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Jan 2016 · 401
Queen of Hearts
HRTsOnFyR Jan 2016
I met a man once
Who claimed he was the devil,
I took him to bed
In the back room of a used book store.
We drove through the countryside
While he enchanted me with poetry;
His sorrowful sonnets
Rang in my ears,
Revealing, with shamefulness,
His lifetime of fears;
Tears fell from my heart
As I took his hand in mine,
For I found that he and I
Held our fair share of troubled times.
Jan 2016 · 493
Endurance
HRTsOnFyR Jan 2016
My heart searches the airwaves for an answer...
Feeling for a pulse,
For a bead of life.
Tired and torn,
My understandings shatter like glass...
Teardrops line the cracks and gaps
That exist between the fragments
Of my scuffed and scattered mind.
Memories dance like a rogue sunbeam
Sparkling on the sequins of my blouse.
Like silver stars twinkling across a sea of Burberry carpet,
Flashes of inspiration capture my wandering eye.
A twist of thread lies on the floor before me;
Black and tangled,
Free and formless...
A stark contradiction to my carefully catalogued
Collections of thought.
I somehow awoke to this nightmare:
A kingdom of sorrow
Where fear has become the patriarch.
Enslaved by my base desires,
Steel bars of ignorance brandish the cells
Of my caged and captive potential.
Every atom of my composure
Becomes no more than a cruel trick of light,
A practiced sleight of hand...
A ruse that has become impenetrable,
Seamless and familiar;
Touching the darkest parts of the heart,
Caressing the ill begotten frills
Of our utterly underdeveloped souls.
Yet, still,
we endure.

The wheel turns,
The fire burns,
The spirit yearns,

The ashes gather
And fill the urns...

And Still,
We Endure.
Dec 2015 · 606
Dream Traveller
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2015
Her fingertips tease the seams of the tattered trunk,
Like a recovered remnant of the Titanic,
Rotting velvet lid cap,
Torn paper liner,
Tilting, listless shelves.
The scent of two centuries of existing
Slowly seeping into her sympathetic senses,
The smell sparking a myriad of imaginings;
Like a menagerie of nostalgic rememberings
A kaleidoscope of irreconcilable memories,
The trunk tells many bold and treacherous tales;
She lets the stories play out in her mind
As she runs her hands across the cracked leather,
Visualizing the hand driven rivets of the trim,
Fingers stopping ever so slightly to pause on the cool steel,
The circular clasps and the rusty, broken locks.
She suddenly smells the salty sea air of the helm of a steam ship,
She sees a silk handkerchief with a lipstick print,
Seductively scented with her own blend of oil of lilac and rose water,
Quietly clutched with subconscious desperation
In the front pants pocket of his threadbare blue jeans.
A bouquet of flower wilts in a vase,
It adds a semblance of mourning
To amplify the loneliness of the scene,
The candles and the curtains drawn low in her cold, dreary cabin
She leans, shuddering, crying over the side of the trunk,
Red rouge making red rivers of silent tears
That run rampant down trembling, rose coloured cheeks,
She lifts the tin of his aftershave,
Breathes him in one more time before going to bed.
The gentle rocking of the ships stern lulls her to sleep.
And with a sigh,
The girl is sleeping too,
A gentle smile playing on her lips,
Her limp wrist still reaching for another story from the magic steam trunk that lies open
In the barest corner of her room.
Dec 2015 · 580
Repetetive Notions
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2015
Tears and mascara make watercolors,
A charcoal coloured liquid maneuvering across my skin...
Illuminating all the cracked lines,
Seeping into my pores, into my being...
Blackening the rough edges within.
Its raining while the birds are still singing.
It always feels like November
In the Land of the dead and dreaming...
I am stuck on repeat.
This nightmare keeps on depleting my hope.
My heart is utterly broken.
Every word left unspoken becomes a poisoned arrow...
A dagger in my throat.
I'm sorry for being me.
I'd take it all back if I could.
Dec 2015 · 388
Some Things Never Go Numb
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2015
So...

There were a lot of really articulate things that I wanted to say to you.

I was REALLY gonna let you HAVE it.
But then...

I could no longer hold onto the words;

The underlying sensations of
Loneliness and Sorrow that
Permeated my entire being.
I think I cried...

I KNOW I drank.

Someone else came along...
Said they loved me...

I was flattered,
And I wanted to believe them...
So I did.
No matter the cost.

I was broken.

