The Single Star in the Sky

Light me, eternally born to death,
  And wear,

As any sequence
 Of human abode.

  Head knelt-
    a grace of submission.
Visions and squares, frame his face
  O'er and o'er, but ethereal clouds
Perhaps only as thoughts
  Are all there is,

To say it was.

Had we left it squandered? Or was life fully lived?
Done the best with what we'd been given...
Had we done our best?

There is a single star outlined,
  one that always points to you.

I imagine that is the pathway home, in the beyond
  believing irrevocably, that even upon death,
I will go back one day.

That we will look into the other again,

that I will be welcomed home and embraced.

That I will have never forgotten you-
My Heart, left in another life;

Left in a realm, where you keep it safe,
Yet broken I am without it.

Heart centered, with no ground.

Lost here,
beneath this one star,
so far,
pointing the way home-

back to everything I knew,
before this.

The Girl and the Bird

Bird, so free

  of a perfect afternoon spring, 

linking time even through modernity.  

  

A phantom face, wrapped my exchange 

and put my body to sleep, 

  deeply reminiscing.  

Lips to mine, eyes half between now, 

  feel the arms 

  sliding to pull my skin-

  there was nothing there of course.  

  The Birds are bright lately, even exuberant through the night.  

  

  I had always missed him.  like the purple of a sunset cast; like the arriving too late on that hill, knowing he left

 the mornings and the birds 

  have since, tweeted that essence 

had, reminded me of my own love, 

  against his shadow light

and the sun, became a representation 

of my uncondition for this man.  

I see love in everything now...

perhaps because 

  he was never caught?

Perhaps because, when I look up at the sky, 

I know he is still out there, 

proving that love caries the distance of the sky and life

and well into death.  

My bird may not have the capacity to love.  

Can he, it shall not minutely compare to the capacity invested in me…

  neither had it stopped me from giving up my whole soul though

  to the perfect stranger 

of perfect nihilism 

  that bore a rebirth 

no better than my death…

yet.. 

my love  to him remains as innocent as nature itself- 

 perfectly unfair and unhinged, and yet graced with a humble divinity only The Creator can claim invention on.  

I am innocent because loving you, makes me so.  

perhaps, closer up, my love might change, might not remain so innocent, 

  seeing as how, dear mockingbird, 

you do not play so well; 

but I iterate, that it is the soul’s fire, caught wind by you- some unbelievably intrinsic force that I think snagged us both, but a storm had carried you off.  

  .so brief.  

paused   then 

  

  

  for all of eternity... 

Just realized.  

                              Checkmate.  

Clever, was I caught by it all.  

the fight, the flight

 and now, 

recovery.  

all while,  though, 

eternity 

      has    paused    

An Untamed Storm

  Not a day goes by

     in the ruthless passing of gestations, 

That I don’t think of you, come and gone, 

weightless in touch.  

  I long for the pull of your fervor, as though it were the trace of your sound.  The imprints left on me when you’d speak- precisely

  a hypnotization of the spirit and 

  my soul.  

    You were dark, and I waned to it all- risking what little there was left of me.  

Instead, a fire was awoke-

  left somber 

in the choke of your ash;  

cashed and put out before I had arrived.  

  But it is your lips, 

phantom, forlorn 

  because they are a ghost, 

that wakes my days, 

  and soothes my nights.  

The promise of your kiss, is felt against my lips, and hips, as I feel you 

  all over me, 

in the bedtime air, 

of nothing there.  

Unfair I hear the whispers of things 

  the trees and the airs on night’s tickled postures…

  dancing, crying, weavy; chaotic, buoyant, bright…

  The insights settle 

  the phantoms, 

  

  But Love, 

is a Beast

  all it’s own.  

an allure 

  of a beast, 

and unsettling notions.  

  The years set into me.  

I took 

  your hand.  

   My belly grew big, and our child would be to finally take it’s place 

  after so many years of squandered love and loss-  

  meaning always to be the precise reason, you ever came in, and I ever loved you.  

  But it is a phantom until your awaited return. 

The child will always be yours, 

  as will my heart ever remain loyal, through life or death, 

  to the jar, 

you and I 

  never broke into.  

My Stomach is flat with youth.  

  My heart somber from age, yet as ruthless as the passing of all things and all time- 

She is an untamed storm, 

  that soothes only to mysterious phenomenons, 

  and you, were my most mysterious of all.  

In my belly, awaits our love.

