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Do I love you?
I can't tell you
Am I happy
I don't know

Will I stay with you forever?
That's a long time
I don't know

I'm the king of keeping secrets
I'm the best since time began
I'm lost here, and I'm searching
I am me, but, a new man

Love me for the man I am
Don't love the man I was
I don't know what that man was like
I don't know the man you lost
Love me as I am now
I won't remember anyway
Don't love the man I was before
Love the man I am today

I smile and remember
Thoughts and visions
mostly blurred
Words and place
not remembered
Memories shaken
but not stirred

I'm still here in this body
Don't know exactly who I am
Was I good when I did know me
Or am I better as I am

Don't tell me to remember
My memories are dust
What once was steel and solid
Has quickly died and turned to rust

I can't love you as I once did
Tomorrow I won't know your name
You may love me now, forever
But, do you love me quite the same

I'm the king of keeping secrets
I'm the one that you can tell
Nothing in here is remembered
In this empty, aging shell
inspired by Glen Campbell and his battle with Alzheimers
 Feb 2015 Kismiss

I used to think men
should be more like books
Both you cannot
judge by looks...

If I didn't want to finish reading
I put it down... no heart was bleeding

A book will never fuss or fight
It will stay with you
through the night...

It doesn't smoke. It doesn't drink.
It won't leave toothpaste
in the sink!

It doesn't binge... it don't eat...
It won't leave up the toilet seat!

It don't forget. It doesn't mope.
It won't hog the TV remote!

It doesn't have to have
The last say...
It doesn't have legs

to walk away.

But it's not soft. It isn't warm.
It doesn't keep you
safe from harm.

Even though it makes no fuss
It can't think. It can't discuss.

Even though it has its charms
it can't hold you in its arms.

It doesn't pine. It doesn't miss.
It can't hug and it can't kiss.

So now I think on it again...
... I think BOOKS should be
             more like MEN!!!

Women like me do not fall gracefully,
we stumble over our spines, trip over
our vowels, and collapse into your arms.

Our hearts are open books,
Russian novels containing fifty pages
on the way your voice drifts across
the telephone wires each night.
Our hearts are first drafts,
unedited verses about each and every
person we have ever loved: the stranger
on the subway, the girl who gave us a balloon,
the boy who stole our virginity
but not our heart.

Women like me will love you from a distance
of a thousand syllables while laying in your bed,
we will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible,
and when we leave you will finally understand
why storms are named after people.

- Katrina M.K
throw me to the wolves;
but at least wolves are loyal to their own pack.
want some  ice.
Beating drums
Howling wolves

It's midnight
The ceremony is about to begin

My death ceremony
 Jan 2015 Kismiss
Ilia Talalai
Gold dances on a dark canvas old as time
the orbs sway from side to side
hypnotized as they trace the curve of an imaginary bowl
my heart beats out fond memories
that fill my mind with fervent desires.
The dark wraps its cool shawl around my neck,
With a brisk touch, it tumbles all my reveries into associations of a noose...

I cannot connect with the world as I see it anymore...

It is experienced as a strange reflection
of all that comes from within and before me.
To be lost in this cage of thought
is to ignore the perpetual inspiration
gifted by the miracle all around me.
It is to see all as a reminder of a thought... of a thought.
Every smell is a whisper remembered
Every touch echoes a pain ignored for too many moons.

The soul sits in the well of our minds.
We build the mind to fill our soul to the brim
so that we may feel it glisten and gleam in the warm sunlight.
We see the world through ripples of ecstasy
as our love spills over the mind.
It flows into the roots around us...
In that moment we are truly present.

The joyous pride of the mind is the gift to overflow its most precious burden out unto this world.

It is the disciplined mind which harnesses energy to overflow
while the undisciplined mind remains as poor foundation.
It will only drain what precious reserves it tries to hold on to.
left in darkness at the bottom of our minds, the soul sees only what small glimmers it can glean.

When every firefly in the dark is a reminder of a thought of a thought, we are lost in the confines of a well we cannot climb out of.
When every cool breeze passes without grasping,
we know the power of being present...
We feel love as we breathe it in
and peace as we let it go.
 Jan 2015 Kismiss
If this is love,
Love is not enough.

I want to love you
But your skin is too tough
But if this is all love is,
Love is not enough.

I want more for you.
You've been knocked-down before,
I'm willing to pick you,
Right up off the floor

You won't let me in,
and you won't let me out
We have a connection
You might be better without

Because love may not exist,
But if you don't let love in
If you continue to resist,
You won't let it begin.

And we will both waste our years
Why love felt so similar to fear
 Jan 2015 Kismiss
Kahlil Gibran
Then a lawyer said, "But what of our Laws, master?"
And he answered:

You delight in laying down laws,
Yet you delight more in breaking them.
Like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers with
  constancy and then destroy them with laughter.
But while you build your sand-towers the ocean brings more sand to the shore,
And when you destroy them, the ocean laughs with you.
Verily the ocean laughs always with the innocent.

But what of those to whom life is not an ocean, and man-made laws are
  not sand-towers,
But to whom life is a rock, and the law a chisel with which they
  would carve it in their own likeness?
What of the ******* who hates dancers?
What of the ox who loves his yoke and deems the elk and deer of the
  forest stray and vagrant things?
What of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and calls all
  others naked and shameless?
And of him who comes early to the wedding-feast, and when over-fed
  and tired goes his way saying that all feasts are violation and all
  feasters law-breakers?

What shall I say of these save that they too stand in the sunlight,
  but with their backs to the sun?
They see only their shadows, and their shadows are their laws.
And what is the sun to them but a caster of shadows?
And what is it to acknowledge the laws but to stoop down and trace
  their shadows upon the earth?

But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn on the earth can hold you?
You who travel with the wind, what weathervane shall direct your course?
What man's law shall bind you if you break your yoke but upon no
  man's prison door?
What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble against no man's
  iron chains?
And who is he that shall bring you to judgment if you tear off your
  garment yet leave it in no man's path?
People of Orphalese, you can muffle the drum, and you can loosen the
  strings of the lyre, but who shall command the skylark not to sing?
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