There is something to be said for being forever
That you will exist when my flesh is bone and dust
When my legacy is naught but stony word
You will remain
When no traces of my tears do show
To water the dry earth
To know that you will forever cry in my stead
There is something to be said
And there is something to be said in knowing
That your memory of me will never end
And in your memory I am sheltered
I will remain: an ash amongst the ashes
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 2:10 AM UTC
You poised a gun to my head
And raised a question
And asked
In simple terms
Terms that humanity will understand no matter how far evolution takes them
“Do you want to die”
said your gun
“Click”
went your mouth
and as the hour hand fell and grains of sand dropped like atomic bombs to the bottom of an hour glass that should have run out eons years ago
You raised a gun to my head
And poised a question
My hand it lifts to push away
Yet it grabs and holds for sanity
The castle that I live in has become a jail cell and my past
has become my future
“Teach me something new”
said I
“I don’t think I’ve ever died”
I said
And as I spoke you raised a gun and poised a question and the lever clicked and your mouth asked if I wanted to die and I said yes
And you fired
And I fell
And you left
And all is well
For the blood spatter made some crimson wings I can fly with into tomorrows sunset where the future is only what I make of it and death is a myth because we have already died and in my final moments you
Raised a question
That humanity will never understand because they cannot die
“Do you want to die?”
Do you want to be removed from this everyday cycle where death brings life and reincarnation and I
Want a way out
And you
You have the means to get me there and yet
I cannot leave for you see I have so very much left to do here and she
Is waiting in the wings
With wings
With wings
For me
Humans cannot die for they are everlasting in this planet that keeps us asleep and dumb to the existence of the other worlds
And we no longer believe in fairy tales
No longer believe in angels
When they fly into our rooms at night and whisper promises of freedom humans do not believe
No longer can we feel the energy that flows in the soil and breathes in the branches and lives in the essence of each soul
And Yes, we have a soul
And Yes, I have a dream
And Yes, you asked a question
And Yes, I answered Yes
“Do you want to die?”
Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m stuck here
Give me a few years and I’ll be back
As someone else
somewhere else with a new face and new memories
But it will still be me
And Humans have no humanity
You raised a gun
And raised a question
I poised my hand in thought and for a moment thought
I could be free
But justice has no liberty and we
We
Are stuck here
On this planet in this place where they cannot reach us
And she
She is on the other side
And so is she
With the wings
Them both
They wait in the wings with wings with wings for me
And he
He is here as well
But he
Doesn’t not fly for humanity has taken away his wings and we are stuck here and the blood splatter is the only hope of wings we find
And time
Is irrelevant because we have all time
All eternity
But eternity was taken away
“Click”
went your mouth
“Do you want to die”
went your gun
And I look to the sun for an answer
But she is silent
She wants me by her side but he is lonely
And I
I have so much left to do here you see
And we
We are stuck
In reincarnation we are doomed to live forever and never
And never get out
So won’t you help me get out
You raised your question with a
“Click”
and poised your gun with a
“Do you want to die” and I said yes
and you fired
and I fell
and you left
and all is well
but I am still here
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 2:08 AM UTC
I could tell you how to think.
I could repeat the words
of Old Masters to try to sound profound
and aloof with some sort of higher knowledge than you.
I might recount the pain of a child starving,
trying to get your heart to bleed, or race
to flutter, fly or fall. I could try
to compose my thoughts on paper, but even
from lips to ears their meaning is lost
so on paper they would have even less power.
I could try to change your life. The way you think
about an apple blossom or how you speak
with luring words to a potential mate.
I could weave you a story to keep you on the edge of your seat
or mind; in your lovers arms, or all alone.
I could try to detach myself,
attempting omnipotence compared to you.
Even trying to speak to you through words would
be an empty effort, though.
For who wants to listen to a stranger
and have them tell you how to think
how to breathe and let loose;
dance to the rhythm of life setting your mind on a new beat?
Who will read these words and be affected?
Would it help then, if I made myself known?
If we were related, or entangled or embraced
would these words be more than words to you?
Would you listen if I told you why the sky was blue
or your eyes were gray or why the world turns
in a specific rhythmic patterned way?
I could try to tame the storm of English to tame the storm of your mind.
I could attempt to write a world for you:
an escape
or a solitude. I could write my heart on paper for you.
Open it up: it’s secrets and it’s thump-thump reasoning.
I could convince you it beat for you and only you, but really
it is just science.
I could tell you how to be happy, but happy is relative.
I could try to describe the feeling I get when I am not alone,
the breath of another mingled with mine,
but experiences are experienced individually and I am not in your mind.
I cannot think the way you do nor affect people the way you can.
You may be a pilot bringing people across the globe into each other’s arms;
or an artist painting the portrait of a dying girl;
or an engineer building bridges between hearts.
But I am a poet, and all I have are words.
But who will listen to a stranger?
What would it take for these words to be more than words to you?
I do not know for I am no philosopher or doctor. I don’t know
who you are or how you work, so trying to convince you
that I am all-knowing
is pointless and painful. So many of us suffer because of that vain effort.
I could try to write you a companion but the comfort we each desire
is unique.
Your dreams are not my dreams, and my dreams perhaps,
would not make sense to you.