  But you must return to me.  

we must embrace.  

  You must let me love you.  

and you must, 

  Love me back, with everything you have.  

and only then, 

  can you and I escape all our have not’s; 

and have the beautiful family that we both never had.  

  A family we both deserve; 

a family we both want-

   A child made from the ashes and rebirth of our Love.  

  It was always you.  

Yet my Stomach is flat with youth.  

The Depth of Dante's Inferno

So used to being unloved, I felt really stupid when I let you hurt me.  

  I wish you never said things like "I love you".   It seemed hardly fair, considering their is another woman in your bed.  

I was so angry for letting the alcohol consume us like demons.  I didn't want to get that close to you, without being more careful.  Some other force whirl-winded over us that night, and I slipped into regret every passing moment that I felt abandoned by you.  I didn't need you to lie to me...nor even love me. I needed a friend to look after me, and be honest.  

  Your version of honesty was doublespeak. Saying things you never followed through on, and I am aware I should have seen the signs.  

  you were unlike anyone I had ever met.  A true internal wreck, and in the oddest way, like a perfect mirror of myself.  I didn't need you to love me, I needed you to communicate.  

I gave up a lot for you.  For that one stupid night, and all the emotions and torment that followed.  Having sex with you opened a Pandora's box, I had closed, so so afraid to get hurt again- 

  To have my heart touched before it was torched.  

And sure enough, 

  You searched for love elsewhere.  

Never followed up on us, 

  Or our "friendship".  

Loving you wasn't consuming- it was risky.  

  It wasn't my everything, rather an injection of toxins my body needed to do without.  

I wish you would have told me.  

  But if you did, it just crossed my signals more. 

Nothing was tangible, only masked.  

 And yea-

You threw me away.  

  That's what hurt.  

What seems to have scarred me.  

So go ahead, and go to church with her.  

  It's not like I meant anything, 

Ever, 

  To you.  

For a good man, 

You really hurt my heart.  

  And if it wasn't for that one night...

I might have kept clear of all of this.  

 But we failed each other,

 Didn't we?  

Or you failed me, 

  While I failed myself.  

Before all that, 

  I had kept you at the proper distance- one that felt safe for me.  

After, I was wrecked, and you slipped away, but not after " I love you's" and "there's no going back"....not after you said all the wrong things to confuse an already emotional trial.  

  

  No goodbye.  

No honesty.  Nothing of significance bared.  

You just moved on, 

  And stopped communicating 

With someone you called a friend and said you were grateful for.  

  Of course I felt used, 

While you never even gave me a hand to hold 

  While I was drowning because of what we'd done.  

Your hand was distant and vague...

  And now I see, 

your words empty.  

Even if in the moment, 

  

  You meant everything you said.  

Being hurt by the others, that was expected.  

  

But somehow what transpired between us, 

  Hurt and wounded me all over again.  

That's because I WAS your friend.  I needed more, I expected more..

And the truth that seems most prevailing is that you were never mine.  

So yea...go to church with her.  

  Enjoy the depth of her eyes, and everything she gives you.  

Congratulations.  

I want to be happy for you.  

But you really did leave me hanging, 

Without any concern for me now.  

Real friends, 

Dont do that.  

What hurt is finding out, 

That we are not friends.  

Because that left me merely, 

 Feeling used.  

What hurt was thinking we were better than that; and that you were.  

What's hurts is being so right 

And so wrong about you.  

I knew, 

That I should have known.  

I don't know if you remember, but you told me that you really just wanted to focus on love, on giving love, and on connecting with others in this capacity.  

So...what happened to mine? 

If that was even remotely true, why have you not reached out to me once?

What happened to everything you said? 

  I guess it's just easier to love a wildflower, 

Rather than a Lotus, masked in a graveyard of swamp. 

She is your wildflower.  

I was always just a throw-away between us.  

You said I meant something to you.  

But there is noting tangible left to signify any depth of truth to that.  

Just silence.  

Just loss.

Just bare.  

While you have been fulfilled, 

People who have used me up, 

Just constantly sucking out my air.  

I needed you to be different.  Instead you reminded me, that I was not worth loving.  

Different Eyes

Picked apart at every seem,
  the past is on a timeline on repeat.

I dodge it, assimilating the new encounters that churn my curiosity....

  A failing satisfaction
and a constant shaking loose of everything I believe I know.

