Liquid Poetry: "What Was I Made For?"

 

Know Your Mana

 Know your power. Investigate your worth. Learn how to heal. Practice Patience. Develop a skill God has given you. And Explore. See in others, yourself. They are your struggles and our similarities of heart, ego, and lessons bind us more than they separate us- than they keep us fighting. If you are religious, pray for your brothers, and enemies alike...but also pray for yourself. Know your worth! You are of Holy Essence, no matter how muddied you feel. In you, God resides as the energy of Evolution. 

                                     Will you embrace it?

Abdication

 

There is no me. 

  There is only you. 

My life is in your life. 

  My honor, in serving you. 

A duty, by way of virtue. 

A recognition by means of Grace. 

As in your eye, 

 I reside 

Liquid Poetry: "Gloomy Sunday"

 

The Mirror

What a fool I was, wasn't I? 

I peer back Darling, I peer back. 

Do you know that in all the whoms of which I loved, you imprinted on me?

Do you realize how all their faces, 

 Came and gone, 

Slinking away into ambiguous memories...

Slipped away to me, 

In the phase of your existence? 

Would you love me harder? 

 More tender than he? 

I can not imagine, Darling...that you would, or could? 

Not in the ash of your absence- how indeed I never got to put my hand to your face, 

And look you in your eyes, 

So we could see, what of it was real? 

I always meant to. 

I always wanted to. Play with your fire. 

Do you recall that you never let me? 

Left me? 

That 5 years had passed? And another. 

And he showed up. 

He showed up. 

Do you recall how you never did? 

Did we both squander our fate away? 

Because I tried hard to love you...

and you, wouldn't have it. 

You wouldn't. 

So I did. I took you into my soul, in the darkest of hollow points, and I never...

Not once..

Let you go from me. 

I decayed there, with you....

In our dark corner of my insides. 

And when he showed up, 

It was another life he got, 

Another wife. 

A different woman than the one you might have known. 

And we made our way. 

And we struggle everyday. 

And I am learning to define love, 

 Both through him...

And against the mirror we had left shattered in our room, now abandoned. 

Once a portal, now a prison. 

There is nothing left for us. 

Somewhere...I think he knows. 

He knows that what I felt for you was something else.... 

and he has gathered that at one point, perhaps you....

Found a place in your heart you would not release me from, however temporarily. 

And I feel you between us. 

And I miss you. 

And while these words have no place in the pit of my being, our small, locked and damp room- 

I restored the mirror, 

 So I can see you...

And myself, 

Looking back. 

Candlelight

         

                                                                         ~2017

The dissonance is a swamp of graves used for growing crops. 

It is a world where the region is a lost one on any map, as mind postulates over  purpose and iniquity, classes and what-haves.  

 

I forget how sad classical piano can      sound, even when it is whimsical...

  No telling, if the sadness is mine, or shared by the notes, stumbling over themselves in rush for perfect placement. So smooth. 

So loosening. 

And grips, they unfold. 

My sleep escapes me late into another night.  Nerves twitch my canine and myself. 

My mind, flutters, like butterfly wings, against a wind pouring in. 

Riding, coasting, crashing, 

How the little winged things 

Surf into me. 

Hours of the night, a true hourglass, as time itself postulates to the mind and an AM dark hour kept by candlelight. 

      Seconds are lost in hours, veils lift, and the cat in me, stays awake to watch the night crawlers walk about.  

Ey, it is a late hour indeed, where words are sifted through like ancestors drafted Magna Carta's. I stay awake by iPhone screen, and type on technology. 

A new candlelight. 

A new Quill 

A New Time. 

The Dissonance of Graves

The Devil's Tunnel Runs

                                                                             ~2017

The Devil had gotten a hold of my mama

And knocked me down. 

The Devil I hadn't realized had won, 

Until somehow I had backed down 

Out and away, 

From the temptations of defeat. 

For I had been on my back weeping, 

And it struck me by whom, 

That I could channel these emotions into music. 

Transformed, the Devil's grip lost restraint, 

But hovers so. 

       A Muse in an Underworld. I vow not to remain lost forever.  The outline of a tunnel, 

Has me grasping with wing-ed claws to the Earth once more; reaching out of the depths of Hell, 

In this plain assimilation of a 2017 version of us.  On "Earth". 

  But this is not who we are, is it? 

God, an outstretched hand in the sky- an invisible force of love and compassion as an ultimate wisdom in all things. 

    Some of us are born without what others have. Defunct. I am without you, oh Lord. Simple Nature beholden to constraints. I am without the love I wish the world could have. And yet, I know, that it is here in me. Wishing somehow, that it were greater. Wishing somehow, that it was not as small as the love of individual, messed up man. But....who am I to judge more perfect a creation than anything I have ever made? I am no one. Simply now, I must observe then in its reverence and learn from it, by such logic. 

Some would say, however, that my logic is flawed. I fail to agree with them, by their definitions, but will always submit to a "Wiser authority". Is this not the nature of Love and Humility together? 

When the Devil grasps those that are close to me, I then become like It- whatever "it" is. 

I retain now my power to defy this Devil by seeing it where it is. I am the power of God, and that is the relationship and reminder that I know. It is the Devil that tells me I am lesser, and so I pinched myself awake once more, from yet another tranced dream.  

A tunnel. 

Hell. 

And a single perception, of hopelessness. 

   

     So I let the light in, 

And all shadows were cast away. 

Stilettos

My tip is a heeled woman up on the ball of her feet, teetering an edge as if reaching to see, 

At a cliff's boundary. 

I tight walk, as if almost I can fly, heeled and all, and my dress gathering up in the wind. 

I bank off to the left in my mind, sound and serene adrift is a froth of cloud and mists.  

Greens gather the origins around me, as I see lands under blossom trees.  

     And to the right, is that which is beyond me- a time, distance warp of future and unseen. 

  Grabbing at my hat, before the brazen gusts strip it from me, I come back down from my toes, my heels sliding into these shoes.  

 I slip one off, to feel the rock against my bare feet.  Unearthed, it fell, over the edge, 

As if to say, 

     "This could have been you". 

I thought about it for a while starring far away into the canyon below, where my heel had managed to escape- starring far, away... thinking, 

I must have been flying... 

Tip toes 

  Tracing edges, 

In heels and rock.  

I fell to the wind... 

  But she caught me.  

I shook the second heel loose from my other foot, and kicked it off the cliff, in a pushing motion

  It was an omen, prayer, sacrifice, death, and birth.... 

all I could do to honor it, was kick my heels off the cliff.  

  So I did.  

And I sat for a while, thinking how stupid I had been,  

 

To trace gods sky,  

  In stilettos,  

Upon crumbling adobe and purges of winds.   

I was not taken that day. 

  But something changed.  

I never flew again. 

I never even tried.