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