I still am.
Dec 2015 · 366
Without a White Horse
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2015
My hands reside in a state of quiet contemplation
Whilst my mind rattles the very foundations of my emotionally charged cage.
This poker face eloquently hides the scores of sharp, smoldering daggers
That lie lodged in the fabric of my sweet, shivering soul...
They serve as a searing reminder of the cruel cacophony of my youth;
The burning heart of my innocence.
I have grown to accept the irony.
There is no white horse...
No shining knight of honor and valour.
Only a succession of lies
And a procession of sly, sneering eyes.
Dec 2015 · 357
Hollow Hands
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2015
I am slowly becoming mute,
A wary fool moonlighting as a practiced mime...
Trembling hands make feeble passes,
Mixing the oils on the canvasses of life...
Talk is cheap, mostly hollow
We're all but ghosts trapped in a dream,
A tortured marathon of reruns
I reawaken, yet again, to these old scenes.
Dec 2015 · 542
Scars and Stripes
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2015
She exits the door with apprehension
The push of their sorrows, their fears... their lonely hearts
Have become all but unbearable
She can't take the train these days without having a panic attack
Vague reflections dance across the window panes
The light rail careens down the tracks and into the mountainside
While she nervously chews at a hang nail
The precession of half remembered dreams begins
Flashes of color and scent and sound
Her first day of preschool
The Easter basket her mother crushed in a drunken rage
The bruise she was told to lie about
The feel of the cool sand on her feet as she sat by the river
Smiling eyes and lying hands,
Betraying her innocence
Countless nights rendered indecipherable by gin
Calloused thumbs and empty lighters and blackened pipes
Sorrows, rejection, rage, fear... emptiness
The smell of his milk stained onesie, his blanket, his photographs
The tiny, perfectly trimmed nails of his plaster of paris hand
That she keeps in a heart shaped box,
Along with a swatch of hair
The anger in her ex husbands eyes
The loveless torment of her mother's unending hate
Her father's misplaced indifference
The heat of her own silent tears
Become nothing more than the scars and stripes on her back
And the constellations of stars, seemingly etched in her eyes
Yet still,
She Endures.
Dec 2015 · 379
Rememberings
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2015
She falls in and out time
Flys about like the winged feet of Mercury
Riding upon the flickering flame of consciousness
Navigates the chattering currents of light
She buckles down, leans into the wind
Only to finds herself host to a house full of ghosts
She dines with them,
Pours another glass of wine with them
All the while she feels the undeniable weight of their chains
Through their hollow smiles, she sees them crying,
Yet she says nothing...
For she cannot help but to relate.
All she can do now is laugh
At the absurdity of her quiet, casual observations
For time reveals that there really are
No greater demons
Than the ones that reside
Within the sum of her own reflection.
She dresses herself for the evening ahead,
Once again, she'll be attending the annual masquerade ball.
Everyone there wears a disguise of his own design,
Yet rarely is it one of his own choosing.
So today she won't be at the mercy of some unseen spectral stylist.
Today she takes a watchful eye,
And faces the shelf of faces herself.
Careful not to choose a mask that is too gaudy,
Nor too wild, nor too frighteningly cruel.
Because she already knows that nobody can leave the party until after midnight anyhow...
So she might as well dance.
Dec 2015 · 646
Rebirth
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2015
I watch the leaves fall
Caught by the pull of the wind
Dancing on the currents
Weightless and free
A flock of color and movement
Each one synchronized to it's own rythym
Yet together, they move as one
Slipping between the fingers
Loosening themselves
From a tangle of gnarled branches
Finding release in the moods of the season
Gently falling in the pools of water below
Spinning in the fluidity
Reflecting the tones and the hues of the Earth
Reflecting the discarded sorrows of men
Reminding the eye of the cycle of change
A silent symphony of discordant notes
Creating a mural of raw, powerful beauty
The colors blend like a Monet
A sparkling image of hope
Winter's fragile bones
An undeniable promise of Spring
Rebirth
Nov 2015 · 346
Just a Dick
HRTsOnFyR Nov 2015
Sometimes I wish I had a *****.
Then I could be just another mind...
An equal contribution in the room.
Instead of just one more object to posess,
One more possession to opress,
One more distraction
on which
They can obsesss.
"You've always been a **** to me," he said.
Sweeter words had never been spoken.
Nov 2015 · 609
One Eye Open
HRTsOnFyR Nov 2015
We are blessed
And we are beautiful,
It's the scars and lines
Between our eyes
That make us so unusual.

We give our best,
Accept what's left,
With star crossed minds
And Angels' shine,
We fall awake
Like dreaming ghosts.
Nov 2015 · 830
Dancing with the Cosmos
HRTsOnFyR Nov 2015
Four quarter moons turn,
Four silver glances in time,
Bound to seven planetary arms,
Rotational orbits,
Spiral and thunder,
Spoke and wheel,
The hammer falls,
Throws the cogs into gear,
Churning out these ghosts of creation,
Violence and chaos bed the morning,
A wedding dress for the sun,
A veil for the moon,
The audience attends in quiet slumber,
Death is merely a rite of passage,
Birth reshapes the fallen ashes,
Carbon feeds the famished soil,
A chain of daisies rise from the scorched undergrowth,
Carving a path through a
Charcoal coated forest,
Life slowly returns to life,
Tender shoots of lavender,
Mint and fern unfurl,
An old woman fills her water vessel
Bent along the edge of the river banks.
Her gentle eyes,
The color of emeralds and honey,
Reflect the shimmering starlight...
Each one shining like a freshly shorn pearl.
A choir of trees sings;
The melody riding on the breath of the wind,
Leaves a lingering kiss like a whisper,
on her cheek.
Beneath the wiry hair of an unkempt  willow
She makes a bed of dry grasses and deerskin,
Sets in for the anothet night beneath this ebony colored canvas.
She lies awake in revelry,
recalling those stories of the great and powerful Gods of long forgotten twilights...
Their portraits drawn in celestial inks of sapphire, crimson and gold,
Transcribed in the blood of her ancestors,
Mirrored in the strength of her spine,
Amplified by the depths of her heart,
She, like so many before her,
Will endure the weight of another days work,
Will continue the dance between Sky and Sea,
Earth and Beast...
Letting the seasons pass without judgement.
Grateful for every scar, every tear,
Every spontaneous bout of laughter,
And for every sweet sigh of relief.
#loveistheanswer
Oct 2015 · 704
An emerson excerpt
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2015
I am the owner of the sphere
Of the seven stars
and the solar year
Of Caesars hand
and Plato's brain
Of Lord Christ's heart
and Shakespeares strain
Oct 2015 · 674
Loving You is Loving Me
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2015
Quiet little One...
No longer must you cling
To those clamouring,
Corrosive thoughts of old.
Accept that We Were
All born yesterday.
And again today...
And in every passing hour.
So even Now,
Our spirit pulsing with the Moment.
Breathe as the sky breathes...
One continuous sigh of Completion.
A subtle forward motion;
Effortless, attentive,
Unpolluted in contentment.
Arm yourself with joy,
Infinitely beguiled by life,
This plethora of blessings;
Never ceasing to revel in a Common state of wonder.
Your awkward smile,
Your broken shine,
Your gentle sorrows;
They light the candle
Of your eye; becoming
Amplifiers of your beauty...
Sparkling rays of laughter,
Tossed like tinsel,
Across each heartfelt Conversation.
Waken to the embrace of
Human error;
For both Comedy and Tragedy
Are remedies we share.
Oct 2015 · 1.4k
Renewal (10W)
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2015
°°
~Keep changing perspective;
If only to combat the dwindling light~
°°°*°
Oct 2015 · 297
Untitled
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2015
The red pill makes you happy,
And the blue one makes you numb.
Now a half a swill of *****
'Till the noises start to run...
Pick a peck of primo powder,
Grip a rock to gain some ground,
Ride with the wave,
it gets you higher,
Crash hard and fast,
embrace the ground.
Oct 2015 · 326
Flame Eternal
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2015
Release the wire!
Go tumbling down,
Free fall through the ages.
I AM the Fire!
Commanding flames
I burn with the Gypsies,
And shine among Sages.
Oct 2015 · 283
Chaos or Craft(10W)
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2015
Does life unfold so fluidly, or marked and measured lucidly?
Oct 2015 · 320
Just Old Time
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2015
Like heart;
Love; Sun; Soul.
Just old time.
Sea eyes.
Dark life mind.
Sky soft white pain.
Water rise.
Light feel.
Blood, self power.
Past fell.
Broken beach waves.
Wild, cold spring.
Smile away.
Green hands lost.
Closed place.
Slowly grown end.
Mountain hearts.
High angel, walking pieces,
Man lives.
Pink meadow grasses.
Face knows flesh.
World left.
Earth night, deep shadows trail.
Weigh true sweet child.
Island gold heat.
Winter quiet.
Yellow, beneath summer thoughts
Lies lips.
Dreams dance .
Long red breathe.
Death stands.
House God.
Good fall.
Darkness hands hope's path.
Dead wings.
Spirit blue tears.
Tired silver blossoms.
Loving waters.
Bright baby high
Feels black.
Lines edges.
Infinite, scarred.
Snow, ancient,
Carried glass.
False crystal channel.
Flume inside.
Moment, existence.
Silent wet body.
Kiss, break,
Watch, tangle.
Play.
Forgotten arms came.
Pieces:
Star, moon, human, steel.
Fear stands,
Truth cut, truly small.
Courage, emotions
Touch rivers; Souls.
