(To fools without fear)

So I implore you,

To sit at Death's table,
and eat his fears;

To dine with fine wine,
and season the spine of darkness with pain;

To be drunk on hope,
in crystal glasses made of tears;

To be high on communion,
and poison Chaos' reign;

To look into his eyes,
so blank, so bleak, so black,

and laugh.

Make him tremble.
Make him proud to take us.

Know that,
in afterlife,
it is not a crime to be born
out of time,
waiting for
the end of an era
that never came—
soon enough for you.  

Are you seeing the immortal roots of the trees
you’ve planted springs ago,
in the garden that has outlived you?
Because I hear you in
the leaves’ rustling whispers:

All life returns to the ground,
but this is how you inherit the earth.

To Jess

The heat, the humidity,
And the bright blankness of the sky.

Handicapped by fear, not darkness.
Shaken, yet their bodies vigilant.

Bold crimson seared through the flesh
Like fresh sin bled into it.

A conspicuous scarlet letter.
I was a public display, a warning to all.

An audience of whispers whirled before me,
But I did not waver like they did.

Cross after cross, crisis after crisis,
Crucifixion made hands sandpaper dry.

My sentence was final. A full stop.
I danced with deadly weight.

I was hell itself. I had walked through fire.
My skin marked unforgiving constellations.

So what was that little light of yours,
To a shell dead inside?

Since when did we  
carve coffins
(with a coldness we can hibernate in)
out of each other’s cruelty?

Had i known gods perish
by their believers’ hand,
i would’ve stopped you from swearing
— on our mutual martyrdom —

“Cross my heart and
Hope to die.”

like so many things,
it is a state of mind.
it comes from within.

a ricochet between worlds.  
a progression, a gradient, a spectrum.  

like a child’s mind,
it grows and grows and grows,
always evolving.

but it is most like
a flower:
even with the kindest elements,
it must flourish on its own.

To a.g., and all the clichés that suffice.    

Here lies the Ocean’s haunting question:
Is it a curse or a gift to be who I am?

                                Who are you then?

Soft touch suffices to smother.
Songs that scream with thunder.  
Hidden depths enough to drown.

Through the sound of the waves
Swashing, breaking, stilling...
The answer of the Earth dawns
In resounding cadence:

A storm is but another name for baptism,
And the Gift of Life I embrace.

Love
You use it like a currency
One coin — after another —
when slipping through the mouth
of a vending machine
is no longer enough
You shove and pound on!
Until I gag:

moneysecurityopportunitysuccesspridepowerstatusdreamshappin­essthingsthingsthingsdeadthings

When I ask You:
“Do You regret gambling away
in me the Life that was promised
to You  
as a wasteful investment
when my open hand holds only
Disappointment?”

You answer with conviction
suffices to convict me
“Blood is thicker than water
so I will try harder”
as I swallow — each —
and — every —
— well — meaning — copper —
flood my throat
in the ****** beautiful taste of Love
Love
Love
Love
Nothing
but Love.

I shall never starve for Love
if only I had the stomach for such Food.

How I prayed fervently for a love
that shall make me holy, whole,
and sacrificed myself to the devil I forged from fire.

A home more than a house.
The kiss of The One.
Mending schism between two minds.  

When I stopped praying for such doomed ambitions,
and started looking inward,
I find in me my Deliverance:  

My home.
The love of my life.
Harmony of the head and heart.

I dress in black to a funeral
to mourn someone
that i used to know
and linger
let her haunt me
like a mantra  

her former skin
her former bones  
her former heart
her former mind
her former strength
her former spectra  

funny how
i am the ghost
the pale phantom
in her mirrored image
standing over
my former self.

From a thousand miles away,
Or at an arm's length,
One could hardly take their eye off
From the spot in a sea of white.

Amid the identical bleats on the grassland,
Stood a distinguished creature -
The only one of his kind -
Legendary, no less magnificent.

Yet, since a little lamb,
he was obscure to the eye of his kin.
They squinted and scanned and studied
him, even liked the lame better.

Never did he understand
The reason behind his isolation,
Why a lovely creature like him
Was born to walk alone.

His traitorous heart longed for more
Yet the soft clouds were not home.
So he wore his color like a badge,
Blazing darkness in delight.
  
On his fours, he staggered forth.