My happiness is not yours. Nor is my favorite flavor ice-cream
yours. If I were to write you the feeling I get from smelling daisies
it might mean nothing to you
because it is not in your vocabulary, or doesn’t bring you my peace.
I could write my breath and it’s puff-puffing from running
but then I’d have to detail how the oxygen works it’s way into my lungs.
I could say that he is my oxygen, but what does he mean to you?
I could tell you not to be scared of the dark, but
darkness, too, is relative. For inside a lit room at night,
the window is stark in contrast. But stand outside for awhile,
and your eyes will adjust like getting used to the pain if it is incessant
and everlasting.
And who wants to listen to a stranger?
Who wants to know the inside of my mind when they have their own
to figure out? The maze of synapses that only make sense to you
and to me they are indeed a maze.
I could tell you that when I see rain I think of cobblestone streets in London,
but who, besides me, would connect those things?
And who wants to listen to a stranger?
The only thing I may attempt is to bring myself closer to you
through words.
Because they are all I have
and with them, I can tell you anything.
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 7:48 PM UTC
Lord Help me I have bled for You
On Your land and in Your eyes
I have never done a thing to disguise
how I have shed my armor and fallen in my grace
I have had tears and dirt and blood on my face
I have made and I have lost and never discerned
never looked to the sky when my life was concerned
I have fought and I have raged and I have ever devised
some dastardly plots unfit for your eyes
I have glared and I have pillaged and ruined your name
But Lord help me let my son do the same
for the deeds that I have done are the man that I am
And the sins I have committed are part of your plan
so help him grow strong as he is always kept down
lend him your strength to rise from the ground
Help him to learn and to worship your ways
but always remember to fight for his days
Let him know peace and to live and let love
and to always remember your presence above
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 5:24 AM UTC
Her eyes the color of angry skies
Doth look upon my face
And from it's dark grave my heart arise
And flutters in her grace
Her bloodied lips are daunting
As they move to form her words
Her melodic voice; haunting
As it shames the tune of birds
Cutting the air her edge sounds sweet
As it flies and slices with sin
I find my heart is skipping beat
As a new passion doth begin
Her blade then makes a faulty move
I see my pale skin start to cry
My last mistake falls from the groove
As I lay my sweet self to die
my slender chest is falling
As I **** in ragged breath
I hear white women calling
As they usher me towards death
I see my lonely spirit rise
While in vanity she is took
I pause myself before the skies
Granting her one last fleeting look
The scene below me is flying
As mercy scatters in the breeze
I wake to find that I'm crying
Left with scarce more than memories
I stand on soft shaking limbs
As I realize with a start
my dreams' revolution brims
With a secret hidden heart
I'll dance with my fair maiden still
And watch her determinedly fly
O'er green pastures, and yonder hill
Until we kiss a sweet goodbye
My tattered armor holds me tall
As in my post I always stand
Let my warriors never fall
As foe’s die by this; my hand
And if captured by the enemy
With pause and fear forbade
I will draw her shining edge to me
blessing my Lady Blade
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:47 PM UTC
Grief lives nomadically.
Flitting from battle scenes to grave yards,
Hospitals to back alleys layered in filth
The faintest tickle of pain
Is an infection: a parasite.
Eyes opened to the misery of every step
The every tear falling
The every heart aching:
To be perfectly aware,
It is a curse.
To see pain is to feel it.
To remember anguish is to live it.
Empathy: given out to waves of love starved people,
Until there is no more to give,
But thousands yet to receive
From a comrade in broken arms,
Who has made suffering an eternal sacrifice.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:38 PM UTC
The velvet kiss of silken petals
Slipping thorough the breeze
Sighing limbs are gently swaying
And a fire's raining from the trees
The world, for once, is quiet
Undisturbed the petals roar
A dance is created that is never again
And never been seen before
And the sway conceals two figures
Two bodies loose laced with hearts entwined
Pressed beneath the cherry tree
They hide away from reality
And forget about the world
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:37 PM UTC
Red rain drifts through lazy winds
Whipping across smooth faces:
Pink with cold kisses.
Lingering warmth of parted heat
Laughter echoes off surrounding world
Smiles joyfully bright
Feelings drip like delicate lace
Tangible, vulnerable nonetheless
Carefully chosen words
Memories cast aside avoiding reality
Momentary hearts sweep icy skies
Tomorrow remade
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:36 PM UTC
Sating stains unrecognizable
dripping filth of first love gone
Insignificant swelling of power
We are human
Hungering for control over strong hold fear
Tangible in it's release
We are human
It moans to be sought by destroyers
We are human
Hypnotized by dances of mesmerizing flesh
patterns mangle until there are no more borders
sweeping over luscious ruins
we depart from entrapment and lightly fall
Silver gleams off malleable thoughts
We are human
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 1:36 PM UTC
His T-shirt
Is old
And has been washed so many times
The fabric is warn and bare
The letters advertising his favorite team are faded
And he said it had shrunk on the drying line
His T-shirt
Is silly
Because it comes just to the top of my knees
And hangs off my shoulders so that the seems
Where his broad chest would end
Are at my pointy elbows
His T-shirt
Is warm
Even on the coldest night because it is him
It has his happiness and his smile and it hugs me just like he did
And though it fits me all wrong and makes me look
So small
His T-shirt
Is memories
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC