I'll be your patient listener
but don't expect me to be a mindless follower

Can you hear?

chimes and faint whispers of a past near forgotten
it seethes and seethes of riddles and connotations for the one who lived it

unfortunately they, cannot hear it

gracious is the hidden universe
tenderly whispering through nuanced memories warnings and forebodings
persistent and ever so temperate
I wonder how the receiver in unable to receive such love

would I have done the same
to ignore the evident chasms of repulse echoing in the head
as one dives knee deep in ruination frolicking in the pretence of esteemed achievement?

Lady Fortune is certainly strange and unfathomable in her doings
As distrustful and deceitful as humans came to be
I’d still like to have a little faith the universe had yet to be contaminated...

Anew it once was
now withered, the glamorous sheen of splendour dimmed
Time plays the age old trick
of turning us all old
though should we not welcome
this ageing like fine wine
rather than be weary of its inevitability?

Love cannot flourish if Time were not to play its part
for Love can only be conceived as true and splendid
when weathered with the cruelty of chances and difficulties
but those storms bring more harmony than destruction
tethering those bound forever more together
Love is true in its promise
It’s only people who aren’t
So let not the world fool you
into thinking
Love is pointless
It is not
It never will be

A beauty that never fades in its glory
Love truly holds wonders in its warm security for those that know well of its treasures it nurses for the destined and lucky ones

A fickle yet adored fantasy
universally proclaimed lovingly by the same name
stands with much difference for each
for each has a unique lover
whose uniqueness cannot be challenged
nor compared
nor estimated

Though are we always to meet our fantasied beloved?
At the right moment?
Ideally?

Love is strange
an entity yearned for for ages
yet terrifying to own when the time for it comes
for we are afraid
of our beloved in our fantasies
to be marred by the realism we allow ourselves to indulge

Picking petals from a flower
‘To love?’
‘To not love?’
Promises nothing short of eternity of torment
So drop that flower
And take a deep breath
Look to the offerer of love in the eyes
And say ‘I do,’
Hope that they will love you
like no one has ever done so

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

Webs of star dust enwrap the weary and the subdued,
of those that have lost hope or wish they had some to look forward to,
of those stumbling over the earth’s obstacles in vain for want of something inhumanely impossibly to attain that which has long been forgotten to weave by human hands for it has grasped the more stolid and sultry materialism as its ultimate pleasure,
and of the many more devoid of Lady Luck’s bounties upon thee for there are many unfortunates I can ponder of and which I am helpless in fathoming their confusion.

What of them? Despite the comfort of radiance, they forget the meaning of that flickering light in their horizon,
to understand, truly,
what it means to be human, to feel
it has been lost,
even if that fine web may suffocate them,
only the peril of finite existence can truly grapple their soul in totality.

Ardour and bliss of consuming visually Nature’s bounties have long since been reduced to decorous eloquence,
the wondrous night skies with its constellations mapping infinities of destines;
of the earth and her planes stretching endlessly as carpets of green,
powdery gold of the sand shifting in its own mixing bowl
and of the roaring oceans that drown the screams of the lands in its calm,
none whatsoever can save a desolate soul least they may themselves see a part of them in the silent life that beats and screams around them.

They’re a fog of confusion, a conglomeration of unnamed thoughts and ideas that warrant recognition and are hopelessly left unknown,
wandering in their haze of misery and curiosity,
without any thought perhaps it isn’t wandering that might be salvation
but merely stillness for it may truly make their ears hone into the song of the world that sings endlessly to its beloved creatures to renew their vigor for a new dawn on its face,
to have the orbs glimpse the dynamic multitudes of the earth and whatever it encompasses perhaps to have one find themselves in the constitutions that breathe and throb around them,
oh what would they not do to see and hear? But they’re hopeless, downcast and disparaging,
for they’ve been blinded by the whispers of masked crusaders plotting their demise
with the ploy proving victorious by every second
unless they deem themselves capable of strangling the ropes of deceit that bind them in their despair,
Only and only then,
can the life around them aid in salvaging them.

I wonder how I've ended back up in this position
dependant on not just a chemical or two, but
dependant on the love of a person
You see, I was not born a human, nor have I lived as one,

I'm used to the beauty of the darkness, for in dark places
beautiful flowers grow, but it takes eyes
shadowed in darkness for decades to see them
and to pluck them, one needs a still heart
that no longer beats with the rhythm of a living being

that darkness has shaped my world, shaped my mind
yet in her voice, her words, and her love
I've found myself slipping from that place
being pulled into one in which I do not know how to live
Here there is light, and sights to be seen
with eyes practiced to the sun

I used to believe the universe whispered to me
and maybe it still does, it's just that it's been so long
since I've listened, that its song is distant
raw, and uncaring

You see the universe is lonely,
that's why it turned into you, and into me,
to be embraced with it's own warmth
to embrace itself in its own desire,
what a simple thing we endeavor, is it not?

By becoming creatures bounded in time, and space,
we've forgotten our true self and along with it
the wellspring of love that created us,
now we seek it, although in lesser forms,
experiencing it with only a few
and the upper casts of beings know this,

Somewhere deep in our subconscious we also understand, and we know that we've forgotten it.

It's just that demons have embraced darkness, and a total absence of love, while we try to fill ourselves with small glimmers plucked from flowers that grow in the sun.

Demons, on the other hand, pluck flowers that grow only in the darkness, and those flowers have power over mortals, they will call to thee and under their spell, you will dream dreams meant for only devas, asuras, demons, and spirits.

This nectar is not meant for humans, yet in our arrogance, we reach for their stock and supply,
and with it we compose beautiful songs and paint beautiful shapes, we piece together majestic art and music that can open the mind, bend it, twist it, and mold it in ways from which it can never retreat.

We create,
Things that even devas desire,

We create,
Things that even demons devour,

But to us humans these things are toxic, they are too much, and we become lost to them.
Such that we call madness is a consequence of reaching too deeply into the well of knowledge with an unbalanced, ignorant, distracted, and frail mind, and in doing so, we forsake everything for the pitifullest glimpse of eternity.

In that place; only gods and asuras may roam freely; humans, on the other hand, are far too greedy,
far too curious, far too ignorant, and far too dangerous to possess such knowledge.

We should stick to light plucked from flowers growing in the sun,
because those flowers which grow in the darkness will only lead to our damnation, the conclusion of our race, and the manifestation of something far more terrible than any of our myths ever suggested.