When things are miserably bleak,
and our inner vision grows weak,

we lose site of the shore,
the things that ground us,
the stones that bound us before,

we let slip the broken bits,
the silent slips,
that only our hearts perceive,

and we leave.

we reach out from broken,
for something new,

we abandon rivers and roads,
the familiar things, we once knew.

And fly, like a finch- blue feathers,
yellow beak shrieking in elation,
as we lift
from the cage.

We lay aside old griefs and sorrows,
we lay aside malice and rage,
and slip the bars of sadness,
and embrace a joyful madness,

and in doing so restore the balance,
of a jaded world,
to explore it's continents,
oceans and sea depths,
for diamonds and pearls.
and in doing so,
we who are free,
touch - reality - the distance.
(c) DM 2017

Don't settle for ordinary, in surrendering for ordinary we forfeit great joy.

A clothes hanger
                   clutches a line
                   of paper lanterns
                                     lighting my next step
                                     on streets my shoes stick to
                                               from wheat beer
I hear the ‘Pit'                      coursing through cracks  
                    &                        inebriating aged clay bricks
                    ‘Pat”
                     of rain on rooftops
                                   & falsely take it
                                       for Charlie Parker's
                                                     'Hot House'
but it’s 2am near Tulane
  & they’ve graduated to
                  tracks from Tremé;
                  Brass jazz & barflies;
                  Mad Hatters & Mademoiselles
                                     dancing barefoot
                                     in the French Quarters
                                            under red fluorescent lights
                                               under cloud-covered stars;
She gets them drunk off dance & song;
Guaranteed to make locals
                      late to last call;
                      shows them back-country gems,
                        the beautiful ruins known only
                                                      by bayou gals
                                                            & city folk
outside,                                              in search of sirens
where the ceiling's missing,
dancing 'till their bodies taste like rain

They 'crash'
                    &
                       'splash'
                                       .....breaking through worn wooden floors
                                                          ­           & cracks in plaster walls
lead by the ‘Pit’                                                     back to the street,
                        &
                      ‘Pat’
                              as other strange drops join the dance,
                              descending from skies to rooftops;
                                                     Finding lower highs
                                                     in search of Bourbon Street
                                                          ­          lost & looking
&                                                                 near Tulane at 2am
my blue suede shoes are dying of thirst,
                                 stuck upon each step;
                                          lacking direction
&                                         looking for jazz
waiting to drown
      in the 'Pit'
                 & 'Pat'
                     & splash
                         of this daily rain dance;
                         Lose myself in this listening
                         as dreamers do
                             on the streets near Tulane
                             At 2am;

Meant to be read like jazz.......preferably, with bourbon

It was a very long chase
I chased it for far too long
The chase ended when I actually caught it
It wasn't all I dreamed it to be
How could I be so foolish to believe
That my dream would become a reality
Makes me wish I could go back to that dream
Now I am awake wishing I could go back to sleep

Sometimes the things you wish for are actually not what they thought they would be.

Make the most of it they say,
As if that’s not
What we’re already trying to do
Though definitions vary between late
Evenings and impending sunrise,
Watch night sky glisten with match
Sticks striking skin, a glimmer of pointillism
Find our way home by connecting the dots
Taking time holding onto consequence of being
Together under assumption that if these eyes
Never close dawn can never come
But it does and how sweetly significant it is
That the day can end in reverie against such
Sullen cries of waning innocence

Pulled awake with thick honey beams
Shrugged off residual suppositions
Lingering still a soft pot of moral support ready
To mitigate existential insecurity waits eagerly
In the kitchen or outside painted as neoteric
Portraits of wash-town forests
Take a break decide course of action
Stretch and listen leaves whisper hymnals
For the day’s intent, sing along
A chorus of vibrant arrangement

To run or wander is always
The question the Great Mother Moon asks,
To rest or mend is what’s requested when
Our eyes open, revealing again an opportunity
To repeat or start anew

See,
if you look for someone
who's willing to settle
I could tell you
she's never the one

as her heart beats
to explore places
she can't pronounce

But,
if she finally chooses
to quit her journey
only for you
it means that you are
a road worth taken

should you consider yourself lucky
rose Apr 22

I live between contentment
and
adventure
it is the perfect space
for me

:)
W Winchester Apr 21

Saccharine: Like a disease, like a bad memory, like a smell you can't get away from. Like a bad memory.

Miriami Matloff has never gotten along with her peers, whether it was at work or at school.  After discharging from yet another mental hospital after yet another suicide attempt, Miriami decides maybe she needs a change of scenery. Desperate to get out of failed relationships and gnawing guilt, Miriami flees to the big city of Los Angeles.

Saccharine: cloying, sickly

When she meets perfection in the form of a charming and mysterious young woman named 'Candy', Miriami finds herself infatuated. Finally! A roommate, a nice apartment, a beautiful city, and a circle of friends who all have their lives together.

Saccharine: thick, heavy, hard to shake. Like the common cold.

But when Candy starts to become distant- not coming home, dodging phone calls, Miriami wonders if maybe the sweet life isn't all its cracked up to be. In an attempt to find answers, Miriami stumbles upon an entire life she knew nothing about.

Saccharine: sweet and awful.

Like a bad memory.

Read the start of my novel, Saccharine here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/106385289-saccharine

Everyone alive has twenty four hours of choices
Everyone has good and bad days
The key is finding the good during bad days
That's when you are truly the happiest
If you can't find the good
If you can only find negatives
Then you must focus on removing the negativity
So you can smile again

Just keep smiling and everything will fall into place. It takes more energy to be sad than it does to be happy. So be happy and grateful for what you have because there's always someone that has it worse than you.

your sexually feminine

your crazy adventurous

your madly rebellious

but elegantly refined

being

dissolves all intent

to distill these words

in an aesthetic formation

for what I see will never

and can never

be portrayed in words

no matter how brillaintly put

Robert Bly's structuring of words

must fail to deliver

the beautiful potency

in the structure of your

being.

-Bassel M. Abouzahr

only those who crave fire
and passion
can experience
my inner lioness

life isn't about
focusing on emptiness

I express my demons
just to remind myself
I am alive
then I shake it off

forever craving
adventure
human connection
wildness

i'm not as sad as you think I am
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