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HRTsOnFyR Jun 2017
That you are not loved yet is because a wave breaks at just the right time and not a minute sooner...
This is a line from a post off of Facebook... It is not an original of mine, but it is beautiful, and should be shared nonetheless.
The author is Unknown
HRTsOnFyR Jan 2018
I'm sitting somewhere by a fire
Listening to the Old Gods
Tell tales
about how the Earth,
devours men.
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2017
Disengage from power plays that do not end in ******
HRTsOnFyR Jun 2015
  I've been doing lots of  *
          crying lately.
  This kind of thing appears
        to come in waves.
   Perhaps that's the minds
way of preserving it's own
It's my suspicion that time
    will only open up new
  dimensions of heartache,  
         long before
        we ever feel
     the effects of it's
      healing processes
       * Ω .Time. θ *
  That's one of the worst

All the things that he never
   * to do...    
HRTsOnFyR Jan 2017
beckoning her

arriving at the cemetery gate
she follows the well forgotten path
that winds itself deep
into the inner core
finding herself surrounded
by old family crypts
and faceless angels
seemingly desperate for flight

all her senses arousing at once
HRTsOnFyR Apr 2015
Turned my headphones up so loud
I can't even hear the disapproval in your voice...
You are barely a breathe,
Merely a whisper of inconvenience,
Playing in the background of the soundtrack to my life...
Let Eddie Vedor have my attention...
He cares.
I know...
because all of his songs are about me too...
Why does it feel like strangers in the air waves have a deeper sense of me than you do?
Is it that you just don't care?
Or perhaps, I'm not your type?
I didn't know it was so easy to abandon those you love...
This society is crumbling.
We have no true concern for our brother.
Our greatest concern lies with the state of our pride,
Of our pocketbooks...
Of our swollen genitalia...
Feelings are causualties
to the almighty throne of the ego.
Worship him! Bow down in his greatness!
Lest he remember...
For only a moment...
That the cosmos turn in delicate rotation for only One.
The light. The Sun. The great spark that feeds
and heats
and sustains ALL life on earth...
All life in our galaxy...
So sorry, little green envious men of ego...
You are but a drop of water rocking on a wave
in a vast and unfathomable sea.
But each drop has to work together...
Or else the purest, sweetest drops will silently
into the dark abyss below...
Never knowing how beautiful it would have been to be released by a noonday shower
Somewhere just south of Madrid
And coming to rest
On the gentle leaves in a vineyard...
A glistening dew drop
Sun kissed
and warming on the vine.
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
HRTsOnFyR Jun 2017
Call it what you want
Surrender, retreat, apathy...
Perhaps it's nothing more than total disgust
And irreconcilable ​loneliness
She wants to go where someone gives a ****,
But no one does
And the boys are better off without the image
Of her fading slowly away in spirit
To die while one is still alive is more heinous a thing than to drop out of a race that you don't believe in, and never signed up for in the first place
Whatever the prize is, it can't be as good as the freedom of not having to go mad trying to protect oneself from the bitterness of their ugliness or the shallowness of their greed
And walking away from them doesn't help either
She's too ****** up to enjoy normalcy and too damaged to ever feel like she really belongs
She'd rather start over, and leave the jackals to feed amongst themselves, and the insects to writhe about, blindly in the dark
She might have felt differently, had they never lied to her about how much they loved...
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
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.
HRTsOnFyR Jun 2015
I am but
           A sheep
Who can sport the wolf's
        Here I stand,
      Called to battle,
    With a heart made
           Of gold.
HRTsOnFyR May 2015
Black carbon soot
Yellow, blue flames
Like a thief, the night took
Our fair sunlight away
Green etheral gases
Red burning star
Like a dog, the earth shook
Spewing fire and tar
Pink pedaled roses
White fallen snow
Like an axe, striking wood
Our minds reel from the blow
Lavendar mists
Gray cloudy seas
Like an angel, forsaken
We’ll be brought to our knees.
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
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
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
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.
HRTsOnFyR Apr 2017
I met an insomniac through a Craigslist post

Who alleged: She’d stolen > 2000 hearts

On subways/escalators/sidewalks – men turn to toast

(By her gorgon glance, she boasts, even testicles depart) .

How does one ensnare one fashioned of nails and sap?

By invisibility, mirrored shield, winged boots, curved sword?

The heart’s armor, thus arrayed, can easily entrap

This goddess, dreadlocked in her own umbilical cord.

But I do not stoop to conquer, but to please

This walking paradox, over-caffeinated, old soul

Intoxicated by words, music, auteurs (esp. Scorsese) ,

You’re my aurora, glowing green, in the north celestial pole.

