Our shadow dwells, most of them we created them from hell.

Its the monsters we feed, the suffering of our identity that creates the hell.

Only unity can make peace with the shadow.

Its the ying and yang, the eye of a needle, the one true self that can make you well.

I despise the word 'loss",
it implies that something CAN be found,
but I know that I will
Never find you again.
So, next time you see me crying on the street,
don't tell me your sorry for my loss
because
I know your words like the back of my hand,
stolen from a card,
not given by the heart.

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water,
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind.  The wind.
I alone can contend against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here.  Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened.
Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your ******* smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the grey light unwinds in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
Until I even believe that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

I want to be loved
right through to my
      dark edges
where indigo smoke,
as mystical as night,
curls up to envelope you
I want that haziness    
     to penetrate
the fire in your eyes
as they mist over
two deep pools of wild
liquid-colored lava
I want to kiss you deep
right down to the embers
take them upon my tongue
      even if they burn
Let them smolder
Let the frayed vibrations
of our union
drip into magic
Let a new consciousness melt
into the realms of our minds
in an electric-toned hue of spirals
Let the love that has been
sealed inside
           go ultraviolet
          with every single breath
and all the poison of past battles
burn away
to reveal the buds of spring
as they burst through
layers of ice,
of ash
of obsidian
for even the most tender
of shoots can unfurl
in a magic that
defies the logic of suffering
and conjures
the language of miracles

I escape from the hole,
      All is far away,
The night is undead,
   The living are not alive.
I walk interminably departing myself,
     Today is easy,
Right now is not a word.
    The restlessness circles my being,
The poem seems to follow,
      I whisper a secret to the verses
And the stars become dotted inklings,
     The night is enormously quiet,
But my mind is resounding words,
      They beg to come out,
My walk will take forever,
    But I am already home
Scribbling the lines to this poem,
       A walk becomes a metaphor,
This poem becomes reality
Shutting doors,
    The poem becomes me,
I have no name to call myself,
     I am ravaged by the words,
I write to see myself.....