You cain't go back
to yesterday's dawn
by adding another verse
to an old song

When time was by my side
we galloped through the years
Now the time shows and slows
and disappears

"Where has time flown ?"
is but an insult to youthful plea
protagonist to the old
and just echoes in me

While love was delegated ,
regulated , copulated . . .
it became sedimentated ,
heated , then pressurized

It became cold marble
entombed in ways
that now are just
memorried

I read the news today
She doesn't know if we care
Her lifeless body is in our hands
Do we have a moment to spare?

I saw her picture
A life of love and flowers
Hate became the poison
That turned years into hours

I cried once again
I am willing to say how I feel
Life passes much too easily
I don't want to forget what's real

I'm so sorry beautiful child
Must innocence pay for our sin?
Is there nothing we can do
But to ask God to forgive us again?

There's no hope in a mountain of regret
         Yet,
             we keep on climbing
    And piling it higher
                and higher
     Hoping to reach the top
                Knowing all we'll see
    Is the smoke floating
           from bridges we've burned
     And a  t r  a   i   l
                  of mistakes
   Leading to the lessons
             we thought we learned
     But regret has a funny way of sneaking up on you
            Thinking you're in the clear
     Making a run for it
Then smashing right into
       that MOUNTAIN you built out of fear
    Looking back is easier than looking ahead
           Cause there's nothing left to fear
            If you're *already dead...

The Romans were right.
Be it death, be it life,
One can bear anything.
When the waves go rough,
Hold on to nothing.

Layered with guilt and destruction,
You wrestle with the past.
"You can start anew"; a lie,
There's no such thing as an empty canvas.



You live in ruins,
You build on ruins,
People surrounding you like relics.
You cannot create a starting point.
Embrace the past,
and never abandon any memory,
Be it beautiful, be it cruel.

I sing again in praise of love unknown,
In ancient form, composed of stolen phrase.
This timeless moment everything is shown,
And I am forgotten in the uncounted ways
Narcissistic I's you and me and they;
Desire, embodied to be laid aside
One last of time to make the passion play:
One love to fill the emptiness inside
Whence all the horror of the endless 'me',
Lost, loveless, fearful, cruel, un-free:
That not-thing knot that I refuse to be
And am... Am not, and only dying see.
This dying borning life is always new,
And I am love and life, and I am you.

Unspoken words screaming to those who listen
pleas of the fallen ****** echo through abandoned halls
eroded by millions of years of emptyness
lingering sadness, the tears of Regret
create a damp moist atmosphere
moss absorbs and settles in the dark
growing....conquering for reasons undisclosed
because it can
because it can mercilessly run free unchecked through the empty space
slowly but surely establishing dominance...
the wind lies still
slumbers like an ancient Dragon
away from all the events happening elsewhere
time slows to a near stop
the voices sleep with the wind
and all comes to an end
slowly and surely the passage of time ceases to exist
when all life and energy comes to a complete standstill
it is then a place becomes eternity
it is then the definition of time is rebuttled
Shattered physics as broken shards of glass uncover the lie that lies behind it
time doesn't exist. Merely the speed at which events move.. and when all stops moving immortality can be achieved.

Poetry
           is
Like
         Cooking,
We
       May
All
         Use
The
       Same
Ingredient's,
                     But
It
           Is
The
                 Quantity
And
             Taste
Of
             Each
   One
That
         Makes
   Each
Morsel
                   Melt
In
             The
Mind
           A
Different
                     Way....

I saw you over there, lustful man.
I braided **** ribbons in my hair
so they could make you think
of wrists
and feet
and places of interest.
Ribbons of heat
curling from
the effort of
not watching me.
The devil leaves a sinful man
who fights within himself-
The devil leaves the sinful man to battle
lonesome.
The devil knows what you do not-
you'll never leave as victor.
I pass my glaze of a glance of sigh of a slight turn-
you de-watched me too.
That is to say
you watched me so tightly
you had to un-think me with purpose.
You had to descend on those
deviant rungs
step ginger down,
rung by rung by rung
and you stopped half way
between me up here
and me down there.
and oh! what a glorious place you stopped.
The holy place of me- where I am still a Mary
and a Magdelene?
I've yet to be.


Sahn
3/3/15