Slacker, artist, writer, words have escaped you:

You lay breathless at the foot of your wandering Jew.

by Beryl Dov
HRTsOnFyR Nov 2016
Light as a feather
We flow like the river,
Treading so softly
The grass never quivers,
Laughing and loving
And threading our fingers,
May friendship and beauty
Be all we let linger.
HRTsOnFyR Feb 2016
She enters into the space where
Everything becomes everything...
Race, religion, science, astrology, God,
Angels and Demons;
The story of time continues,
An unbroken circle.
The passionate dancing of spirits,
Histories faint whisperings.
The space between the lines,
Intermittent radar blips.
Laughter and bloodshed and tears
Softly spoken prayers;
A wide eyed little girl
Witnessing her rebirth,
Awakening from an unconscious slumber,
Burdened by the weight of fear.
One eye open;
The body bracing for impact
Afraid to land,
Afraid to crash and burn,
From sheer speed,
From this flight of mind;
Disorientating and intoxicating,
Latitude and longitude become obscure.
Interference and interception
Can be detected on the air waves,
Nothing feels tangible,
Everything tastes like abstract breath.
The only compass she trusts
Is her heart,
And nothing can detour her
From her course.
She waits in the wings,
Watching the horizon...
The morning sun rises,
Bearer of heat and light;
Standing tall in the afterglow,
With golden halo,
Knowing she truly has been
Blessed and loved.
HRTsOnFyR Apr 2015
His body grounds me...
I was an alternating current
with a frayed wire
Sputtering... sparking...
Alone and flickering in quiet desperation...
Then he drew me in with his hands
Held me tightly, pulling me close...
Inviting me into his Center
Insulating my circuits from the heat of their own charge,
Reigniting those cold, dead connections...
Redirecting, realigning
Aeons of my dissipated energies.
I become more, now, than some
Reckless, erratic sunburst...
Snapping and flaring on the mere surface of things...
A loving so strong it makes me re-enter the belly of the beast,
He and I, we become the pulse...
Folding ourselves into the warm, primitive heart of God...
Selflessness... Sacrifice...
Joy, Radiance... Gratitude...
I find all these things here.
And everything false just quietly disappears.
HRTsOnFyR Jun 2015
You can't rock this,
cause I'm a cold piece...

Take a look in these eyes,
You dont know me!

What the Hell
You think you'll show me?

I was running this game,
Fought through the drama and pain,
Moved out at fourteen.

These streets don't promise me peace
Just whisper lies and defeat,
Punk people pushing their beef...
Caught up,
addicted to greed,
This bad wolf's
All that we feed.

But purpose powers my mind,
Cleared out them devils inside,

They'll never own me!
So many lessons on Hell
This cold world's
thrown me.

I pray that God hears my cries

Feels like my soul might just die,

My heart, she weeps
with my eyes...
No colors gracing my skies,

As if the sun just
won't rise,
Like earth's been drained
of her life.

But then God gave my reply,
I'm stuck on saving some lives,
Can't keep on wasting my

Should be out sharing
my shine!
You share a big love,
like mine?

Lets puts more blooms on this vine...

While peace and beauty
Lay root,
Thier fragrant petals

We've been too mindless and mean
It's time to Feel
 'fore we think

And know that            Hope holds the key

        To happy hearts,
           healthy beings.

