She’s a wild beauty A wild women. A bookworm. She sits and signs in her solitude... From mourning the attired sorrows that fills up her mind, To the exhausted eyes that watch the sunrise, the sunset the night falling... At peace By the silver waters The early encounter by the glacial bay. The green atmospheric halos That capture winters frost. A wild beauty No she doesn’t hide She stands out Greeting the pain Bidding adieu to the tomorrow Reflecting on the yesterday Wishing it would’ve stayed.
She comes to me in whispers her feet treading water above silvered shards as her cerulean stare pierces the dark. I breath in the atmosphere as her chill sets my lungs to burn. Both fear and adoration fill my mind as beauty in it's bleakest form, beckons.
Yesterday night, as I was crossing the bridge of the past, your name was barely floating underneath, I looked at it as it was half submerged, half breathing, and my hand didn't reach out for it, instead, it reached out for my heart, listened to its beats, they said walk to the end of the bridge, and I did, my hand reached for my hair and cut two strands to make a ribbon to tie the past, you loved my hair after all, didn't you?
little dark girl with kind eyes when it comes time to use the knife I won't flinch and i won't blame you, as I drive along the shore alone as the palms wave, the **** heavy palms, as the living does not arrive as the dead do not leave, i won't blame you, instead i will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me, and I will remember your small room the feel of you the light in the window your records your books our morning coffee our noons our nights our bodies spilled together sleeping the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever your leg my leg your arm my arm your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again. little dark girl with kind eyes you have no knife. the knife is mine and i won't use it yet.
To never be quiet again i pray To sing of bones and teeth And soaring birds Of change eternal transmuting The aggregate of we To newer dreams unthought Till seen in the moment arisen Of monkeys contemplating in trees Of vibrating mind stuff Incarnate oscillations Neither existence nor non existence But the fullness of the inexpressible The beauty of no shape No form No archetype but the make believe The source of breath The source of sight The source of consciousness Infinite variety bewildering to ignorance To birth and death continuous Till birth and death transcended The exhilarating mystery of motive power Of Himalayan hillsides Prayer flags in the wind Hammer and chisel stone work Snow And the virtuous wishes of all Sentient beings Amen