Down by the shore
I stood naked and alone
Asking my father above
Where could be my home
Why has all forsaken
Leaving me to drown
In silence pain and loneliness
My ears deaf to all sounds

The water look calm no ripple at all
No crying of waves or crashing down
In anger and dispare
The stillness it showed
Calmed my heart
Not a sound in the air

I stepped forward upon the sand
Making fists with my hands
Closed my eyes and I could feel
The water kissing me

I want to feel the bite of cold
To know that something cares
And as alone I did walk
Thinking of a prayer

None would sing inside my mind
As deeper I did fall
The cold quiet water now
Becomes my one and all

And now the end has greeted me
No longer do I crave
A kind of love that never came
My lord I thought would save

Take heed, but do
not take hold...memory
is more than can be
remembered.
From personal, to
collective... by
disjunction it will be forgotten.
As if its shapelessness were a ripple,
touching on itself to be--
to remember...till it must
adhere to the loss of its round.
Truly, memory is more than
can be remembered,
minds are drawn out by lack
of distinction.

I've seen beauty
feign ugly, to behold
what you carry.
Subject to object of
affection, beholding
itself squarely.
As the attributeless
stupor of its own light...
Lovestruck.

As a nail is forgotten
in the wood it's driven
in...confounding purposes
uphold liberating ones.
The dull aches of those
inveterate grayish regions
of a standing structure--
inversion of human proportion...
sanctum sanctorum.

The only thing
impervious to
to death & decay,
is inner space...
remain there.

The true worship of all that's sacred
Is more than tolerance
It's acceptance even when
Your heart isn't feeling very
Compassionate...

To know a window
for the light it allows,
to know a door for
the entry it allows...
orients the spirit in
this opalescent dream.
Dissolving elegantly
by being...a prophet,
a prophetess' attestation...
simply being.
Drifting through light
more expanded than day,
through dark more contracted
than night.
As if these are tempered by
spirit alone, a standstill...
a mercurial unearthing.
Presences out of Presence itself--
white steps, whited by white steps.
Unbearable scrutiny in the utmost
nakedness...unburdened to the
most beautiful non-judgement.
As if travail lingered just shy of
its ultimate resting point...white
steps, whited by white steps.
A familiarity so rending, the fore
of space bled true light...white steps.

Doesn't a root whistle
in memory of the wind
on its way down?
Knowing downwardness,
is upwardnes...in the
subtle song of its bed?

Lo, the drunken ordinance of light through
stained glass, lest to rehash the peopled
white of infinity.
Reach...with what folding passion second
guesses the labor of its love...the warm
footfalls of the sun overlaying the intricacy
of a snowflake...as captions of bone
dissolving upon the motion picture.
Perpetually opening seasons enamored
directionless...cancellation and activation
which is The Spark upon dark...striations
of dreams upon the gyres of galaxies.
Proofs positive of palpable breath, given
and taken in gloried passage.
The cloistered ghost gifted the laughability
of its cloister.
A polish fit for heresy...listen to the
crystalline structure as it bats its eyelashes.

@--\------


fragile
as a mist
over
the
placid
lake
of
slumber

mirror
of
moonlit
ponds

ma­uve
mysterious
midnight

murmuring
scented
secrets
to
the
sachet
­skies

Sirius
spinning
subterfuge

luminous
loquacious
liquid
lig­ht

pours
roses of glass
out of organic
orafic
edifices

equinoxes
edifying
garish
gardens

burnt­ in
effigy

glass rose
thorns
broken
off
shattering
into
brilliantly
scintillating
­
sand



SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/29/2016