The Minutes pass me by
showing disgust at my wails.
They don't bother helping;
they don't stick around for that matter.
With only sixty seconds to exist,
I must be of no concern to them.

The Hours' fists crash into my skull
creating a constant clangor resonating through my brain
exciting my ego,
electrifying regrets.

The Days...
Oh those god-damned Days.
They see me confused and so seize their chance;
they pull out my feet
right from under my frame,
and helpless, hurt,
I collapse to the earth.
And now begins their fun.

The Months form gangs called 'Years'
and The Years take their turn
breaking my joints, my fingers, my knees,
all my snappable, crackable points.
Curved, crippled,  and creaking,  
I languish in fantasies of supposed to be.

Time makes things worse.

A dark shadow moves over me.
I look up  as far as I can lift my heavy head
and like a fat man resting his rump on an ant's back,
I see The Decades with their massive, soul crushing weight
squatting their hindquarters;
oppressively,
down upon my twig-like spine.

This is a merciless beating!
This is the beat of time.

And throughout the abuse,
I crawl, cringe, cower
as safe as can be in a low lying state on the ground,
(which is still six feet too high for all that time cares!)
I hear from somewhere afar
an unfaltering decree
from my maker to me
"Stand up straight! For Heaven's sake!"

my lips are quivering
so desperate
to feel you
against me

your voice is
filling my head
and your heart
filling my chest

your silky fingertips
flowing over my soul
your mind working
in harmony with mine

rose petals
and daisies
twisted around
your heart

cherry blossoms
entwined into
your shattering
soul

the most broken
and corrupted
parts of
you

growing into
something that
is so incredibly
                              
                  beautiful

your lipstick
leaving
crimson scars
upon my
soul

and branding
the hue
of your mouth
into my
heart

"You are beautiful."
That is what they say,
and you reply,
"Thanks, you too."
A compliment, received and courteously relayed.

But what is really meant by this statement?

"You are beautiful."
Implies the speaker has identified that you exist—nothing out of the ordinary.

"You are beautiful."
Implies something much more—that the speaker not only acknowledges you, but understands you. It implies they have access to the real you, the one beneath the surface, and that they are capable of evaluating it. Notice that "You look beautiful." is not what has been said. No, what has been said is much more than that.

"You are beautiful."
This is their evaluation. Through the lens of their own perception, what they see when they observe who you are is best described by the word "beautiful". From my perspective, this can only be taken as a sign of deep appreciation, of recognition from one soul to another that on some level, they share the same substance.

Yet, knowing all of this raises a great suspicion. Do those who make this statement truly understand what they are saying? Do they mean it? Did they mean to say, instead, "You look beautiful."? Did they even mean anything at all?

Do they know of the tension behind your smile? Do they know of the fear residing in the dark pools of your eyes? Do they know that the way you present yourself is often done in spite of how you truly feel?

Do they know, deeper still, of the tiny, yet unwavering flame that burns inside of you? Do they know that underneath the layers of frost that guard your soul is a core of warmth that craves release? Do they know that deep down, you don't believe the horrible things you tell yourself—you can't believe them—, but that it's much easier to pretend otherwise? Do they know that you numb yourself to escape unrelenting pain?

When they say you are beautiful, is it this you they speak of, or is it the you they see but do not understand?

Does their statement stand against who you are by trying to convince you of a self-image you do not have? Does it attempt to ignore, and by ignoring, negate the fact that you possess flaws, insecurities, and imperfections? Does it try desperately to project an image of perfection upon you, because to acknowledge the truth would be too difficult?

Do they really think you are beautiful, or do they merely want to think it, blindly and without commitment?

Of the answers to those questions I am not certain. But, if I were one of those speakers who dared to make such a bold statement, I would be very careful. For if they are not truly ready to admit with full honesty that they understand exactly the meaning of what they are saying, then they do not deserve to say it.

And if they do not deserve to say it, then they ought to be careful of another thing, too. For if their compliment is not genuine, then the response they receive in return might not be genuine, either.

"Thanks. You, too."
Oh, really,
I am beautiful, you say?
Thanks. You, too.

Eleven Weeks. Is that all it took?
To take us from strangers, to
lovers, to strangers again? I knew
you for eleven weeks yet it felt
like a life time of memories.

Eleven Weeks. Is that all it took?
For me to break every rule of
love for you? To let down my guard
and make you the exception?

Only Eleven Weeks. For you to
become the most important person
in the world to me. For me to become
so co-dependent on you that the
thought of you not being near made me ill.

Eleven Weeks to go from a strong, independent woman to a love sick fool.
Eleven Weeks to sell my soul and give you everything you wanted from me.
Eleven Weeks to lose who I was because I thought you were so great.
Eleven Weeks to rethink my previous notions about love and affection.
Eleven Weeks to become the loneliest I've ever been.

