I want to pray.
Feel a beam of light expunge me from these anxieties
I want to pray to know that you are happy
or at the least at peace.
In some glinting meadow free of your sorrows, drenched in weightless freedom and endless smiles.
I want to pray, but I know I'll never be sure.
So for now, I'll make this world a place you'd like to live.
where compassion radiates ferociously and your inedible love fuels it endlessly.
Today I had a needle pierced through my flesh to adorn my vessel with color.
Today your flesh may be grey, peppered with the proof of decay.
I am here and you are not.
You shared your luster and love with abundance, but something you gave so freely you couldn't possess yourself.
But while your body does rot the love you shed does not.
It shall bloom in the innocence of youth and pulse of nature.
I feel you.
I love you.
I miss you.
We were Impervious:
Two perfectly poised bodies buoying each other through the **** of life
Then the mass Conflagration:
A fire consumed and incinerated what I thought we could be.
I should have realized worship isn't a vessel of transcendence , but a ship fettered in servitude eagerly waiting to drown me.
You ignite my picnic of a body, bedecked with an assortment of foods too pickled and procured with oddities to ever be pillaged.
You plunge your fingers into my vinegar ****** potato salad and athwart my melonous cantaloupe thighs.
I indulge in your embrace as you engulf in mine.
Two terribly beatitude lovers emboldening the picnics within eachother.
The simonized delight as your hands are the midwives to my parted thighs and my glazed love drenched eyes.
A leisurely stroll, two feet plodding through dandelions in hypnagogic droll.
A walk in the park is nothing of banal matter, but some sumptuous production engendering the staring feature of the gambit of life.
Old folk hobble, young ones cuss and scramble, children giggle.
The park is a nudnik creation while awaiting the charades and demonstration of the chaotic equanimity of this human population.
Life is not a walk in the park, the park is a magnanimous showcase of lives we embark.
I want to know I'm loved with unwavering certainty.
As if love was a bubbly boil pasted right in mid of my forehead.
Constantly reminding me of its existence, bumptious and irritating, but ever present and glorious.
I want a love I fear is nullified buried in the graveyard of childhood fantasies.
For in all reality No man will love you for you in unadulterated vivacity.
The real world is tainted by the mind of biology, terminating the dream of true love and all of the accompanying fluffy stuff.
There's no sense spending our days mourning the falsified dreams of our youth.
There's only one person on this earth that can make you happy and that'd be YOU
When my body is broiled with the crispening macabre glean of anxiety; I imagine myself to be a buoying loaf of cornbread in a torrent sea of acid.
my custard colored crust being licked away by the ravenous maw of the current, this is no terrain for a loaf of cornbread in the first place.
Perhaps if I joined the sun swept crystal island of idealism, I could be drenched in honey and bound frivolously in nectarous orchard fields.
But then, even here, I suppose a Raven may spot me and adorned with a vulturous sneer gobble me up in my blissful state there.
So where shall my pappy crumbling loaf of an existence reside?
In the trenches of unbridled realization, lapping me up in a despair riddled prison?
Or the land of beatitude and glee unfettered from the brutalizing truths of reality...
Perhaps there's some bridging ground between these two polar opposites...
but how should I know?
I'm merely a cornbread I can't declare cognizance.