I think I have reached the end of reaching
for phantoms that hide from my heart.
The yearning for romantic notions not shared.
The deception of words uttered in broken,
fragmented, half truths ring hollow
when actions never follow.
That lukewarm pain
burns and stings more with each breath taken.
A phone that never rings seems the loudest silence.
When one claims to love you, but easily forgets.

When hours become days become weeks.
Silence, icy coldness, becomes anguish.
And from that anguish comes...a quiet
Nothingness.  Emptiness where once there there was a warm flame, sustaining...a lie.
The soons, the maybes, the I love yous.
Still, you intermittently offer up your aloof affections.
I'm an afterthought,
at best.  The silence.  It's fading.

i write
this letter
to the sky
to find
the place
where
starlings fly
a quiet place
before
i die
when
i write
this letter
to the sky

The comfort of darkness envelops me.
The night...still and soothing, quiets my mind while at the same time
blissfully sets it free.

As the harshness of the day yields to the softness of evening,
and the light fades away,
a calmness settles over me.

Days are frenzied, a whirlwind, a blur of activity.
Nights are softer, and thoughts are free to become
unstructured, abstract, happy, pensive, joyful, melancholy.

Under the restful glow of moonlight,
glistening through the pines and oaks, the silence
unleashes thoughts held captive, sparking creativity.

When day's end finally settles in
I feel more vibrant, more authentic, able to fully just be.
The night is my stability.

The Crickets cackle “crisp,”
With an only interruption, being I,
Atop dust, whisper and
Desert highway.
I’d tell you if I were running,
But I’m not quite sure, not yet,
Leaving the Coyote to eat,
Respite, and devoured,
The singing Crickets,
A’howl later,
To deliver answers unimpeded.

I have a faint memory –
A snake’s grip promised, via hand and
Crystal contingency,
“Wiser,” once bestowed, the mystic;
An epic complete, atop 17 years of thunder,
Steel stained crimson,
Street stained whimper
And forever remaining,
“Under-construction.”

Symbolic a more relevant scaffold,
½ bamboo and the other steel, the tower,
Note ‘fore me, it’s only purpose –
Elsewhere, and anonymous,
While I tap my belly to some
Melody we’d once enjoyed;
Maybe something by, “Coltrane,”
Or maybe not; but music we’d both
Recognize and reminisce too.

It’s an awkward alchemy of sorts,
As the Crickets, post-mortem,
Persist if only to chirp, and the Coyote mulls.
When the dust continues to cake.
When the whisper finds newer ears.
When interrupt’s abrupt, erupts,
Pacifies and interrupts again;
My precious distraction –
An amnesia loyal in away from, “then.”
Somewhere beyond, “there,”
And onward, “anew.”

Nothing quite so exquisitely painful
As watching the one you
(Maybe)
Love gaze at a man far better than
Any woman you could hope to be.
Your heart wrenched with
Possibilities scattered to the spring wind
Like a thousand seeds of hope-sorrow.
He's better than you. She's better than you,
How could you ever hope to lure her from
A better man than any woman you could
Ever hope to be.
Golden-honey curls that will never
Wrap around my fingers are spread over
Notebooks full of love poems
To a man far better than
Any woman I could hope to be.

I have to tell you girl
you're tempting
like that bowl of sweets
gramma lay down
You're the mystery
in the foil
and I wanna taste
I could put you in words
I can paint you with my fingertips
smear the red of those lips
with my tongue
Wanna run my hand
down the warmth of your curves
down all 6 ft. of you
Wrap my fingers through your hair
that platinum blonde
pull you in
You wanna know love?
I'll come up for a kiss
and show you
Gonna bite the bottom
of those suckable wet lips
taste your sugar
The soft of my skin
my ******* resting on your smooth
from your toes to your hips
Gonna swallow like fine wine
Oh passion lust desire
You could have me
All of me

copyright 2005 Bellabloom

i hate your beautiful laugh

i hate how your hair dances perfectly       with the wind

i hate your, smile
   god i hate it so much

i hate the way your lovely eyes look at me

I hate how you make me feel as though im on cloud
                                     n
                                    i
                         ­         n
                                e

i hate how i wish you were mine

i hate you
i hate you
  i hate you.

some topics are taboo.
it seems this is so,
at the root, these lies,
discover you and me.
our natural true beings.
so there they stay
cloaked in a definition of taboo,
almost respectfully,
sitting for centuries,
gaining energy, changing mind.

I say let's dig out these, too.
re-defining will take time,
though today a word,
a thought, a stream of us
came through,
can I hash this out with you?

victimization - it's synonyms are
deception, fake, con, fraud,
deceit, dodge.
dodge...
the antonyms, truth, reality, honesty,
peace...
dodge peace,
sure this is only a piece,
it's these things I need to talk through,
is this revolutionary for you, too?

****, victimization is a hoax,
well, of course, suffering is choice,
we are the power of the stars,
ok, let's see...
it seems, WE,
collectively
needed a break from the murky
waters of Pisces, like WE
need expansion in all forms of
technology.
it doesn't free though because we
think we can be victimized, governed.

now, hold on,
we create what we see,
so we victimize ourselves? (I choose to govern me)
instead of choosing to suffer
we can choose to create a new reality.
the subtleties are deafening now!
groping at my sleeves
begging to get out,
to be launched down
inject the network with our worth.
birth to death to birth,
we are God, source,

new definitions must be formed,
new books written,
new paradigms were living,
be free or not,
it's your choice.