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.