Dawn King

Dawn King Sep 2016

Oh these seasons and how they turn

Are you torn inside

Or holding dear a golden child illusion

Speak your inner truth and bare your soul to me

I hang on every word when you carefully pour them into the irises of my eyes

And might I discover my contribution to your affliction

Dawn King Sep 2016

snake oil

over there is a death practitioner who rides upon a dust covered sheet metal wagon with a squeaky wheel

comes and goes checking in like some kind of manic sales man

he's 6 foot 4 with a bald head that skims the door
heavy footed
eyes like a hawk
drinks a lot of whiskey
talks the **** talk
he's killed so much of me
not much left
but people can't tell
i'm a total wreck

he gives me the potions that are stacked up and poorly arranged in a quasi rusted pharmaceutical despensery and labratory

sometime in the dead of night when i sleep and the cats and crows won't make a peep

Dawn King Sep 2016

Untitled

Ultrasonic sensual
Bare skin ritual
Crown connected
Spirit injected
Kundalini erected
Guided limbs
Perception swims
Devine feminine
Carnal halls
Angelic walls
Cosmic gifts
Earthly rifts
Highest union
Ethereal fusion
Delphic fruition

Reposting previously removed work. Could not come to terms with the title, so will remain untitled -

Dawn King Aug 2016

Hecate at the Crossroads

When you have met the point of intersection where doubt doesn't exist in the mind

And you have left evil eye and imprints of the dead at the center point

At the moment that the high self is just slightly altered and the total manifestation begins to trickle down into the autonomic functions of the ego

It begins an infantile form of self forgiveness that is void of nested spaces that house an association to the systematic map of words and actions that held trial and judgement

Somewhere in the particular dimension Hecate facilitated the depths of soul to be worn about the outer rims of the aura while fastened securely to the glow of high heart chakra

And the soul can depict the source form energy peering into its center with white eyes

This poem is an original work by Dawn King and my intellectual property. It must not be copied or used in any writings, publications, photos, or online platforms without my express permission.

Aug 2016

Musfiq us shaleheen

Alone Else

....
From womb to born
Every morn
Each breath
Even on the road of death
I’m alone
Walking with broken bone

While the Summer wind blows
In this narrow lane
Love flows in my wide vein
As the Streams of heavy rain
Alone else
Only the past tense

In the dark, I hark
A distant bark
In the dream there was
A beautiful park
With a few sign of paws
Yet I couldn’t find any cause

The Streams going down
While flowing in this old town
The Stone grew worn and torn
Rolling else alone
Like my broken bone
.......
@Musfiq us shaleheen

.....

#love #broken #sad #life #death #alone #dark

Dawn King Aug 2016

Your poetry

To read your poetry
Is to feed the hole in my heart
Because when I read your poetry
I can view the single most
Stunning points in my life
The ones that went unmentioned
Left me without speech
Yet carved permanently
On the walls of my mainframe
How could you have known?

Dawn King Aug 2016

A process of thought

When one is merely trapped within the caverns of the mind; thoughtless, or in a raging battle with self analysis

In those moments there, arises opportunity to find complete listlessness

Provide reason to question; if any of it is worth a **** to the self or a single other

Allow contemplation of ideas concerning wasting away while we become the molded version of others

The others are the ones that we systematically seek out to assist us in the culmination of interaction needed to arrive in this place of thought

Yet somehow retain enough of the self to exist