The next could be us,
Ponder the connection?

Soldiers of Lives
Peons of the Eons
Messengers of Millennia
Souls of Seasons

Hands; smooth, tender
Eyes; sensitive, splendor
Heart; calloused, hardened
Soul; damaged , darkened

Two kingdoms, one Land
Reign of Heart, leads to hand in hand
Monarchy of Mind, breeds chaos in the silence
Duel kingdoms, inner conflicts under one alliance

The next could be us,
But not quite us.

I said I'm learning
To keep it to myself but
I'm not sure how

These words don't come as they once did,
What once flowed like rivers,
Misery expounded onto page, ripped asunder from the mind,
And placed somewhere remote; far away.

Was I myself ever the poet, I wonder now,
Or was it simply those miserable thoughts,
Guiding the body to explain the mind away,
This is what concerns me most, now.

When before I could write, and write, and write,
About any small pain upon the weary heart,
An expression of these taut emotions, played by a coarse hand,
Not at all concerned with truth, or with what is best,
Simply expression, no matter how destructive, or deluded.

As I sit and write this now I am not fully convinced,
Even still these words are rooted in a pain,
The anxiety of the self, looking inwards,
Pondering if the space within is occupied, or vacant.

At times, it sounds like crowds are cheering, when I'm sitting in a silent room.

With my lower jaw working on a merger with my upper. I take a deep breath and sigh.

Until I hear the silence.

Fluttering wings,
Bubbling within,
Rising rains,
Pattering, drumming,
On the trees above,
On your head,
Feet at a steady pace,
Just at the time of the rain,
Drumming with purpose,
But, oh wanderer,
What purpose does your pace have?

Bubbling, fizzing,
All unseen,
The hunger,
The drive,
To hunt,
But you hold it in,
Tame it,
Bend it to your will,
Heal the damage,
Break the vengeance,
The internal fire.

Fluttering wings,
Flying fast,
Coming at you,
Unseen, unheard,
Unexpected, yet expected,
You can’t help but give in,
To the pain,
To the misery,
The void inside.

Your steps have purpose,
Paces planned,
But motions uncertain,
Destination controlled,
Route un-mapped,
But I am here to guide you;
Help you regain control.
Through all of the days of wonder,
Thoughts asunder, scattered about,
Written, flung, separate from one another,
Senseless, but not meaningless,
Each one burdened with purpose,
Waiting to be decrypted,
Brought into a new light,
Kept away from the consuming flame,
The drive of your feet,
May they ever be well again,
To the place you once knew,
The peace to your war,
The home of the soul,
The lair of the internal fire.

- Jay M
October 9th, 2018

The damage is complete.
This is a lie.
This is a ghost.

I've fallen
fallen off from the perfect image framed of me
for me to embody a perfect daughter
daughter that's no longer me

I was one of the nicest
I was one of the best
Fell off my high chair, can I just lay here and rest?
It feels as if I have to live up
to the things I no longer want
to the expectations not of my own
but of the people that dares to throw me off my throne

The fire and desire to break away grows in me
Yet I'm stuck inside a cell where they claim I'm free
As I stand still in the same root like an old tree
I envy the leaves of life falling when it felt right to flee

I'm no angel, nor do my demons define me
But in this earth,
to look after thyself is seen as a deed of evil
Self-worth constantly shattered
and we ask why people lack the effort?
the effort to be and stay true to ourselves are enough of a riddle
I'm not the same as I used to be, I'm no longer the little me.

Explore my labyrinthian corridors,
From the walls to the hallways, to the unkempt floors.

'Tis in my mind I finally realize,
I have not the time to explore each and every door,

Precious, singular thoughts,
Expectedly drowning,
but in due course,
We are lost at sea in an ocean devoid,

emptied by the mindless wars.