  For instance, I would assume that Love is not abundant in this world, that we all might need more..
but the outsiders in this world seem to be just as stimulated by distractions;

some of them illusions, some of them, mere bouts of attention grabs,
  one after the other, and then to the next.

Short attention spans, keep them half fulfilled,
while I have been gasping and barely undrowned.

   I loved, and now I keep my mouth mostly shut,
As I seem to never carry their attention long enough.

  Rather than communicating,
They had cut me loose rather quickly,

As uncherished as any stray dog,
  Saved and cut loose again.

  The past tells me a different story.
A story that reminds me,
  That I can not compete, so ancient and modern,

Against the shallow lure and glam and simplicity of the offered up.

To each of them,
  I was always "too" something.

Too sad
  Too sick
Too much to blame
  Too deep
Too loving
  Too much.

Too passionate about uncomfortable subjects.
  Too messy
Too behind
  Too ahead

So no...
  I do not know how to be loved.

I love well.  Love hard.
  And that is like having a different kind of blood course through my veins.

In his air however,
  A California graveyard...
I find nothing I need but some deep reservation in my own soul
  Tapped into upon threat only of souly death.

I chose not to die.
  But I awalk a life here that deprives me of the breath I was born to need.

  God took my only Angel, as will be taken others.
  So I pray now,

On my knees

For peace.  Unsure if happiness is beyond me?
  Beyond any wounded and tossed away.

If feeling unloved and untouched can be the kiss of death for an infant,
  How do we survive, those like me?

How does any starved force, keep living?

  I wonder these things when man chooses himself.
This is why I was afraid to love him.

And why I'm afraid to even have an opinion on you.
  Denying my undercoat,
I keep my head down, while you glimpse me.

  I don't want to do this again.
I already know I like you,

  But it always seems like it's their choice, and never mine.

You seem aware of your worth.  Confident.
  Even too much like a man.

How can I compete being so used to being tossed away.
 Loving you will hurt me..

And I think we both know it.

The Cut

my heart has gone dark, 

  catching peripherals of color, content, 

drowning in meaning, 

  Passion, a deep end.  

  

It is easy to feel justified, 

  but I rage against the world, 

 because who would I be, 

if I did not? 

  Death, sunken in

to my life-beating heart, 

tears glassing over 

 dismays lodged long ago

wine glazing sour hearts, 

gone tender to the beaten touch, 

  of death, and destruction, 

and violence.  

  Innocence murdered as refuge of void- 

the grasp for power, and the cowardice of running from God. 

as Satan promises an empty Kingdom, 

  and normally nothing more,  

In all the times I danced, 

  I was thrown away.  

As if competing for my own humanity..

  I never made the cut.  

Purgatory

Silent ghost, 

  morbid greys, 

  morbid greys

  in between.  

Lost my humanity

  to identity’s illusion, 

sectored, 

  like a life trapped and fighting it’s way out 

of sharp chasms.  

 Failed, as any man, may the only thing that be reconciled is my own conscious. 

Ravaged, though, 

as good as any broken woman, 

How good can that be? 

  What good is good anyhow? 

  The world reminds us everyday, 

that we are broken.  

Can your mind erase the subliminals?

The Shadow Fae of Glory

Some times I wonder if God drew me up wicked-
  I, like so many of his children, so drawn to the dark.

I sabotaged glory, squandering any earnest ideal,
  that it was real.

Instead Glory had a face that haunted me.  She was feral, when I met her.  Now, she is unearthly and dark; a scribbled Fae of black depths and wild eyes, enough to scare any soldier, and 10 feet tall.
  A creature of Habitat, she is fierce, and alien-like.  She may very well come from "the dark dimension", though she herself is not, per se.   She merely lives there.  Was born there.  Knows no other bounds.

We create her, you and I.  Our thoughts whirl, and there she absorbs them becoming a monster of organic fury.

This is how spirits

are born.

Pandora's Bottle

With Ode to Missed Connections:
  *there is an honesty in a person's speech when they can remain anonymous.  It is in this spirit that I begrudgingly post this.  Real honesty, especially for any expressionist,  is an incredibly vulnerable task. Vulnerability takes a different strength, perhaps to the point of "escaping ego" , even if just momentarily.   When writing,  it is natural to omit, and edit oneself.  I find being candid, however, has some universal draw on me- one that pulls me into an enforced trance.  So I confess,  I have found some of the most poetic love letters ever written, on Missed Connections Posts.   The Romantic Voyeur in me loves to scour this sea-board of messages in their cast out bottles.   I have written upon this sea for one person only;  Cast a bottle every year or so.  One man brought me to this forum...and for him, I still cast bottles to our sea.  In the spirit of casting this out from my inner temple, I throw you another bottle.
       
