like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon
I raise my own tattered wings to the sky cursing the inadequacies, throwing away all doubts, shedding my second skin of half-truths thrown into my head by words so keen on my own destruction. by time that had stopped for three hundred days. by a pen that seemed never ending, inhibiting the thoughts within my head. with a new smile in my eyes I take a newfound strength in my arms, lift up my wings and bring myself into a new flight.
been gone awhile but still writing...
It’s not good to go back in time. If you do you’ll see everything you missed leading to a different way of living a life of misfortunate events.
Gonna start a new chapter of my life like this.
When it finds a match,
the fire sends its regards for the source of its warmth. Where heat and breast floats gold, I see the old sky new. Why a mold that charms cats and brothers as the offender of kings. What's more, it knows the Tarantula D'amour. We all burn slow, even if we die young; so be it. Well, let's live today if not and especially tomorrow doesn't exist.
When lips have sunk the ships of yesteryear
Man can grasp the mast and pull out the fear Casting an artful arm beyond the horizon set down a new game in a new love’s garden. They’ve done it so; whenever lost and known As the hull bows to Davy Jones’ show Let him have it. He only sings well for the dammed And our light lingers beyond the darkest sands.
for yesterday, today, and tomorrow
In-between the notes
I find myself In the midst of hope I find myself In the depths of the dark I find myself In the deepest spaces of my heart I find myself I find myself In this beautiful art When life comes apart I find myself
First attempt at some new stuff
what the cat understands
whether he knows that he understands it or not is that in everything there can be newness I do not know when he does most of his sleeping, but I watch each morning as he greets the house, lifting his nose up to everything familiar in order to remember where he is he traces each surface with his paws wanders around and around until he lays and falls asleep, then again waking with the same dedication to discovery he sits in the same windowsill every day, looking out at the same things, concerning himself only with the present
You want to be manipulated,
you like it this way, to be robbed from your agency, to be imprisoned deliberately. And in the sandbox play as you will, With known constraints And known space to fill. You want it altered just so enough As to tell things apart, But to be told where they belong, Hinted at what’s right or wrong. And in the new stuff find exhilaration , But newness is old news; Just give them the passion.
Written in May 2020.
— Copyright © M. Solav —
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Wedged somewhere between the aughts
In the early morning hours What is it you hear? Scatting of a bird Or the ticking of the clock Down the hall The sun filters in, golden Through wooden slats Bitter coffee waits to be made Sweet with cream and Drops of maple Home is slow and silent now In this residual world Where you rise and work Busy yourself with tasks Waiting to pick up where Life left off Spring is still here, Blooming and cool Soothing to the nervous spirit You can still step outdoors, Breathe in jasmine and fresh air Humming, meditating, on newness For now you follow a different routine Connect, find comfort in what is Around with new appreciation Embrace a slow morning And an easy evening Sunshine and small escapes
To our essential workers and healthcare heroes during this very strange time, I thank you.
I have the feeling
Of not knowing how to express Any of what’s going on But do I even know what I feel? I have the feeling Of letting go some big chunks all of them belonging to the past But can I even be sure they are gone for good? I have the feeling Of complete numbness at times Completely overwhelmed by all and nothing But isn’t numbness a feeling too? I have the feeling Of new things approaching me In the sense of change in character But does that mean this is who I want to be?