the monsters fought
the monsters swore
they wounded each other, they self-each wore
a bond was torn
and lies were born
innocence in its prime would be denied
as lies led would be accepted and
believed by every one of its kind

i do not know perfection
i do not know function
but i do know what's fair
i do know what's pure
all that is worthy and sincere
it may not be seen but it will be told
as the lies unfold and the truth is one we hold
forlorn  hope lies in being genuine and honest
so much is wasted as we are heaven-promised
we are told what to like but frowned upon when we comment

who are we to not see clearly?
who are they to say nay to what
we
truly need to
be?

you can appetize your wits and stimulate your senses
you can elevate and on a high dissect the story
dissect the story of its fences and defenses

in a world where we swirl to the curl
of the coil and its whirl
in a world where we twirl and swerve
the virginity and honesty in the eyes of the sunshine girl
we are found dusting the mist of mystery off the pearls of our divinity
without really seeing clearly the truth
and immortality that embodies the life of you and me

but will she grow and pro the cradle afro?
we may just know the buckles of the
teeth of time as it chuckles
then our souls will not be in trouble
and we could curb all that keeps us trapped in this bubble as we get to the pop the rock nobble.

dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

sometimes
i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
back
up

I feel restless and empty
For the smiling faces around are plenty
But none of these faces send me
To the fields of feeling free

Trapped in a cage
Upon lifes grand stage
Only to rot away with age

Damaged and broken
My heart removed for a token
Never felt more awoken

They tear me apart with their masquerade
Deep into my mind they invade
Cutting it to pieces with a serenade
Then left like a stray dog I begin to fade

I remember a time sincere
the bobs were out and a song would play, maybe by Sinclair
Our eyes were wide open, we could see clear

A time out of time when we were golden
hoping and folding our best until we were chosen
It was not money that charmed but genuine being which was the token
Many who wouldn't see and couldn't be their true identity felt broken

And then as at and of magic, the fake was spoken
many were left suffering and choking
Messages from the heart were the the only letters posted
Equal in being and of humanity conversations were potent and all were anointed

Soul was soul and not the image ego will have you know
Weavers so and so in solace did so sow and the renaissance of art was sworn
In deed and in might we proved to be forthright
but under tyranny and darkness we are forced to fight for rights
In a picture coloured with light and glamour, the sparks are inspected for brightness
and as such a defence is born for each one to defend their race
and in a fray for pace we erase the trace that signifies that we are of one face
But we are divided and chauvinism is the sad case
sad case as a box for holding sickening syrups of mission debase
Clustered and gathered in classrooms, we are made to debate
debate issues we all agree on so our fate becomes hate
and not an objective of soul relate

many will know you for your demeanour
some will know you for your humour
or lack of
some will know you for your friendliness
or lack of
others for your humility
or lack of
and others, for the most part, your personality
But very few, 'cherished if in view', will know you for your soul
Very few will know you for your heart
Very few will see and appreciate you as Divinity's work of art
The limited number will acknowledge your character
If you are blessed to meet these twin souls
embrace and do not let go
for many know the person as flashed by camera, few identify the purity so glamorous.

The person of the soul
not the image many are quick to steal and conceal beneath all things dark and useless and then use to deal
*the one thing they would try to eradicate but cannot: the sole of the soul, the center of the heart, the link to eternity.

imagine

an image in the forms of art or artistry, tapping into the tapes of these tapestries, sinking into the cosmic industry, finding the osmosis in dust I try to see

Page

A pinned inch into an image telling tales of its wonder vintage
a sage in an age where the page in ink was written, the wise were smitten, was it in the crystal skull or the temples where these are hidden

And

And rage and age anger doth blow page undone, so tense the stage, intimidated the fake but for like of fame or latent shame there then thy blame on the telly and materialistic dames but lame so fade the hunger for the late...

found

in this present moment potent breathing lively accents searching during time's rumination for its succulent excellence and bustling vowels and sensual scents have one drooling in the streams of a truth confabulated in eternity. in a breath, just being and clearly seeing all of its meaning.