Rains think.
Leaves kindly leave.
Finally catching gentle songs.
Bleeding ocean tides.
Wind completely crying.
Growing spent.
Stream's edge.
Currents softly.
Big mountains.
Frozen pulse.
Hell colors surface.
Large, low, bent.
Nearby wire forest
Blooms patch
Amidst errant branches.
Little gray clouds whisper tears.
Fates made marvelous things.
Air holds familiar dreams.
Searching wind's,
Eye's of thought,
Star minds echo, shine.
Remaining rays
Reflect endeavour.
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
He pulls a feather from her bodice
She laughs and turns a coy cheek.
The boa, all but bare, looks ragged.
Like her smile when she's feeling anxious.
She feels the heat of his eyes, feels his intensity.
Her fears belie her desires. She wishes she could see.
See what he sees. See this thing that he calls beautiful.
He seems to look to look right through her skin.
But all she can focus on is the curves and the scars.
The strange shape of her body. The embarrassment.
The awkward turn of her mouth. The knit in her brow.
Her conflicts with pleasure, her repulsion for needing to submit.
The memories that bite at the back of her moans.
The shadows of abuse crawling out of the seams.
Ugly, twisted devils that sought to steal her innocence.
Returning to feed again, to taint the morrows of adulthood.
All of these things color the love she makes.
Tar and feather it. Blacken it with shame.
He senses her discomfort. Internalizes it. Confuses it.
He shrinks back, recoiling from the slap of rejection.
But it isn't him at all. Him, she craves. Salivates for.
But like the ringing of Pavlov's bell, they've built a deeper path.
Men she never knew; Can't even remember. Faces obscured.
Yet she can trace the footprints they've left on her mind.
Tracks set with iron spikes running through the bedrock,
Through the deepest layers of her psyche. Below the surface.
To where thoughts exist without consciousness, without effort.
The symphony of tragedy continues to play on.
She has no words to express this to him.
She can only hope that he senses it.
Senses the murky bubbles of awakening as they arise.
Senses her need for him. Her need for his patience.
Senses her need for silence, for distance and recollection.
Senses her need for his quiet embrace. For understanding
For her troubled state of mind and damaged sense of self.
For a self that she has barely even begun to understand.
Sep 2015 · 749
The Learning Curve
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
I don't require complete perfection,
Authenticity would suffice...
The two swords of mind
Are constantly dueling
Within the hearts of men.
Accept what is,
Tame the ravenous inner beasts,
Forgive your brother
For his fallible, carnal nature.
Also forgive yourself.
No man alive escapes desire,
Jealousy, anger, greed.
We all have known pain,
Mourning and loss;
To understand this with compassion
Becomes the test,
To embrace ourselves with lovingkindness
Is the goal.
This accomplishment supersedes merely abstaining,
Transcends our transgressions,
Licks the wounds of fate,
Heals the darkness.
Enter the perilous eye of
the storm ahead,
Unshakeable in faith.
Brimming with confidence and joy,
Humble and grateful.
Stand, immovable, in your divinity,
Protected and guided
By the highest order of knowledge.
Take every step.
Grow, love, learn, teach, trust,
Yet remain unafraid.
Fortitude and courage will reveal
The true Warriors.
Sep 2015 · 354
To Exist
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
I seek not to control
Only to understand
I seek not to perfect
Only to empathize
I seek not to impress
Only to exist
Sep 2015 · 2.8k
Humility (10W)
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
Arm yourselves with shame... Humble heartedness; the gallows of Ego.
Sep 2015 · 447
My Porcelain Heart
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
I feel so hollow sometimes
As weightless as your charms
Resting quiet at my breast
Bound to you in depth, by death,
I carry silent remnants
Like a noose around my neck
A porcelain heart
An Angel's wing
A silver crying moon
A heart of steel
A balanced cross
A grief too deep to feel.
I too am now a cloud.
I lost my baby boy in May and I'm still trying to process all of the emotions. To lose a child is the ultimate sorrow. None else compares. I wear his heart from the hospital every day. The sound of the charms jingling when I walk brings me comfort, reminds me daily of him.
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
The words that go unspoken actually make the most noise.
Sep 2015 · 790
Crescendo(10W)
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
Time is like a throwing star; It has many apexes
Sep 2015 · 390
Currents
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
Love blossoms with the summer rains
Magnetic and enchanting
Yet as merciless as the crown
Her bold fragrance and vibrant hues,
Captivating to behold,
Inspires weary souls, she signifies hope
Her roots travel like copper wires
Tangling through hearts
Connecting emotions, drawing power into life
Her thorns deftly piercing the skin
Scarred hands abound
Fingertips taste of iron and salt
Blood stains the pallor of youth
Darkening the tones
Adding shadows and lines to form
Casting stones upon the gentle waters
Agates slowly sinking
Stirring up forgotten sediments from below
Clouding the vision and scattering shells
I swim through the viscous ether
Ride the channels
Bending the light; We create these waves
Sep 2015 · 321
My Sweet Edwin (15w)
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
He makes me smile from a part of my cheeks
that I never knew existed
Sep 2015 · 1.1k
My Snuggle-bug
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
There's nothing quite like cuddling you
Early in the morning
While the house lies still and quiet
And it feels like all the world is fast asleep
Your bristly chin rubbing across my forhead
Your eyes smiling seductively with your **** lips
Hungry, yet gentle, your fingertips move across my hips
I burrow down against your chest
There's nowhere safer than here in your arms
The scent of your skin like Linus' blanket to my soul
Sep 2015 · 1.2k
Thru the Looking Glass
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
Though phantoms may be howling at the edges of my mind
Ripping away gobs of flesh until my soul lies exposed
Rotting off my skull, hanging loose from my tired bones
Whilst the terrifying multitude of my unseen fear
Hath become like the vile, gnashing teeth of night's Reaper
As I bare witness to the demons rising and writhing
Within the silver pool of my own lean, haunted reflection
Yet I cannot turn away; Even in my darkest hour
I must summon the courage to stay; For this is my reckoning.
Sep 2015 · 1.0k
A Longing
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
While the other children were content
To play jacks and skip rope
She preffered the company of the old oak tree
Towering in the back corner lot of the schoolyard
She rested against it's mighty trunk
Basking in the cool shade she loosened her bonnet
Only the toes of her patent leather shoes
Catching beams of wavering sunlight
As they arched through the rustling leaves
A sweet song of a robin whistled amongst the branches
As she smoothed the pleats of her dress
A leather bound book at rest on her thighs
It's jacket so familiar and a comfort to the touch
The scent of it's brown and curling pages
Reminding her of late winter nights by the fire
When her grandmother's kind smile shone so brightly
As the flames from the hearth danced in her eyes
While she spun the girl one of her many stories
As deftly as her fingers could pull stitches
From a mountain of patchwork piled on her lap
The chiming of the bell marked the end of play
And she shook herself from her daydream
Dusting off the errant leaves and grasses
She lined up at the entrance to the courtyard
A sweet smile forming on her lips
Though a measure of sorrow still lingered in her heart
A bittersweet mix both of pleasure and mourning
Her spirit pining for the solace of those precious days; of her past
Sep 2015 · 410
Wildfires
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
Smoke filled the streets
The scent of burnt pine and ash trees
Acrid and sharp to my nose
The mountain all but lost in the haze
Bridges appear and disappear
Ghost drivers in shining metal autos
Winding in and out of sight
Aug 2015 · 423
Falling for You, My Lover
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
He lies atop her in the darkness
Passion leaves them beautiful, breathless
A bead of sweat falls from his brow
Following the curve of her arm
Reflecting the light from down the hall
The sparkling droplet catches her eye, she sighs
Bodies entwined, a Lord & his Lady,
Rememberings of a shakespearean dream
Timeless sonnets spun from a golden spire
Their love is a requiem to other worlds
A lost age, all but forgotten
The blood roils in her veins, curling her toes
She meets his gaze and feels her pulse begin to rise
A smile playing on her lips, hand caressing his cheek,
Enflamed by the magic of their desire
They fly on waxen wings
Ever closer toward the heat
Unfettered by proximity
Two hearts make one
Bright and burning like the Sun
Aug 2015 · 682
Realignment
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
Life is like a thousand
piece jigsaw puzzle
opened up on Christmas morning,
Laid out on
the formica top kitchen table.
All you see
is a sea of colors,
endless and random...
An unsurmontable feat before you.
Suddenly it happens...
You find two matching shapes,
then a third,
And before you know it
A corner piece...
The edges becoming more obvious.
A picture begins
forming in your mind's eye...
Confusion becomes creation
Labor's sweet reward finally realized.
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
it's 3:23 in the morning
and I'm awake
because my great great grandchildren
won't let me sleep
my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the planet was plundered?
what did you do when the earth was unraveling?

surely you did something
when the seasons started failing?

as the mammals, reptiles, birds were all dying?

did you fill the streets with protest
when democracy was stolen?

what did you do
once
you
knew?

I'm riding home on the Colma train
I've got the voice of the milky way in my dreams

I have teams of scientists
feeding me data daily
and pleading I immediately
turn it into poetry

I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies
contained in my speech

I am the desirous earth
equidistant to the underworld
and the flesh of the stars

I am everything already lost

the moment the universe turns transparent
and all the light shoots through the cosmos

I use words to instigate silence

I'm a hieroglyphic stairway
in a buried Mayan city
suddenly exposed by a hurricane

a satellite circling earth
finding dinosaur bones
in the Gobi desert
I am telescopes that see back in time

I am the precession of the equinoxes,
the magnetism of the spiraling sea

I'm riding home on the Colma train
with the voice of the milky way in my dreams

I am myths where violets blossom from blood
like dying and rising gods

I'm the boundary of time
soul encountering soul
and tongues of fire

it's 3:23 in the morning
and I can't sleep
because my great great grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do while the earth was unraveling?

I want just this consciousness reached
by people in range of secret frequencies
contained in my speech


©2003
Aug 2015 · 1.7k
Sorrow and Optimism
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
My shoes are scraped and scuffed,
But I'm still walking.
My voice is pained and gruff,
Yet I'm still talking.
My fear appears so tough,
But I'm not balking.
My love had never seemed enough,
So this is shocking.
I feel so blessed.
Each wound a test.
Please hear me knocking.
Aug 2015 · 384
Trial by Fire
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
As he lifted that cross upon his back
He felt not the weight of it.
Instead he noticed the earthy smell of fresh cut limbs,
The smoothness of the wood after it's been planed.
As he drug his cross through the crowd
He overlooked their angry, jeering faces.
Instead he saw kindness in an old woman's eyes,
The gentle touch of a mother sheilding her child from the cruel spectacle.
As he heaved himself up the rock strewn path toward the hilltop
He didn't feel the sharp bite of the incline waning his final strength.
He kept his eyes on the noon-day sun
Felt the kiss of it's heat upon his brow.
Blood ran down his face from a crown of thorns and
He could only taste salt,
Reminded of the cooling spray of the sea
Refreshing him as he hauled in the days catch.
They pounded the nails into his slender wrists and
He felt no pain,
Only the warm breeze carrying the scent of sage and hyssop from the valley below.
He felt the life leave his body and
He cried not for himself but
Wept only for the suffering of his oppressors...
Understanding the depth of their ignorance,
The breadth of their collective pain.
When he arose from the tomb
Three days of late,
He felt no pride in his abilities...
Only a quiet contentment
Knowing that his courage and endurance would forever
Be a symbol of inspiration for those to follow.
He ascended to the realm of Unlimited Power
Ultimate Understanding
and
Infinite Love
To wait for his children;
To watch over them in times of trial and tribulation...
A silent guide
An unspoken word
An Angel of compassion
Leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for those Hungry enough, and willing to dine with the lowly mouse;
For those who having the bravery of a lion,
Sharp eyes of an eagle,
Clever wit of a serpent...
He waits.
He wakens.
He loves.
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
Here the waves rise high and fall on the icy
seas and white caps chew the driftwood logs of
hemlock and toss them wildly upon sandy beaches.
The steep mountains rise straight from the sea
floor as the December sun shines through the dark
clouds that hang heavy with snow near the top peaks.
Blue icebergs drift slowly down the narrow channel.
This volcanic island is one of many that are scattered
along the coast of Southeastern Alaska.
On the South end of the island is another
tiny island and on it stands an old lighthouse,
a shambles. It has a curving staircase and an
old broken lamp that used to beckon to ships at
sea. Wild grasses and goosetongue cover the ground
and close by Sitka blacktail feed and gray gulls
circle. There is a mountain stream nearby and
in the fall the salmon spawn at its mouth. The
black bear and grizzly scoop them up with great
sweeps of their paws, their sharp claws gaffing
the silver bodies.
Walking North along the deer trail from the
South end of the island are remnants of the Treadwell
Mine. It was the largest gold mine in the world.
In the early 1900's the tunnel they were digging
underneath Gastineau Channel caved in and the sea
claimed her gold. The foundry still stands a rusty
red.
The dining halls are vacant, broken white
dishes are strewn inside. The tennis court that
was built for the employees is overgrown with hops
that have climbed over the high fence and grown
up between cracks in the cement floor. The flume
still carries water rushing in it half-hidden in
the rain-forest which is slowly reclaiming the
land. The beach here by the ocean is fine white
sand, full of mica, gold and pieces of white dishes.
Potsherds for future archeologists, washed clean,
smooth and round by the circular waves of this
deep, dark green water.
Down past the old gold mine is Cahill's house,
yellow and once magnificent. They managed the mine. The long staircase is boarded up and so
are the large windows. The gardens are wild, irises
bud in the spring at the end of the lawn, and in
the summer a huge rose path, full of dark crimson
blooms frames the edge of the sea; strawberries
grow nearby dark pink and succulent. Red raspberries
grow further down the path in a tangle of profusion;
close by is a pale pink rose path, full of those
small wild roses that smell fragrant. An iron-
barred swing stands tall on the edge of the beach.
I swing there and at high tide I can jump in the
ocean from high up in the air. There is an old
tetter-totter too. And, it is like finding the
emperor's palace abandoned.
There is a knoll behind the old house called
Grassy Hill. It is covered with a blanket of hard
crisp snow. In the spring it is covered with sweet
white clover and soft grasses. It is easy to find
four leaf clovers there, walking below the hill
toward the beach is a dell. It is a small clearing
in between the raspberry patch and tall cottonwood
trees. It is a good place for a picnic. It is
a short walk again to the beach and off to the
right is a small pond, Grassy Pond. It is frozen
solid and I skate on it. In the summer I swim
here because it is warmer than the ocean. In the
spring I wade out, stand very still and catch baby
flounders and bullheads with my hands; I am fast
and quick and have good eyes. Flounders are bottom
fish that look like sand.
Walking North again over a rise I come to
a field filled with snow; in the spring it is a
blaze of magenta fireweed. Often I will sit in
it surrounded by bright petals and sketch the mountains
beyond. Nearby are salmonberry bushes which have
cerise blossoms in early spring; by the end of
summer, golden-orange berries hang on their green
branches. The bears love to eat them and so do
I. But the wild strawberries are my first love,
then the tangy raspberries. I don't like the high-
bush cranberries, huckleberries, currants or the
sour gooseberries that grow in my mother's garden
and the blueberries are only good for pies, jams
and jellies. I like the little ligonberries that
grow close to the earth in the meadow, but they
are hard to find.
Looking across this island I see Mt. Jumbo,
the mountain that towers above the thick Tongass forest of pine, hemlock and spruce. It was a volcano
and is rugged and snow-covered. I hike up the
trail leading to the base of the mountain. The
trail starts out behind a patch of blueberry bushes
and winds lazily upwards crossing a stream where
I can stop and fish for trout and eat lunch; on
top is a meadow. Spring is my favorite season
here. The yellow water lilies bud on top of large
muskeg holes. The dark pink blueberry bushes form
a ring around the meadow with their delicate pink
blossoms. The purple and yellow violets are in
bloom and bright yellow skunk cabbage abounds, the
devil's club are turning green again and fields
of beige Alaskan cotton fan the air, slender stalks
that grow in the wet marshy places. Here and there
a wild columbine blooms. It is here in these meadows
that I find the lime-green bull pine, whose limbs
grow up instead of down. Walking along the trail
beside the meadow I soon come to an old wooden
cabin. It is owned by the mine and consists of
two rooms, a medium-sized kitchen with an eating
area and wood table and a large bedroom with four
World War II army cots and a cream colored dresser.
Nobody lives here anymore, but hikers, deer hunters,
and an occasional bear use the place. Next door
to the cabin is the well house which feeds the
flume. The flume flows from here down the mountain
side to the old mine and power plant. An old man
still takes care of the power plant. He lives
in a big dark green house with his family and the
power plant is all blue-gray metal. I can stand
outside and listen to the whirl of the generators.
I like to walk in the forest on top of the old
flume and listen to the sound of the water rushing
past under my bare feet.
In the winter the meadow is different: all
silent, still and snow-covered. The trees are
heavy with weighty branches and icicles dangle
off their limbs, long, elegant, shining. All the
birds are gone but the little brown snowbirds and
the white ptarmigan. The meadow is a field of
white and I can ski softly down towards the sea.
The trout stream is frozen and the waterfall quiet,
an ice palace behind crystal caves. The hard smooth-
ness of the ice feels good to my touch, this frozen
water, this winter.
Down below at the edge of the sea is yet another
type of ice. Salt water is treacherous; it doesn'tfreeze solid, it is unreliable and will break under
my weight. Here are the beached icebergs that
the high tide has left. Blue white treasures,
gigantic crystals tossed adrift by glaciers. Glisten-
ing, wet, gleaming in the winter sun, some still
half-buried in the sea, drifting slowly out again.
And it is noisy here, the gray gulls call to each
other, circling overhead. The ravens and crows
are walking, squawking along the beach. The Taku
wind is blowing down the channel, swirling, chill,
singing in my ear. Far out across the channel
humpback whales slap their tails against the water.
On the beach kelp whips are caught in wet clumps
of seaweed as the winter tide rises higher and
higher. The smell of salty spray permeates everything
and the dark clouds roll in from behind the steep
mountains.
Suddenly it snows. Soft, furry, thick flakes,
in front of me, behind, to the sides, holding me
in a blizzard of whiteness, light: snow.
This is a piece my grandmother had published in the 70's and I was lucky enough to find it. She passed on a few years ago and I miss her with all of my heart. She was my rock and my foundation, my counselor, mentor and best friend. I can still hear the windchimes that gently twinkled on her front porch, and smell the scent of the earth on my hands as I helped her **** the rose garden. I am glad that she is finally free of the pain that entombed her crippled body for nearly half of her life, but I wish I could hear her voice one last time. So thank God she was a writer, because when I read her poems and stories, I can!  She wasn't a perfect woman, but she was the strongest, smartest, most courageous woman I have ever known.
Aug 2015 · 606
Hewing the Edges
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
Eyes cast down
I walked with shadows
Only the boldest rays
Cut through the forest of my pain
Elusive glimmerings dance upon the path before me