          ~



    "I have written you ode's & love letters for years now.  I still look out my window for you, awaiting a non-existent day that you make it to my doorstep.  I wonder what it's going to take to weed you out of my memory; my mind.  I've figured by now, that you are never coming...and I don't know what bound me to you; nor what still does.

     Beyond all reason, I have longed for you, for so long now.  I meant it, when I said "you won, but I also said it, to get to you.  I wanted you to know that this was your choice.  Maybe you were protecting me, or yourself, or both...but I never wanted you to.  Maybe you simply, didn't care.

     I still feel you, during the holidays; still think about you, when I'm not supposed to; still roller-coaster through an absurd obsession that you started in me.  One reason, I could never be with him, is because I could never stop thinking of you, if I were to.  His personality is one factor, but somehow, he could never compete with you, once you and I had began talking.  What a fool, right? I'm smiling.  I know it's foolish to want you completely capitulated, but it's a foolish world.  Love is a foolish design.  It is also a miracle you and I have hardly known, but by my own generosity, I know it.  Perhaps you can't say the same; you were always so cruel.  Somehow yet, years later, I found myself slightly untagged by the foulest of your comments.  I laugh now, knowing you are just snide and twisted.  I have no rational reason for loving that about you...but I do.

     I am fighting myself from picking up the phone.  You always had that rule over me.  I would trade my reputation, my self-pride, just to hear from you.  What stops me is everything you said, last time we spoke.  Rejected.  Brushed off.  I never heard from you after that.  It's been two or three years since then.  I miss you so much; you...you could never understand why.  It baffled you.
  It baffles me too.

     I have been blessed, and honored to have many lovers.  I've enjoyed beautiful women that loved me as ferociously, as I loved them.  Even then...You left an impression on me...like an imprint that would never fade.  It sounds cliche, but as of yet, it feels burned in my chest, and I can't, for the life of me, dig, or pull it out. 
     I may have mistaken your capacity for love, or your capacity of love, for me- either way.  What I could never mistake, was my love, my obsession with you.  It may have been one of the most foolish things I have ever done, as an adult.  I opened that door, and we walked through creating something in me, on my timeline, that we could never undo.  At that moment, I didn't know that I would fall more in love with you than anyone I had ever before you, nor would 'til now.  Looking back though, I see, that that is exactly what happened.  Ky, broke my heart.  She strangled the air from my throat, and she slept with someone else shortly after.  She fell from first place into a frozen and squandered memory, where Love, became nothing but ice.  If she was the ice, you were my thaw.  I imprinted on you, like an infant to the Devil, and I wonder, if you ever, fell in love along the way?  Does the Devil, have a heart?

     I always believed in you.  My guess is that receiving Love is your weak-point; that never stopped me from wanting to smother you, in mine.  Hours of bedtime minutes, and listening when we didn't want to, fighting and making up in bed.  Dinner.  Breakfast. Lunch.  You.  I see you everywhere, and smiling, as long as I'm around.  You love to tease me.  We love to be in our room.  You love me, and somehow you have surrendered.  I hope it's the sex, that has you.

We have our way, but you never believed in it; never gave into it.  You never gave us a chance.  I believe you had your reasons, as perhaps you still do.  You should know though,  that I think about you.  Irrationally.  Shamelessly, though I have to hide that from the world.  I never say your name, though I want to; though I think it.  Though I would love to pass it on.   Whatever bound us, may have seemed sick and sadistic, but it made me.  It put me through a fire, that cracked and charred me, until I came out, ready to re-emerge.

     When He was with me the other night...I thought of you so deeply.  I knew that although him and I have a history, ( he has a charm that is rough and unrefined) I knew that I could never give my whole self to him, with you, a distant best-friend away.  I made the choice years ago, to leave him once and for all; but I never told You why.  You never asked; and didn't seem to care.  The reason was You, of course.  I knew if we ever had any chance of a future, then I had to get away from him.  So I did.