We got this!
Trust and believe...
Our Faith is all that we need.
This was an attempt at a rap. Not sure how it sounds if you aren't reading it to the beat in my head... So I apologize if it's a difficult read, lol.
HRTsOnFyR Feb 2017
Birth of heart, lost in time
Like old light, soul of water
Firey sea , wave of mind
Cold white sky, hollow trees
Softened dreams fall and rise
Fear is lost, fallen power
Beneath bones hope lives wild
Quiet heat, sense of self
Gentle death, God, and night
Spirit lines, silent grasses
Spring of stars, moonlit smile
House of steel, looms of darkness
Angels dance, brightly veiled
Body song, world forgotten
Ancient feet, talking trails.
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
So tired of feeling helpless,
So tired of feeling low,
With a past this dark and loveless,
It's the only way I know.
I've been bent
And I've been broken.
Fell from the rooftop
To the floor.
Now I'm restless,
But I'm hopeful,
Tho sorrows stirring in my soul.
As I tumble through my darkness
Crying softly to myself,
I only wish
that you could hold me,
I think your love
may break the spell.
HRTsOnFyR Jun 2015
Spiders creep along
Dew drop laden webbing
Dark and brooding
Quiet observers
Eight gangly arms of death
Aphids gather
On a rosebud
Sprite green and coral pink
Like freckles
On a fresh and vivid bloom
Lady bugs flutter
Abiding in tall grasses
Proclaiming hope
Promising growth
Like a
growing from a
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
Green and black checkered blankets
lie across plastic funeral chairs
atop tired, lime colored carpets.
An inatimate audience garishly
posed before a square foot of
precisely dug, freshly cut earth.
Someone hands me an olive tone box.
Sunlight plays off of the glossy marble.
His urn is heavy and cold to the touch.
Beside me a voice recites a prayer,
unsteady and choking on tears, as I gaze
emptily into the shadows of a nearby Oak.
Peacock feathers and rose petals
fall from shaky, sorrowful hands.
A teddy bear, an angel charm, five links
of grandma's rosary, a tiny wooden cross...
An offering of remembrance to join
him in his internment, moments of
meaning only to those who are left behind.
Sounds become soft, colors dull, time slows.
The Angel of Hope resides over the hillside,
a quiet, unwavering eye who guards
the souls of our tragically met youths.
Space and relativity become foreign,
as reality befalls my unprepped mind.
HRTsOnFyR Nov 2016
Mother! Father!
Moon and Star!
How I wonder what you are....

By Fire's light and Earth's own pull,
You've stirred the waters of my soul.

I've felt you closer than my skin.
A dance with Death;
Life's one true kin.

But don't despair,
My Winged One;
I'd never ask you fly alone.
HRTsOnFyR Oct 2015
Does life unfold so fluidly, or marked and measured lucidly?
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
HRTsOnFyR Dec 2016
I am no longer waiting for a special occasion; I burn the best candles on ordinary days.
I am no longer waiting for the house to be clean; I fill it with people who understand that even dust is Sacred.
I am no longer waiting for everyone to understand me; It’s just not their task
I am no longer waiting for the perfect children; my children have their own names that burn as brightly as any star.
I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop; It already did, and I survived.
I am no longer waiting for the time to be right; the time is always now.
I am no longer waiting for the mate who will complete me; I am grateful to be so warmly, tenderly held.
I am no longer waiting for a quiet moment; my heart can be stilled whenever it is called.
I am no longer waiting for the world to be at peace; I unclench my grasp and breathe peace in and out.
I am no longer waiting to do something great; being awake to carry my grain of sand is enough.
I am no longer waiting to be recognized; I know that I dance in a holy circle.
I am no longer waiting for Forgiveness. I believe, I Believe.

