My darling, Nature, don't leave.
I was never good to you,
but
do
re
mem
ber,
I love you.

I kissed your back with water.
I ran my fingers along your womb with rake
I burned the poison with fire
I withdrew from you, for your sake!

It was easy to stand apart,
wasn't it?
Yet you never left me,
no, no,
and I never stayed.

When seasons are delayed,
I never blame you,
no!
I blame myself
myself!
I'm horrid
to abandon you
my Human Nature.
A planet unto its own.

Where are your gardens?
My mind? My soul? My heart?
Where are your temples?
My bonds? My kin? My world?
Where are your laws?
My books? My emotions? My life? My death?
These are all things I can grasp,
yet grasp no longer.
Things I can feel,
yet watch the bridges
burn!

And they say it is your fault,
Nature.
Dare I call you by your name?
Dare I call you Human!

so many tears so little effort to stop them
and all our lives are washed away
because the flood is pain
and the end
is
me.

Picasso had it right, you know...
there is no such thing as perfect.
Yet, there is gratitude in the flaw;
there is hope in the falsehood.

She appeared to me
as the manifestation of a fantasy.
I thought that
the perfection within her
blossomed her appearance as symmetry.

The madness
of my obsession cemented
upon her scent.
The string instrument
vibrations of my heart so nuanced,
so rare, yet, so familiar a dream as to be recollections
of heaven.
If she, living, tastes like love,
do delicious pastries
taste like death

The more I knew of her,
the less I knew
pain,
until...

From our love,
so robust in its ripeness,
time gormlessly gorged upon us,
and we decayed,
like seeds in the apple
trapped and never to be free.

It was then that I saw her flaws
and it seemed they were "real"
The distortions grew numerous
and each beauty lost appeal,
peeling away to slowly reveal
the scars that Frankenstein
couldst never, ever heal,
for his monster's myriad scars
are the pillars of its humanity...

Picasso measured the conflicted angles,
and saw perfection would rob them of life.
It is the awkward jostling of misshapen things
that gives them movement, as they ever so try to
shift into place, but if they were to do so,
they would be as the yonder rock,
or the caged boiling soup
of ancient fuel all
perfection
will
be
...

So
I let her go;
I freed myself of
the death I refused to
become. And when she broke,
I told her,
"When you are whole,
you will be happy to break, again."
Break bread with love.

This is the narrative:
I live a comparative nightmare
disparate psyches battle for clarity,
within one body,
the cycle's insanity,
but humanity is the parody of a benevolent charity.

I lead the *** of an army
and lay waste on the enemy
so heavy that the donkey
is appointed head of the EPA:
it's on the trump card.

I don't understand the garbage I spew;
so much waste that there's nothing new.
It all conforms into a deep black goo
that I must dump in the rivers, my pride, too.

There are chains on my soul,
and they are sewn into my flesh
so that I am caged in my body.
When something rots,
there's no room to breathe.
When there is pain, it is amplified.
When I wish to love, I am destroyed,
and this happens with every glance,
for I love at first sight, but I am destroyed
yet, the chains remain, gnawing,
choking, hanging me, please...
Let me free.

Under the weight of this elephantine sea,
of smiling faces hiding madness behind bitter glee,
I try to find myself subliminally,
while tucked behind the ear of chemistry.

I could save true love for a rainy day,
but I have to take things slow
light myself on fire
to smoke the pain away.
I've become a drug to every woman I've known,
the ones who kicked the habit
threw away the bones.

I used to sleep in empty coffins
but I'm trying to live again
trying to love again
but it seems
I only end up "friends".
I write the poetry
to climb the tree
to find the me
that you want to see,
but I'm left with the question...

"Am I not enough?"

Attention is a bluff,
it's the mating call of emptiness.
I want to fill me with you,
but you're a fiction in the blue.
It's the idea of filling that fills,
it's the false love that kills,
the ha-hah, he-hee,
to hide that you don't love me.

So I'm saying goodbye,
I won't write to you anymore.
No more love letters,
I won't be your *****.
I tried to impress you,
but you loved what I hated
and hated what I loved:
you waited above,
but I found you below.

I found that there's nothing,
nothing left to show,
the crush of elephantine sea
crushes more than flesh and bone,
it grinds more than my heart,
no, it crushes the soul.

It's not the crush I'm afraid of,
it's who I won't be after it;
I would no longer be myself,
I'd be the ghost of somebody else.

So I slip out of the sea
and into my life,
because if I don't land,
I'll drift off into nothing.

His footsteps lead to lost places
only he knew the journey;
for all else it was treacherous
they had no light like his burning.

When he drew near,
the horizons were lit as quiet embers that
rise, singing majesty to the heavens
as he rounds the Earth.

His laughter set babes to slumber and
their mothers would shake with desire,
yet none of this would stir him,
no warmth for lord of fire.

'Pon still surface of captivating sea,
a ripple racked the endless reaches
from it rose an alluring beauty,
such that sun seemed weary.

Lord of fire felt his power dim
from somewhere on Earth's rim
and sought out this source
of unyielding force.

There she was,
and how she tamed even
the dance of fickle flames
the lord she did astound.

"What have I found?"

Quick as a blink
the beauty did sink
and silence her visage
leaving lord disparaged.

He searched the sea,
unable to find beauty
no sea could sate this thirst
and erase what was seen.

There wasn't a sign
a glimmer sublime
of beauty to delight
our lord from fright.

His father chastised him
his brothers derided him
yet not fact nor fancy,
could quench him.

His fires grew fierce
they scorched friend and foe
"Where'd you last see her?"
I don't know... I don't know!

A quaking delirium
no sanctum or serum
could quench lord
and fight the flames.

The fires began to
do something tricky
they began to burn him
like a candle's wick.

His shouts pierce the aether
The heavens did respond
they put lord to sleep
mighty flames abscond.

In his dreams,
she was there,
he touched her hand,
he smelt her hair.

She was real,
how could he know
that he was asleep
an endless show,
but his thirst
was quenched
no fray, no throes
he knew what it was
to be drenched.

One brother crept by
and siphoned lord's fire
to become the object
of the living's hungry desire.

But an ember remained
in lord entombed
He's somewhere in sky
we call him Moon.

Cast off your secrets
light the lamp
shake off the veils of slumber
indulge in the essence of life.

She calls
She calls to you and me
the Mother.
She speaks in the tongue of your soul
she is never a stranger
and when you listen
memories of love and bliss enchant you
though they were void not moments ago.

There is a chord still connecting us.
It is strummed when we love one another.
It is strummed when we share in selfless joy.
We are the instruments of this innocent music.
It coaxes the beast, our delusions, into its den.
We lock the gate and frolic in the fields,
safe from the weapons of our own chaotic powers.

The Mother invites us to her table.
Before us, the meal of life has been prepared.
It is whole in the giving.
She warns us to keep it whole.
If we give it back as one, there is a door she promises.
Who knows what lies beyond,
but,
I want to go there...

Do you?