the lunacy that is foreseenfrom the eccentric glowof what we affix as attentivewaves in contracted honesty pulling for a dualitydespite our trained individualitywith this intended dissension  we are seeking comfort pushing within our fortifiedfacades dwelling, foretellingmelodic expressions revealing a need for innocenceto run proportionally with socratic thought

familiar waters
flow like a wave,
trickle a rhythmic down poor
grasping solace spaces
within conducive centers

signs-other wise noted
of alternating views,
bundled for impulsive branches

so that we may realize
what we lack at times

a pull upon the contrary
system

without a bias past

Reflected, an iris      of colored contexts      that once had reception without spectacles.       I signed voluntarily the letters to a name      that I sincerely wanted to keep.       I tried to limit the lines      that divided the print      of a written statement of deliverance;      a sealed inner sanctum      that has remained defunct      while displaced of force      all along devout of a substance,       my words strived to be read      ingrained on paper      placed in constants      among summations of variables       clearly he scribed drafts      maintaining a patterned      complex of metaphors      only to contradict       the expressions layered,      confusing this thinker      so that the reader      may interpret a plausible       audibility for thought       looking beyond spectrums      of what is to be foreseen

I need to resist writing metaphorically
with literary techniques and motifs
that occur only for my mind.
I once wrote openly with clear contexts
with rhythmic verses that showed
thoughts kept in line.
That is all lost now.
Writing use to be my medium, my expose
but i've learned beyond this middle line that Icarus
swayed in the sun, fluttering grasping his own wings
that were never part of himself.
He could have used "Red Bull" , but that is just
another false marketing campaign to ourselves;
to utilize tools that already preexist within us all.
The world that we live in is filled with stimuli
that our senses get overloaded and we focus
on what we see in front, as opposed to our front
sour facades, and alternative personas
just so that we can conform; forming
molds that we have no choice but to breath in.Cough!
There is a reason why I wrote in symbols
broken sentence structures, because i did not want to be vulnerable.
To speak this mind, not of mind, not for mind,
but to remindme of emotions, experiences, and realizations.
What we keep inside is our pandora
our deep hope cluttered, underneath,
covered with all that confusionthat we reflect to others.
So, I failed to resist to write in metaphor
but i spoke my mind, i spoke in passion
yet remained somewhat clearand ascertained something to adhere.
Who I am to myself.

stern with his words
to discern his concerns to stranger's for their hearts. infallible to present emotion
through echoing laughers; a healing tone around the restless worries of his kin.
abound him is the aura of forgotten soul,
a classic remixed romantic
comparable to the chivalry lost to the courts of modern life.

Conjure belief where assurance
is easily tempted from doubt.

The physical world acts on
a point to point basis
of action, reaction.

Where the genesis of relativity
as the golden rule
mediates the knowledge
that is perpetuated by irony
through circumstance
and the accidental
incidental coincidences
that bend time.

Symmetry is a natural motion of
consistency, extending from an apex
or midlines, transverses, logarithmic expressions
all from some single origin.

The palms of our hands
are textual markings
of our need for symbolic understanding
in the variances
we create for scientific observation.

Juxtaposed to the stars we created
circular pieces to a wheel in the sky
we hypochondriacs believe
to superimpose as vaccines,
to our inconsistencies we host
as symbiotes
for inverse proportionality.

From the signal, beat, tone,
and definitive sounds
is the pulse of our momentum,
a return to equilibrium.

evening cooled the air
before school.
a solemn thought
and what was felt,
challenged
the feats of futbol
to traversed
hop-scotches

the teacher calls:

child why have you ran there ?

"looking through
the crevices"

"playing hide and seek"

trembling with elation
- where the light
shines through
your smile

signal,
your limber hands
hope through your words
a tone of resilience
your mother once spoke.

Prince,
you are found
return now
along the port line's
seas
she sees you now