-Mary Anne Perrone

Photo: Ingmari Lamy
Via Sacred Dreams
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2017
Her soul bares the scars of the lightning bolt's burn,
Is it innocence lost,
or innocence returned?
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2015
I watch the cottonwood
gather on the
wildflowers and
the weeds.
The trail looks a gentle
  of dust,
Like the back corner
of grandmother's attic...
Blanketed in mystery
  well worn with
                   the years.
White sand and flakes of
  glitter on the
  water's edge,
with the rythym of the  
A hummingbird
chases a dragonfly
into a tangerine sunset.
A hawk circles the road looking
for a wayward mouse.
I cry a silent prayer.
And can
think of you,
My Angel.
Singing her
sorrowful song
Only for you,
My Angel,
Only for you...
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2016
So many creation stories,
Myths, tales and legends...
Too many answers,
Yet so many questions.
An excess of words,
With an absence of feelings.
Time to make my own song,
My own verse on these sheets,
One God means One love,
Just One heart,
Just One beat....
The truth is as infinite as our explanations of it.
Tired of mourning.
Tired of crying out in the darkness.
Tired of vibrating from the mouth and not the spirit.
Fear has no place here.
I'll embrace the unknowing,
I shall cast down my sorrows,
And get my lamp glowing.
HRTsOnFyR Sep 2015
Time is like a throwing star; It has many apexes
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
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.
HRTsOnFyR Jun 2015
And dog-tired
I crawl across
Broken shards of rainbow colored glass
The tranquil morbidity
Of the montage Of
Is both daunting
The web of veins
That fills the space
Between your heart
HRTsOnFyR Apr 2016
The river's cool reflective gaze
Reveals a soft and sorrowed face,
A wide eyed girl with rosied cheeks
From 'neath the reeds doth dare to peek,
A trembling bag of nerves and skin
With aching heart and quivered chin,
She stares into her darkest parts
As terror grips her fragile heart...
The demons dance within her thoughts,
Some lies they sold, some lies she bought.
Her features morph and twist and curl,
Both cruel and kind, from beast to girl.
She knows not what the visions mean,
If this be life, or just a dream,
She only seeks to understand
Just whom are the ghosts, the gods, the men.
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2015
Many minds
Have lived
Through time,
And dreamt of
Other Worlds...
And that,
My Son,
Is how many galaxies
There are
... Or so I would like to believe ;)
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.
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2015
A single flame rebukes the darkness; I watch it dance.
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.
HRTsOnFyR Jul 2015
Another whisper in her ear.
Another promise of adoration,
Of unparalleled affection.
She trades a soft touch for a soft bed,
A discreet kiss on a strangers head.
Half hearted loving is the worst kind.
Two lost souls, finding comfort
In one another's pale embrace.
Neither brave enough to face
The impending end around the bend
That lies within this empty space.
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.
HRTsOnFyR Jun 2015
Come away oh human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
  than you can understand.
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
HRTsOnFyR Apr 2017
So here we are,
My falling Star,
Upon this road of life...
Two souls, so lost,
Whose paths did cross
Whilst roaming through the night.
With child's eyes
We recognized
Our parent's silent grief;
Their wasted years
Soon disappeared,
As time's a ruthless theif.
Sole heirs to pain,
We've shared this shame,
And felt the fears, which sought us.
Confusions grew,
As no one knew,
Just how much they'd never taught us.
Self hatred bred,
And blindly led,
Our rebel-minded causes.
Such sweet escapes
Those drugs create,
When sorrow finally pauses.
Hearts turned to stone,
We've wept alone,
Convinced the World forgot us.
With every chance
Each circumstance
Did have, they surely fought us.
Yet here we are
My falling Star,
Two broken hearted lovers,
Whom fate did yearn
To grow, to learn...
And so we're bound forever.
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.
HRTsOnFyR May 2015
I laugh at myself
How was I so naive?
To fool my own body
Just so it would breathe...
Now it thinks I'm alive
And yet, how could that be...
When my soul surely died
Whence it knew you'd left me
HRTsOnFyR May 2015
For Tyson, My Love

Never will I meet another like you
Your light shone brighter than the Sun.
Your coo was as beautiful as a robin's song
carried on the wind.
Your smile was unfathomably contagious.
The way you would cut your eyes
and smile so knowingly...
As if you held a secret
Just between you and me...
and when you smiled,
I felt I knew it too.
There will never be an answer.
No reason could ever be sufficient.
You came here as an Angel,
and as an Angel you did leave us.
I am honored to have known you
For even a short while.
You may have only been a baby
But your spirit felt 100 years old...
And although your time here seemed limited,
the imprint you left is infinite.
You are ageless.
You are the embodiment of love.
You are my Guardian.
My Angel Elite.
My watchtower.
My lighthouse.
My baby. Forever.
Mine Grumble Grumble
Mine Squishee Man.
Mine Love.
Until my last breathe.
And even after...
My 6 month old son passed from SIDS 2 days ago. There are no words.
HRTsOnFyR Aug 2016
It matters not what lies behind
Or what may lie ahead,
When waking dreams and evil things
Reside in each man's head.
They rattle chains and haunt our brains,
They feast upon our fears;
Consuming joy and hope and trust,
And all that we've held dear.
We hear their cries and stoke the fires,
Descend with them to Hell;
We share their shame, but not in blame,
Then fight amongst ourselves;
'Tis rare one sees
That which he flees
Is but a timeless mirror.
From brilliant men, to hapless hearts,
To wicked, wretched souls...
They are no more, nor less, than we;
But fractions of one whole.
Though he may lack in this or that
While others seem to reign;
With better looks, or smarts in books,
More power, wealth or fame;
We mustn't bend to arrogance,
Nor envy, just the same...
For he who dims his brothers light
Still hath no brighter a flame;
Instead he lessens all our sight
And squanders his own gains.
Have faith in ALL that's here below
Was ordered, first, above.
And suffers much, the eldest man,
Outliving all he's loved;
While rich men live, as paranoids,
And poor men toil in pain.
The simple man, a laughing stock,
And genius feels insane.
While beauty's forged the darkest hearts,
As shallow, they became.
And lives of ease have yielded sloth
And left good bodies lame.
So none can measure, nor divide,
The worth of Moon and Sun....
Like bird and beast,
As Earth to Sea,
Dependent on the One.
The seasons change,
As well they should,
And ne'er can we forget....
We're nigh but little cosmic spokes
Whom churn the Infinite.
And so these planets and their stars
Keep wheeling 'round the sky,
The watchmen keeping track of time,
Our souls all keeping ties.
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
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