     You of course, slipped out of the picture.  I don't know where I lost you, or if it was any illusion that I ever had you.  I knew I loved you, although I wasn't sure at the time, if Love is what it was.  All these years later, that feeling that I had then, that pushed me TO love you...I still have.  I remember your voice, but only for it's moments-it's impressions.  I remember your slipped "I love you's" and the torment and havoc you wreaked on my mind.  I remember your moments of leaked honesty, and your brutal choice's upon a mood's declaration.  Yet still, by some grace only of the God and the Devil, do I still remain loving you, victim of all wretched types.  I never stopped loving you.  You called me many things and iterated that you and your friends laughed at me.  You were the best at playing such a grand illusion, that I fell for the show; what I'm wondering, is if any of it was real?
  Do you still laugh at me? If so, do you mean it?  Do you secretly ache ever, for the understanding, or my hand, touch, or body?  I have longed for you since the day we opened our pandora's box.  Yet only some drifting dream, that holds like the moon, the sky, and something almost grasped.  Perhaps it is for the best.   Though, if you ever reach out, you Will find my hand.  Love is Love.  and You own me.  That moment in time, you grew above those before, and those that would follow you.  I have still not been able to uproot you; that may be because, deep down...I never wanted to.

     You outgrew them, because you did not hurt me enough to numb my Love, rather you burned a fury that fueled it.  Sure, you hurt me but I think I must have liked it.  While I know that you can get women to submit for you, they would never submit like I can, like I would, and you know it.  It's Love that binds me to you.  Then, the devil's snare, by second degree.

     I want you to come to me.  Or I will find Love elsewhere.  I can feel it, already on it's way.  But I want you to come to me, nonetheless.  I believe we could be happy together, if you think you had the strength to try, to keep me happy, as much as I would you.  I have been crazy in love with you; for more years at this point than I have had a serious relationship.  I think we deserve our chance.  Unless I"m just wrong.  Of which, I've already accepted.  I just love you.  Question is, how do you feel about me? Is it love? Is there love there? Would you like to own me? Would you give me a chance to make you happy? To please you? As the woman that I have grown to be? Would you consider marrying me for love? Fuck the money, and we'll create our life, together?  As for your best friend, he can be the best man.  He lost his chance several times over; and I am not a prize to be won.  I'd like to think rather, that I was always yours...from the moment, you re-entered my life, even if we didn't know it.

     Something in the way you twisted things, made sense.  and I think if you were nicer, we may have made sense.  I'm thinking about you these holidays, as I normally do.  I miss your voice.  I want to call.  But you made me feel so stupid last time we cut off communications.   I felt rejected for your new girlfriend.  You did a number on me kid.  I know that I am just playing with a fantasy.  It never seemed like you were capable of not hurting me.  That was something you and I agreed on.  That doesn't halt the fact that I would rather talk through it, and hear your voice, and try your touch to this day, than live in the ugliness of what you said in the past- and I will always say it, but if I said or did anything to hurt you, I am sorry.  I want to speak kindly of you and shower you with "undeserved love" because to me, you always deserved it.  Actions don't make us.  they can however, break us.

     I can not call you; I'm too prideful and shy to think that you could handle talking to me without it ending in further rejection.  Do you normally have girls begging you for chances? Do you think they could love you like I love you?  Come home.  I miss you.  Do you think we had much? I think we had everything, even if only I could envision it; our relationship was beautifully and tragically rough around every edge, but I felt bound to you.  That has never stopped.  I still miss you, and search for you in the sky and the changing seasons.  I really wanted that dinner and that night with you.  I think it would have gone too well.  I think we would have fallen in love.  I guess I know now why you passed it up.  Maybe you felt like you couldn't afford Love, with me.  You must have figured out by now, that I am a risk taker.  It doesn't mean, that I wouldn't fight for you, if things went south.  On the contrary, I have always fought for you.  I just felt like you showed me that you weren't as concerned with my happiness.  I let you go, against my will.  I did it because you wanted me to, and because I knew I should.  But nothing's changed, accept that I am a woman, years later, still un-kissed and un-held by you; by us."

                - Not So Anonymous

An Angel's Retire

      I know you must be tormented-
  the nihilist of narcissistic obsessions;
                                                 

   weaving in and out only,

                

    of your own grandeur , your own illusions,

while underneath,

you steep some falsetto's
  of echoing hatred, seeping of self despise.



  The allure of the dark, a strange drawl; an elusive torment,
because as all time passes, not the veil between
  you nor I

That never lifts.


Every thought, behind every breath is blanketed-
  the charcoals like wretched claws,
pulling me deep
I imagine, this place, is the place we meet.
perhaps more capable of Love, Dark Thing,
what it is that binds us,
  is the sweet promise of your blindfolds,
and my hands bound.

For a night, your Demons take me to Bed, while I finally allow them this one occasion,
to lay with an Angel-
  that is bound you had made me-
    that I would do that for you
and only you.


  All the corners of my own ego
cower more, as loss of concern
  drive's passion's inferno.

Cloaked, I decided long ago,
 to embrace the Shadow of my God,

Much as I embrace the life.

  Cowardly, I stay where it's warm, yet under shade,
never walking into the path of your domination...fearful..
  that I might die
by the bind of you.

Twas the bind by both, then devour and consume me whole- I will live out my days on this Earth, dancing our shadows and not bound by any taboo of goodness.

  and only you, can blindfold me.  By the moonlight.  by your will.
and by the very real cloth, that you place over my eyes, and knot behind my head.

kneeled,  once and for all,
might I submit,
thy dance be done.

  naked, a moon shade casting through the window
and my body, finally ownly yours
to do with
  as you please.

  my flesh glowing a silver blue from the night sky
shades casted against my curves,
now every inch yours, as you view my kneeled submission, in wrapped hands,
begging eyes, and your gag to test
  my commitment.

I beg you
to bind me.

to own me.

to never stop.

to let me in.

to open to the way I want to love you,
as you open to the way I want to be loved.

let me drag you into the light,
as you soil
  my every belief system,

and replace it with something
  we make.
something that is ours.
where we are an us.

and I will worry nothing more
of this world,
nor her need of God.

   This is how much I love you.
To give you everything.  yet no fool...

I will die by you, or leave-  fool is all lovers, and you,
 as cowardly as I.

  Blindfold your Angel.  Snuff her might.  Allow her submission.
bare her.
  Make our Children.
Love.

and let us,
Demon, Angel, and Man

defy God.

Bare me.
and let us defy all reason.
  Give our children the curse and might of our divine throwns,
Good and Evil,

and take my hand.
  Bind it in daylight by ring,
and night, by band

  and come morning I can reveal God's heaven..
   while night, we roam, dancing the Devil's great Test.

I am willing to meet you half way- to dip my body in the black,
and see if I still emerge.

  Can you, Man and Demons,
face the love and warmth of Dawn's Halo?

Can you bathe in the Spring of Divine will, and emerge still Dark?
 I am a testatment that the dark always lives,

as does the light, My Life, My Love.

Devour me.

Bare me.

Meet me.

I miss the kingdom you created-
  psychotic and lustful,
of the devil's promise alone.

God remained, the love between us, in all that darkness.
  the only light,
and it was enough.

I never submitted.
  I wasn't taught to.
not but for God.

and you,
 you were the only one to dispel that.
to promise of an abyss that lured me desperately.
  you pressed  the sins of Eve
right out of my obedience,

and together,
we ate of fruits we could never undo.

I fell in Love, with the Enemy.

  never submitted,
til' now, I beg, You. 

 

Facebook Reparation

Content.  Had Become soul-less.
Habitats for cohesion, evolved, and by implementation,
How candidly gone to drive us mad.
Down.
To separate us.
Divide.

     Reparation's callous controls
as content dries of residual faceless feeds
and echo chambers,
and pictures,
and trends,
and naked women all over
  every
echo chamber known to society's men.

Callousness grows like weeds in wine gardens-
  a virus gorging out of Los Angeles,
New York,
Chicago.

The cities go blue.  We hold.  The life-blood of passion burning bright
in the torches
   of patriots still,
while we all go mad arguing truths.

God stay silent,
  while the omens go unheard.

I'm sorry, too big a burden to deliver-
the wretched caring of men.


  Bleach-bit, worn out, pixels drying up
  my running veins.
Yet blown, down, hollow
only some stack of cards, and nothing more.

Was but a faded castle of paper thin illusions,
  and yet, the real world, a scoped mirror,

to our deepest fears anyhow,
as long as we stay, running.

  Roots calcify over my beating veins,
blood rushing through torrents like lava,
invisible to core.

  I became something more long ago, the Earth, taking me up, in bits and pieces.

      Reminding me,
I am of Her; I can sustain no breath Gaia not allows.

Flesh restores, slipping, sipping only like the bees of nectar.  Holy Refrain, will dig our flesh a lonely grave.

