If we are the seed
      And the Apple our
                   Creation.


Then why have we
      Not grown.

For all that falls
     From our branches


Is infertile notions.

It takes only one to flourish,
              Then all shall grow
               Reaching higher,

Than anything that falls.

Sitting silently
               fishing for worth

But all that is caught is a gaze  
                   of illegitimate worth.

A slave to a statue of limitations.

I'm the venom
     Which corrodes

Your reflections.

But never the less.,


               You still look..  


Knowing that over time
          You'll erode
                   Perspective.

And become addicted
       To the venom of my voice.

The caterpillar,
slowly eating at the steam
of the leaf..

Knowing that it will fall,
           but eating never the less.

Were an extinction level event,
               slowly eating away at
                                                     life.

And we will like the caterpillar fall...

This time I'm going to do the hermit thing right
Inner-work and self-love from morning to night  
Awareness of all my woes and insecurities  
Connecting with universal flows and obscurities
Going into my depths, no human interference
Focusing on my soul, not my appearance
Transmuting all my deep pain into sweet pleasure
While turning these dark coals into beautiful treasure
This focus and expansion is serving me well
Returning to my inner heaven, away from this hell

In this day and age if you are different

If you have longer hair and brighter eyes

If you have learned the math of the universe and understand the way nature works

If you have mastered ways to make life bend to your will

If you know how to listen to the vibration of the earth and march to the beat of a different drummer

You are called a witch

And you are judged and persecuted not physically but emotionally

Women hate you and men fear you

Had you been alive centuries ago you would have been burned at the stake

The memory, the anger lives on

But there is no prouder legacy

Fantasy is merely a hungover version of reality, unbarred and subject to the whim of the dreamer

Loosely tethered to existence between a life we wish upon ourselves and a dissatisfied ego

For he who rejects this ideal reveals a falsity in his perception

And he who believes these mistruths that is found undeserving of confidence

Deep within myself
Lies a different “me”
Who is untouched
By my nuances
My happiness, my sorrow.
He watches as I make mistakes
And the same mistakes
And the same mistakes again
Mistakes that lead to my happiness
Then sorrow.
But he remains silent
Sometimes he gives
Me subtle hints
A glimpse of a path
Untrodden
But filled with promise
I try to
Walk that path
But it’s difficult
Due to changing needs
That divulges me
From my path
I am trying to walk
That path even now
But God those screamers
Whose voice is so
Tempting to hear
They offer a clear path
Without hindrance
But Alas! After a short
While I found myself
Standing on the edge of a cliff
Compelled to make a decision
Not so with his path
Though I tread slow
Atop rugged terrain
Covered with fog
Always there is certainty
of a blessing nearby
gentle consoling voices
that inspire me
to go ahead
breaking the fog
but the screamers
never go away
And in the end
I am torn
Between paths
Only that
When I am forced
To jump from that cliff
I always find
The ocean
Whose tides
Return me to shore
To start over again
And the glimpse
Of his path
Beckon me once more
I do not know
What lies on the other
Side but still those blessings
and those soft whispers
of solace
Reinforce my hope
To move on.