Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Balance.  What a charged and pregnant word.

Balance.  Common in our daily vernacular
but void of it's innate and innermost meaning

Balance - what do you see?
The Golden scales of antiquity?

What a dichotomous lie
For Balance is multi-planar, multi-dimensional
Multitudes of exponential, fractal-like branches
Hanging from the largest trunk of the largest tree with the largest network of life-providing roots spreading in all directions at once like a wild-fire with unlimited fuel

Balance.  It's perfectly symmetrical reflection
Only distorted by the waters of our perception
Thrives and simultaneously strives for connection
Connection to the mirrors of eternity
The pristine, naked, flesh-covered bodies of pure vulnerability, set free to explore this spherical dream

Balance is a friend, but left unseen, reaching for our touch without so much of a glance towards it's arduous efforts to bond with the deep dwelling dreams of Souls,
Balance can be distorted, as the tree is, in the ripples of our confused and distracted minds.

Crack!  A branch breaks.
Balance falters, catches itself and picks up its severed limb - a sacrifice, for the greater good.  The only good.

Crack!  Another branch breaks.
Balance steps to redistribute it's misaligned weight
A sacrifice, for the greater good.  The only good.

A fitting mantra.

Crack!  Crack!  Crack!  Branches breaking back to back
Plummeting to the cold hard ground.
This sudden decay is too much to handle
The limbs of this great tree, the greatest amongst all cannot regrow at the speed at which the others wither

Ironically, balance is now imbalanced

Shaking, desperately grasping the ground with its roots  to stay upright, at the very least, to remain present, persistent, possible, but, most importantly, present
Present for those vulnerable naked bodies to one day glance past their distorted waters and into the depths of what truly is...

A force, so strong, so humble, so forgiving reaching out through it's remaining, fatigue-strewn branches in a dire need to make contact with the branches of our mortality

When branches unite, as they shall, as they always do from time to time,
Imbalance is washed away as waves wash the shore
And Balance emerges from the distorted waters, now retreating, pulled by the tide of self-awareness

Perfectly, our fingers fill the gaps of our grief-stricken but eternally determined ally and meet with it's tender stumps, the necessary wounds of time
A fusion of worlds meld the two together in a forge as hot as the sun but as nourishing as a mother's touch

Balance, in all it's glory, sewn to us through the channels of our consciousness is now, truly, and undeniably,

Balanced.


- Brian Patrick Williams
11/13/2013
Landon Velasquez May 2014
Punctured are the lungs I've used for breathing
This seething ever-romantic feeling
The peeling of skin that reveals the concealed
And opens up the undying existence of the unseen
As my own existence is also undying and unseen
My mind and ego trying to convince me otherwise
This is my illusion
Intruding my mind and infecting it with disparity
And with no clarity of what is to come
I drown in fear that I will succumb
Scarecrow Apr 2014
Echoes
The thunder echoes against the cracked jaw of the sky
I smell the heat and the humidity
And the envy

Drowning
The earth is drowning under the cannonade of rainfall
I can feel the sorrow and the hope
And the hubris

The unbridled fury of an outcast

Secrets
Whispered through the arms of a lover
On the wind whipping down the road
Up through the willows
Weariness Apr 2014
My hands around your heart,
grip ceasing pulsation,
dying sconce, ember fades.

Convulsion, revulsion,
pathetic emotive,
response contradiction.

Electrically impulsive
transmission flat lines addiction,
and radiates into ether.


© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.
© Copyright Mr. James P Machen 26/08/2014 for viewing only. May not be replicated.
Nicholas C Feb 2014
Languid
restless
I don’t even know anymore

I don’t have anything to say
nothing real
nothing fictional

Plagued today
a lack of passion
no inspiration to be had

stuck in vapid complacency
I haven’t chosen
not to feel

Anything at this given moment
would be salvation
from banal doldrum

I’ve slipped
fell
into pacificity
Observer at best
always just a passing wayfarer
part of the scenery

running a facade
a mask of my own image
sure I see myself in the mirror

but Who
Is
That?



Trapped
by the singular perspective
that is consciousness

I have no idea
what anyone feels
What another’s notion of me is

other than myself
and even then
I’m not so sure.

Does anyone
ever give me
a thought?

Who am I?
an Artist
a poet
a hiker
a biker
a walker at night

a friend
a son
a brother

An acquaintance
that guy
hey you

a fool
a loser
lost  

selfish
lonely
insecure

Maybe?
but who defines me
myself or others


Does it even matter
what I think
if I’m really not the judge

but then again
how will anyone see
what I am if I don’t know

Is there even
a place
for me?

Where am I going?
what am I doing?
Will I ever make a difference?

Will I ever carve a niche?
will I ever be remembered?
will anyone ever think of me?

Who will think of me?
how will they define me?
who knows?

I sure as hell don’t.
Next page