Cold red eyes stalk me from the thickets
Fear creeps up my spine
The Angel within arises
Wings of power unfold
The ancient call resounds
I throw off this cloak of uncertainty
Pain once had a place,
a necessary lesson
But NO more.
I am not a child of sorrow.
I am a Warrior, a Survivor.
A strong, courageous Being
With scarred hands and a bleeding heart
I take up my Sword
I revel in the magic of my own existence
Looking past the shadows,
past the light
To where the horizon blends
Earth to Sun, Sun to Sky,
Sky to Sea
And the All becomes the One
A symphony of triumph
A trial of tears
Stardust and clay line the edges
Beautiful Divinity undefined
A tangle of lines and angles
Mark the road
Throughout our star crossed minds
Aug 2015 · 392
Twin Flames
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
I wait for the rains to subside
A broken shard of my heart lost in time
The winds rise, clearing my mind
The teardrops on my pillow finally dry
The cord between our souls entwine
We blossom in the golden Sun, divine
Aug 2015 · 297
Lost (22W)
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
A writer without words
Is like sky without  sea...
No mirror below to reflect her,
She exists, but can never be seen.
Aug 2015 · 521
Armour of Love
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
If for only but an hour
I can tame my fickle mind
Find the will to build my armour
Put it on and make it shine
Fashion beauty where there's nothing
Turn the ugly to divine
Keep the fears and doubts behind me
Dream a world of Love... *Sublime
Aug 2015 · 829
Soul Songs
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
My emotions stretch and unfurl
like tendrils drawing toward the Sun.
Rainbow twisting wires,
Ethereal antennas communing
with the subtle frequencies Life.
The undetectable choir of light waves
only measurable by science.
The "new-age" sorcery of man,
where cloaks and herbs
and timeless intuitions
are replaced by lab coats,
chemicals and categorical limitation.
If we can only quiet the errant mind chatter
we too will have the ears to hear.
There is a silent symphony of soul songs;
Rythyms, harmonies...  These pulses ARE
the very lifeblood of our existence.
The unfathomable Angelic speech of the Heavens.
Long dead tongues of an Ancient world.
The breathe of Love,
sweetly whispered on a summer breeze...
Who's only hope lies in the liberation of her message;
Like a butterfly's kiss upon a daisy
growing wild amongst the grasses
of our scorched and broken Earth.
Aug 2015 · 1.3k
Emotional-Substance Abuse
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
Beware the addictive properties of our own negative emotions.
Anxiety is a stronger stimulant than a quarter ounce of the highest grade of *******.
Anger as intoxicating as a fifth of precisely aged whiskey.
Sorrow as mind numbing as fourty cc's of premium China White.
Denial masks pain like an eighty miligram oxycontin.
Fear can paralyze like propofol.
Ignorance more dangerous than a speed ball served in a ***** needle at a Hepatitis C support group.
Aug 2015 · 807
Electric Eclectic (10W)
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
A single flame rebukes the darkness; I watch it dance.
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
Most of our lives are spent in mourning for what HASN'T happened, when we felt it should have.
To experience physical, emotional and mental suffering over losses that never existed in the first place, is like being angry and bitter about the sky being blue when our color of preference is actually Olive green...
Just because we may have spent a lot of time wishing and fantasizing about how our lives would have been different if it were.
Well, it isn't.
So to be affected by WHAT ISN'T  is insane.
There is only what IS. Anything outside of what IS is false, and requires absolutely no consideration and has no true power over our lives.
To indulge in that kind of erroneous thinking only perpetuates our ignorance and distracts us from our true purpose.
We create our own suffering.
We are each the artichects of our own temple.
Truth is truth.
It can't be denied.
If it isn't true then it is false. If it is false then it is illusionary.
If it is an illusion then it can do us no harm.
Only our own misconceptions can harm us.
Only if we let them.
Truth shall set us free.
Only if we let it.
Aug 2015 · 224
Infinity Included
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
O.ne.             .is
N.othing.     AND
E.verything.   is.
                     .O.
Aug 2015 · 378
Chorus of Mind
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
A cricket is steadily chirping at the edges of suburbia,
A rythmic monotony so subtly harmonized by the nearly inaudible pitch of a low buzzing transformer.
An occasional droning of engines and rubber wheels on pavement joins the chorus, while the soft chattering of neighbors descends from a nearby window, mingled with laughter and microwave buttons, and the wind pushing through the leafy branches of backyard trees.
I quietly listen to the sounds that surround me, eyes closed, mind arrested in a state of suspended animation. I search for the sacred place of silence, where thoughts become nothing more than colors and symbols. A place where fear and sorrow and regret cannot exist. Only a sense of being. A place where the cricket and the power lines and the wind blown trees all gather within me, become me, and I become them. No separation. No categorization. No insecurities and no self inflations. Where no space resides 'tween the You's or the I's. Every man has this place, this power inside him. Every man is the Saviour who creates his salvation.
Be the calm you seek
Aug 2015 · 572
Angel Minds
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
Stars fall from the sky
Like tears from the Angels
Who weep in the Heavens
And pray Love will save us.
Electric thought light,
Etheric vapors inflame us;
Casting truth on our minds
To reveal what enslaves us.
Holdfast through the night,
Our humility tames us.
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