We wake in a fresh sunflower field,
A bright, honey-coated sunrise revealed.
Familiar tunes call to thee,
“It’s good to see you again, this is a home to me.”
Later, with noon allure rising,
My open arms grip your sizing.
Like swaying branches on this sunny day,
We whisper warmth in everything we say.
With quiet, unnoticed time moving on,
We lay softly on the purple patched lawn.
The budding spices in our evening breeze,
Soon accommodates the buzzing of the frogs and bees.
We dance as serene as how the day flew by,
And rest our backs against the orange sky.
Eventually, the stars shine above with a spin,
Our next lovely day will again soon begin.
Nov 24, 2020
Nov 24, 2020 at 4:53 PM UTC
Mirroring how the sun falls on cold days,
I can only ever manage faint farewells.
Hands folded across their laps,
and every window left open to hear the rain,
I stumble back to my own safe haven,
But leave scars upon every prophecy they speak.
The truth is I never listened to the wind much.
I never heard the strings ascend,
I never felt the ground move beneath my feet.
I never understood the sweet collections of words
Whispered from a corner of an unknown bedroom
Into the flooded pit stops of my attention span.
I cannot continue to build my own imagery,
Forcing the wallowing, passionless connection
To take ahold my of affection.
Assembling a mixture of memories which
Aren't even my own, haven't happened,
And will never occur.
These heinous acts will allow
Even the slightest amount of aspiration to
Unravel, leaving me with an excuse to deny,
Yet again, All of the bursting white light.
Former lives will pass across the ceiling,
While each new moon phase reveals,
that I am not, and never will be, who I intended
As I grew from innocent, to in control.
The truth is, I am far from in control.
I never allowed myself to listen to the wind.
I have always wanted to hear the strings ascend,
I need to feel for the moving ground.
I must understand the sweet words that will carry me away,
The words that will make me feel whole and free.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
Who do you call when your brain is on fire?
When sunshine strips
begin to fade from the bed sheets,
And you find, yet again,
That you've allowed a day's worth of stability
To deconstruct itself.
For a while, a silhouette you will remain,
Chasing the origin of light,
Only to fall into the one thing blocking it.
What happens when a brain is burnt out?
Drawing out breaths that latch to the cold air,
When you stand with weary muscles,
A title wrapped around your forehead,
And a frustration festering.
Holding close to the last remaining memories,
Of security, of solidarity, of purity.
Losing yourself to yourself,
Costs less and less each time.
When do you decide a brain needs fixing?
When the ride home is full of regret,
And your legs cannot stop shaking.
A miserable night will be swept under the rug,
So dogear the scripture you spoke belligerently,
And the world will suddenly seem small.
A breakdown happens when most needed.
A breakthrough happens when least expected.
How do you fix a brain?
Probably, the day without questioning it all,
Will be the day you figure the most out.
If we can get a mixed up mind to settle,
Then the first thing to learn would
Be the acknowledgment of a new, better life.
We will all survive our demanding brains,
if only someone will show us the way,
Will someone please show us the way,
Before another brain is ignited?
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 7:59 PM UTC
In translucent hands
he reads a scripture belonging only to him,
and from memory, he'll rebuild his own illumination.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 12:13 AM UTC
For the truth, I've cut my ties with the collective
I find no relevance in this world
I am a mere onlooker, a silent seeker
Conforming myself to the likes of an outcast
Without any regret, however, I find support in my mind,
In a clairvoyant entity I have only surmised,
And a place I can only envision; the one in the sky
My soul belongs to something greater, but elsewhere
I intend to find my purpose, for the truth is all I need
However, as triumphant as an ultimate answer may be,
The world during the course of a search for meaning,
Is chilled and repetitive, constantly threatening sanity.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
Someday soon,
under a new sun,
We will sing a bird's song of white and gold hues.
Of beaming light.
Of warmth encompassing all that we love.
And it will be magnificent.
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
Themes of my former self are beginning to arouse my brain yet again.
States of dark discomfort are starting to show themselves as beacons of light in this strange season.
Possibly to save me from an emptiness much worse than their own,
Or possibly because it is the price I must pay for trying to rid them from my mind like the body does toxins.
I feel their cold nails ripping into my head,
Running a frozen drip down my spine.
They feast on my self-esteem,
And leave a haze on my judgment.
The days consist of fear and emotional turmoil,
At night, I only hope to make it to the next day.
I find it incredibly horrifying to say,
but I am not entirely resistant to this chaos.
Once they arise, I voluntarily retreat into their catacombs.
They act as a guide through the months of frozen life and tell me I must feel their pain,
That it is wrong for me to feel anything else.
Am I weak for succumbing to the torture they force upon me?
Is it insane to find small comforts in their twisted reality?
Surely, my dear friends, I know the answers.
I beg of you please, do not worry about my safety.
Come the days that thaw my bones,
I will be free once again.
I will have survived, as I always have before.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
Tears grow heavy as you watch all that you once were begin to rust away.
You do not feel sadness,
but nostalgia,
as clouds containing past lives and past loves circle the space around your head,
Screaming in your ears.
However, you know that becoming a new bundle of energy and knowledge is a great expedition you must embark on by your lonesome, without distraction of any sort.
Those dust-covered shoes struggle to comply at first,
But without any other hesitation,
you set off towards a door that has now made itself known.
With a hand pushing through,
you turn to look at the carcass of twisted memories and,
not knowing if this is directed towards yourself or maybe something bigger than that,
you ask aloud,
"please, tell me before I go, who was this one? This time around, who was I?"
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
From the beginning, a trillion little atoms
Always moving, finding their place
Responsive, but not sentient
The flowers of life, the fruit as well
A window into all of us, all of this
Holy, but not indestructible
A yellow primary, each head spinning along underneath
Warming the structures - steel, wood, and bone
Magnificent, but too far to reach
The world full of beauty, only known to the willing
Opening the paths, walking the doors
Endless, but almost forgotten
Walking forward, each of us beaming
Since the day is long, crisis comes on its own time
Anticipating, but not hesitant
A creation so significant, letting one roam free
Glimpsing endlessness, those who use it
Unbreakable, but not against itself
A man aware of his own existence, a coward
Still securing his fate, a fraught afterthought
Responsive, but no longer sentient
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
Growing the land on which I have stayed for years, the drought has finally ended
Carved in the passing thoughts of mortality,
I can finally free myself from the future,
And the life I have studied much too often
My friends,
My love,
I can be everything I want to be now
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:54 AM UTC