Work your relative truths
During the sound of day,
Reality construed through tools
Of your calculating conscious minds:
Optimal for survival and longevity.

But do remember too:
As when the silence of night dawns in, and
As the sound of thought scurries away
While you're cradled in the arms of slumber,
None of those truths will matter
Which governed your existence during the day.
It best be thought as Maya(illusion).

Look at the girl with flowers in her hair
And birds in her chest
She screams
She says she knows why the caged bird sings
For she is that caged bird
That sings of dreams she’s never dreamt and places only her subconscious goes

The demons dance,
ominously disguised
as Monsoon clouds,
hovering above the
slick, crimsoned altar.

One more heart,
one more soul,
one more sacrifice
might make the toll.

Life-blood River
deposits iron
on the pyramid's
sculpted stone
cascading, absorbing deep, flooding the gates of hell.  

On a canoe of bone
the King embarked
to negotiate peace
with the underworld rule.

"No more blood,
no more skulls
no more souls",
said the Lord . ...
"your time has come.
No more bargaining fool"

one grabs many things,
wanting to be something;
on the path to naught!

How marveling it is—beyond the bustling town hub,
deep in the forests, reserved on the bravest hills
The cadence of the bird's alluring symphony
echoes from stone, overflowed with daffodils

I venture through time effortlessly, walking
The gentle breeze erases my sorrows and fears
Sometimes the stone pyramids are haunting,
Yet magnificent to see where humans once were

As I gaze opposing monoliths from a king's throne,
I wonder of his essence and his diligent rule,
I wonder of the people he led who’d home,
in this place seemingly claimed by nature

Luckily the residue still thrives: red on cobble;
The waters and the plants breathe in serenity;
The beds, once covered in western blankets, now rubble;
They all whisper stories and poems into my ear

the light of the Creator is tattooed into my soul; as it looks at its reflection, through the window I call my eye.

at some queer second
         not quite between twelve and twelve
                    blue planet dust particles dream
                                suspend midair
                                 while sunbeams dance
                        across minute hands
                   in your eyes

            **** carpet melts into lush
       dark grass
      and azure electric runs across petals
         of daisies dipped in glass

                 air swims carelessly about in a tropical heat
                          and shimmers curiously like
                                  glitter in rain or
                                        paint splattered koi
                                                beneath oil spills

                                                   you stand at the
                                                      precipice to purple
                                                   infinity
                                       and curiously ask the darkness
                            "what time it might be"

                   soft words of loved ones
echo faintly in distance

       overhead
                    copper willows generously sprout
                         industrial light-bulbs

Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.

And today
Let us remember
That of all the illusions
Death is the deepest