I miss Love, like slipping my feet in the wild flowers, and upon the earth's skirt.
  The repave of social collisions and societal antidotes,
Haunted ever by the evil lurking in the subtle undergrounds

Of Masters,
vs.
their ruled.

  Implored, Chained, and having gone to battle, no shield shall protect me more than Arc's.
Only the Shield of the Most High,

  and even still.
Granted, and imposed,

I will come to God, covered in Pig stool.
  For I have been a fool and sinned as any man.  Lied.  Stolen.  Committed Adultery.  Even binding my acts to God's name.

We all are wretchedly sure, and as ignorant as infants.  I can not even apologize for this.

Mucked, I have been tossed and thrown without vengeance.

  I have been betrayed, and left to fend.
So, in Gaia's grace, I rest my head, and Pray.

      It is in God's grace in the heaven's that I connect the Holy light,
with the practician of the Earth.

I am restored because I choose to Love.
  Against all hollow undergrounds,

and clown journalism, your Face, goes blank, and lifeless,
  only digital codes,
plastered loosely,

of record-less content.

Redemption

Everything is existential now-a-days.
I presume, when it comes to the human brain- the way we ponder purpose and existence, 
  that existentialism dates back as far as evolution.



I pick up this blunt as if putting my hand on the trigger.
  Everything is slowed down.  Precise.  Of the moment, second,
by
second,

by second. 

Everything is a choice. 
and following, an equal opportunity for contemplation;
some would argue,

Therefore also Redemption. 

     If I seek Redemption,
it is in the happiness of This life. 


I love God, But do not fear him. 
Rather to be feared is the pain possible of this life,
second,
by second

by second. 

But I would rather not fear,
that either. 

  Precise. 

Calculated.  Cold.  Surrendering.  Nonchalant.  Examining. 
Everything

is existential. 
Including us. 

The Boy and his Bird

I have thousands of women in this soul,
  Tied up in this life,
And the era’s before my birth;
  Bound to histories both buried and excavated.

The woman whom calls herself my mother,
  Between us now,
 Is no Mother I recognize,
  Though I have scoured my beaten heart trying-
  Though I have wept, pled, and bled to understand the sacrifice of such unfamiliarities.

Notions are torrid rains and how friendships change
 And life, as it evolves the decades- regression becoming a fad
Along with Nationalism, it's opposition against a modern book burning.

To fall in love now a days,
  I Imagine is as uncertain as in war times,
Lovers and Fathers, off to war.

Loving has been my War.
  Loving the Truth.  
 
And the truth, loving me back.
Tumultuous, I could never
    Get
Enough, I remember.

I still can't.

  Hatched on the ground,
I attempt finding my way around all enemy territories,
In predators' lands,
                         Everything is larger, stronger, and smarter than

    The shell I stumbled out of.

Yet, here, years later, I am grown and in flight.

I have my wings and but a few scars, forgotten once I take the air again.

I love him.  And he is a Good Boy to Love.
  Found somehow tucked away, as if there all along.
 
A bird can not claim the Air, though she may claim the truth.
  And I am in Love once more,

     it feels Divine this time.  Whole.  Lost.  Luded.  Lured.
Loved.

     Coming to his window, the light is sharper,
My skies brighter,
  A purpose rendered in connection-

A Human Boy,
  Had become mine, this tiny earth creature of but the smallest wings
And most chittering of souls.

  And there I'd wait, somedauys perched upon his sil, and resting in the fragrant shadows and songs under his trees,
     Where they became my tree; and soon I had forgotten any other home.  Soon,
His window sil was all I would remember of Paradise.

  He became my past, because it was always ever, meant to be.
Merged.

And now I remember nothing but this Paradise.  No pain. No reality.  No label to procure, but the freeedom of the Air under Love's Blue skies, and Orchird Trees.

Indebted to my Human Boy,
  I will die here, while he asks nothing of me, Keeping his window open, and not a day once closed.  He has my water and seed,
  And leaves me wanting for nothing;

I see him look for me when I fly away;
  I see a new treat when I perch back home.
I see relief, in this Boy's love of me, giving these human's a grace all other animals stand up to.

He is Love, this Man.
  He knows the God that made him and I.

I think I know,
  Why I've come.

Why we are bound and never sold, but to the other.
   His Love is God's awakening, and I am his bird

Fearing no Flight, ever again...
  A Home, now near by.

A resting place.
Someone,

Waiting my return.