothing to forgive here; not even yourself. You have glimpsed being done with this already. It is time now, to grasp your power".

I want to love him... But it almost seems that he makes me weak? But it is perhaps just illusion I chase, I can not tell. 

Too much is untouched. And the cat in me pokes curiously with the crow and the fox, Deer Medicine guiding me. He...is a Wolf. 

Two moons. 

Long ago.  

Tingling. 

Calling. I close my eyes and feel you calling. Dis-coursing me, you do. As you have always done.  'Tis what I love about the Earth. The dark magick of Love- the only natural dark magick there is. Neutral, but so so jaded by man. 

I am merely a woman, trying to love you, and not. Hear you calling so how can I ever let go? The only way I say, is to force you out, perhaps as you have done me. By remembering every reason you gave; one enough to despise you a lifetime. 

Why then, Old Owl, have I loved you so unjustly? Unfairly? Unconditionally? With so much forgiveness? 

You, are a dark magick, my Long Love... 

And I am once again becoming all too aware, of what is here, really...

Between us.  

The chords call. I feel you. Miss you. Hate you. Love you. In Darkness. As in Light. Neutral, Bitter, and Wise. Growing still. Leaving you, with me, and behind. Loving you into Eternity, no matter what you've done, forgiven you already. You may have smeared my name sideways and painted my face in red; but it never changed the girl you tied up, and left for dead, dear Love. You may have never seen me, but that didn't stop me from loving you, and loving you now, above all else. Really just because, something said. Call it Dark Magick. Call it Love. Or Sickness. Or Kindness. Or Compassion. Make me a fool, for loving you, and I will seek to resign that pain.  For Loving you, child, has never made me weak. You...have kept me on my knees.  

This is why...I will always be walking away...and towards you.  

The moons beckon. I am a heathen as well..to rage, and inhalation, and you.  I am a heathen too. Still, a shadow is cast where once I had my wings my love. Hell bent. We are both, just so hell bent. sometimes. I swear, I was sent here to love you.  You, never leave me.  But I leave you everyday.  And everyday, I have said goodbye.  That has been the nature we have created between us.  

I am remembering now. 

Remembering things I'd shut out. Remembering things long ago. 

Remembering. 

I love you. 

I can remember and know that at the same time. 

I can see how I felt then, so strong, and understands now, what of that has not gone away. 

I know you today better, love you better...forgive you...even if I am afraid to. 

My compassion has always put me at your feet. And on my knees. Looking up at you...in your dreams. In ours. Linked in death and sickness, and fantasy, and foresight.  Linked in pleasure and pain, and a killing game. Bound. Like a curse. But a Natural One.  

Love. 

Love...

Love's Hollow Grip

Dear Man, 

I am a simply girl; simply complex. 

And when you put your hands on me, I melt like I have not been fed. 

It is simply penetrating, leaving images and impressions for later, 

Of your hands around me, 

And the way, they made my body shudder. 

What is simple for you, is like breath to me- a reason to breathe.  Your touches edge, reeling me in, when I know my intentions are ill now. 

I can not want this, something that is not mine to want, but you press it, and I let that seal impress upon me. 

Your fingers, on my body, is something I need, craving always and hungry, 

As a stray to this worldly place. 

Covet not I remind myself, as I watch old molds unfold. 

You love her, yet reach for me; tease, and say things, she would never want to see, as you put your bare hands around my neck, and warrant a trespass I could be too akin to. 

Your touch is a hollow love, I feel. I'm supposing it is hollow, because you are man, trespassing, and luring in. 

I am a simple girl. Needing love. In a pin full of wolves, and clucking. 

Your touch has been enough to fulfill my days and bring warm-ness back into my heart. I am alive again. Smiling. Baring. 

And now needing, what I shalln't. Your intentions, unknown. But I imagine they can neither be warm nor deep. 

Yet you reach for me, your grip upon my neck and I melt. You give me craving for something unknown. You. 

And I believe that it must simply be wrong. Though everything in me wants to cave. For I am a simple girl. And touch is love to me. Before it breaks into hollow ruins. 

Yet there is love there, is there not? 

I am a simple girl. 

But no Bafoon. 

 

I wonder how much love is for my kind. Mostly because it falls to ruins, as these battles are fought. 

Weary, and old at heart, my youth forsakes me, much like your hands.  

All I need in the world, right there...

Just not available.  

A simple girl. 

A simple story. 

Re-run, as devastatingly tragic. 

She never gets the girl. Never gets the guy. And this world, was never meant to bare her here. 

Peace...

                    a far-off dream. 

The Swallowing

The world continue's to flutter, 

Like film reel, constantly in motion. 

I am the one who stops often, looking around; to look around. 

I must have been a part of a great swallowing at birth; for I am the walking memory of a living laceration, that breathes beneath my flesh, like the blood that keeps my body in motion 

With the film ever running. 

Melting away, has been the singularity of who I am, as I bleed in motion, and look around watching others just the same- they become a part of me; each time, I lose what I was, and become something more, AND scorned. 

A red cape on a high bank, signaling...Erie, as the wind resembles materialized being. 

She is an idea. A revolution. A riot. A reason. But an illusion. 

I am the red cape, not the imaginary girl, of wind you think whom is wearing it. 

The words escape me; for years. 

I have become lost in the long winding within; journeys, like holograms, and thirst as real as sight.

Sometimes, I can no longer see a separation between our eyes. Strangers know my tinge intimately, though not me. And I know their cut chords, their censored worship, their hidden dance, and their gagged voice. I know these motions, better than I know myself, in all my boundaries, and with all my imaginary walls, stacked towards heaven.