It's not a lot of time and the simple fact that
Eleven
Measly
Weeks
Can change who I am at the core of my being is not okay with me.

Twenty one years being who I was.
Eleven Weeks to tear it all apart.

Legs shiver,
eyes hurt,
brain screams.
Hands ache when I write,
but I do.
I cling to the screen.
Like a brain dead body,
no soul,
only jealousy.
Then desperateness kicks in.
My Parvati is dead,
like Siva was slowly disappearing.
Can I hold on?
For how long?
Will this longing drive me mad,
or is it planning on sparing me?
Tick tock tick tock,
the clock goes,
blick block, blick,block.
Tv sounds are jarring,
the commentary is blasphemy,
often with misleading sounds.
I can feel my brain dying.
So it has,my darlings.
Good night.

I often wonder if our voices are actually heard.
If people read our every word!
Or is it like life where you skim through it to get to the end
Never realizing that you might lose a friend.
We don’t stop to see and admire the picture as a whole
And “ that beauty” will never unfold.
You know ! I also wonder !
That GOD could have made this world, humanity
And the entire universe in a split second, yet he chose
To do it in six days
To enjoy all the beauties that he created.
Then why do we rush in our lives?
When he has given us time to enjoy his creations
Without all the devastations.
If we work eight hours, sleep eight hours
Then the other eight hours are for us to set our goals
And pursue our dreams and take care of our to do lists
And to smell the flowers – ‘HE has given us enough hours!”
         “THAT BEING SAID” let’s move ahead!
The words you put down in black and white
Are your joys and your struggles in this life?
It is a path to your heart and soul, and a story that must be told.
Your hidden thoughts and dreams can now be seen
Your wants, your needs, your hopes, your dreams, your desires
All of this created that burning fire.
If every living creature can communicate with each other

Then why can’t we?  My sisters and brothers!

(C) L .RAMS

At her desk, paper and pencil forsaken
She sought to create as she contemplated
But the feelings were mixed and shaken
By the quakes of over-complication

Energetically bound, her fingers stroked
As new words would emerge from her mind
And the keys were played like musical notes
Hinting at a thought somewhere betwixt the lines

So she's standing on the edge
Of a book that she's read
At least a thousand times
And the moon disappears
As the storm draws near
But she knows it's alright

Her eyes were closed as she absorbed
The entanglement of perceptions
Owned by the world so wildly perturbed
And dreamed despite delusional deceptions

They had spread throughout her head
As a gas might fill any kind of chamber
With poisonous conundrums that fed
Off the ink that runs on and off the paper

Now she's standing on a cliff
Scribing ancient glyphs
On a computer monitor
Then she thinks of just herself
For once, not anyone else
And comes to find her alcazar

Inside are hooded, masked silhouettes
At a ritual to create disharmony
Heads low, palms up they whisper a hex
Hoping to destroy her sovereingty

As the boiling rage begins to rise
She walks slow as her figure transforms
Walking on all four, she multiplies in size
And let's out a lioness' fearless roar

The wizards hit the walls
But the shadows stand tall
Until a beam of light emerged
From her mouth came wisdom
And the shadows fell victim
To her willpower determined to purge

And she wakes from her nap
She looks up at the screen
And types away
She writes away

We are  to watch the Throne...
Not stand by as pagans throw rocks at the Throne..
Talking bout there's no church for the wild
But last time I  check it was for the sick and spiritually shut down..
Those with no self control..
Those that don't know their role..
Those that have gained the world but at the sake of losing their souls
Followers aligned with the Rock of Ages...
How dear I pledge allegiance to a country yet along a Roc nation..
My Christ all white everything..
No spot no wrinkle all white wedding scene..
Every time a soul says Yes the heavens sing
Do we really understand this heaven thing..
I am talking no sin..
Peace no need for protection
No violence..no need for a weapon..
One body no racial selection..
Christ is the way to acceptance.
Hell is the place for those that reject him..
Do we really understand this hell thing.
Flesh burns fumes of sulfur dioxide
Thirsty no existence of hydroxide
Feel pain like death but cannot die..
Like swallowing a grenade destruction of your insides..
Heaven and Hell two completely different places..
Different thrones ..
Different homes.
Bliss versus eternal pain
Taking hollow tips to the dome .
Over and over again
An eternal spin cycle of torment..
We all are created with a purpose but it lays dormant..
Its sleep imagine purpose snoring..
Christ the alarm clock imagine purpose soaring  . .
To some this poem is boring..
Its not about me or you, its about Gods glory...
Now I speak truth no stories.  
God loves me he gives out the authority
So if I die today ..
With my footprints erased..
God creates everything I can surely be replaced..
I cling to Heaven.. Reject Hell ..
Live on earth
Walking with God..
You know there's two births..
With him two life's
Through Christ the only true right.
Watch the throne day and night..
I trust Faith and question my sight