From the depths of dark oceans to the emptiness of clear blue skies. From unknown empty deserts to desolate high mountains. The fight for freedom knows no place and the struggle cannot be measured in time. As warriors and comrades we keep the watch. Focusing on the mission at hand, whether on a submarine a hundred phantoms down where no one can hear you scream or in a occupied village where cowards hide behind women and children as special operators deal out lethal justice as the tip of a righteous spear. We must carry on the fight, no matter what the battle field. Away or at home we are the strong and the brave. We few sacrifice for the many and must hold strong to each other. Never wavering always ready to answer the call. Never leaving a comrade behind, whether on the battle field of  a foreign land or on the battle field of recovery hear at home. As one unit a band of brothers and sisters, together we must carry on.

traces of your essence
litter my path, well lighting
the way, charging the rebel in me,
knowing I can truly be no other.

only traces, substantial pieces
have been broken down
into traces, the dust of things
of the past. only remains.

the traces illuminate within me
as if they were me, and I know they are.
your words play as the memories
that I choose to stay in
and replay, and cherish.

traces of stuff gets blown around
and I can taste that which has graced
you. that which flowed through you.
it rests my sense of urgency.

the traces seem to be enough
for me to follow, to a greater me.
to a clearer journey, the rebel being
nourished, while the servant doing the work.

the work that must be done.
the work of the angles.
of the ones that guide us, my grandma.
the work of LOVE,
the one that destroys all it creates.
the power of fate, the feeling laughing
creates. just do the work, she says,
whether they laugh or
turn the heads,
do the work.
put together the traces,
they lead only to You.

I have sons spread around the world
birthed by different girls
foundation built in my arms.
recognition of the need of men
of the Love of a woman,
for a woman to guide his heart,
to open his eyes to his start.

she whispered,

the power of the son.
he is of she, penetrates the sea
and births anew.
she the prototype, the official
original, the womb.

woman, her scent alarms the masses.
and we scream now.
we scream and we cry
we live in angst in our homes,
our men are concerned.
yet our pheromones sense things,
weather and other perturbations.

mothers voice in the heart of her children,
daughters tend to stay closer to home.
women, we hear the call!
as we quiet our longing drawl,
the pull we feel to somewhere, we know not of
a place beyond the beauty of our eyes,
we know,
we remember,
our requirements as a creator.

ours, the power of the reflection
of the full moon,
the trees dance in the monthly celebration,
though in the desert, I've seen a few
who,
when the moon is too full,
too reflective of its presence,
they fold to hide from the light.
knowing whats best for themselves, I trust.

I just can't help but to choose to stand
with Her.
stand in Her light, my mouth
opens for the gift.
the thirst quenched.
head tilted back, think of
the men of the world.
if I could just hug them.

as Ms Badu claims
I bet you LOVE can make it better …
I bet too.
I bet I can heal you.
open your heart, peal the bitter,
drain the water, raise the alter.
praise the lover, embrace as a Mother.
pour into the builder, the sender.
release his true endeavors.
release the tension in his body,
helping him to know
mind over matter.
plugging him into the true
creative power
of his ***, his gift of Love,
of his body penetrating another.
what his self is communicating,
what his seed is sprouting.

he needs our healing.
his heart is calling, and he's stomping around
like a little boy! I have sons, they stomp around…
they need mommys love,
mommys extra love.
she, calls us to her sons.
new normals, open our hearts
health always to follow.

powerful thighs quiver
as new life ruptures
from the core of her.
body goes limp once
life arrives.
temperatures settle and
she stands.
then things get back to normal.

loving me
allow me to lay
me into you.
open me how only you do,
press upon my being
my necessary lesson.
to lay myself in We, only.
loosen the worldly grip,
submit.

melt and fade away.
my outline merged, stretched,
consoled, coaxed to join the whole,
consciously, again.
I testify to be absolved of
the grim
realities of time.
submit to reunion.

I write my submissions
and provide documentation
of time.
I assist energies plans,
providing a helping hand when I can.
when I'm not caught in my mind,
planning my energies span.

I open my heart in submission.
I open my life to the illumination, within.
I need not technological advances
to tell me the time.
I look up, and see the times
before us, upon us,
coursing through us, setting
the future.
and I fear not.
for my heart has felt the truth,
it submits naturally
once the focus is set
on submission
to God

you see I'm a Pisces
and so pieces of me are
lost at sea.
bobbing in the oceans glee,
swimming with halves of
other Pisces. trying to balance things out.
made with the end of the other
in the mouth.
designed to serve
and move like water.

you see I'm a Pisces
and so parts of me are in you.
naturally, its the last Zodiac,
the finale before, reborn again.
Pieces of me sense the end is near,
the end of the separation, the twin
is to return.
she is to swim upstream and reunify
with other pieces of me, and
reassure me
I am ONE.

pieces of you infect my mind
replay constant stories, mostly lies.
the truths are overly
inspiring, and so I thrive.
I miss you.
I wade in the shallow end.
I know you are preparing for me… and so I wait.

I wait while I move, stillness
only during contemplation.
positive movement is my
dedication, my natural flow.
though my muscles tire too.
especially Pieces of me that
take upstream home,
slow and steady, they moan.
never too impressed by the journey
alone.
tunnel vision, only thinking of her own
time in the currents, just missing
the cycle of things.

yet only able to allow the cycle of things
to take their course,
as they naturally do.

and so pieces of me will wait for you.