You look to be happy to escape the sadness
And seek inner peace to run from the madness
You sprint towards pleasure so pain will not reach you
You wish to be free so you don’t follow through
With any commitments, you don’t think that freedom
Is simply a tool to build your own kingdom
But all craftsmen know that to build anything
You take wood from the woods and you alchemise it
You may not want this, but this is where truth lies
When you reject half of life, the other half dies.

You are everything. There isn't anywhere I can think
and imagine to go where you won't be.
Inescapable. Even when I imagine I've killed you,
I curse the name given to you. There I see you
in the profane words, in the rajas of violence.
Where can I go? What shape
can I take to hide from you?

I quiver on the edge of Love and Hate,
yearning with pain and in vain
for mercy forgot me and relief
is a distant mirage in an endless desert.

I grow to love the shiny polish
from grains of abrasive sand.
I wait through a coarse, dry world
for cool deluge transforming
in a blink everything from sand to sage,
and slowly back again.
Who can do this? Who
can harness a power
perceived in between
the friction of fire and air?

Its all part of grief, all part of life
Suffering and pain and strife
And smiles and comedy and fun
The stars, the moon, the skies and sun
They're all aspects of this cool "one"
That some have come to know as God
Or Nirvana, Universe
They are all words in the verse
Of seeing life through your own lens
There wouldn't be as much suspense
Without heavier words such as
The death of love or a sad pass
Poetry comes through the contrast
Of sea and stone and monotone
Is something no one should aim for
When reading about themselves,
If you're in pain, congratulate yourselves
You dont realize how much
Life you're living with the touch
Of grief that you're letting be seen
You've never been more akin
To love than now, the lines are full
Not half like the sun at noon

So while it hurts and brings much dread
I need to admit love is dead
And it is not coming back
At least not on the same track

And I'll be honest it's not fun,
Sometimes not even the least
But they don't call it "good grief"
For nothing...

Do they? =))

_M.

I call to my own depths
and the love of my life appears
and manifests my long ago forgotten dream.

So now I live the dream
knowing it is illusive and imagined
and infused with the flavor of realness.
Yet, only I am real and it
is seen by no one that this too is
an unreality. Nothing sees itself.
Nothing yearns for nothing.
Blank void cries and laughs
at its own reflection and
make-believes its world to exist
only for its own amusement.

Come play, my only friend!
Go away then come once more
to me and let us dance and laugh
and sing again and again in being
all the varied endless waves.

I wish there wasn't - but there is
I wondered when - when what couldn't
no one could see an inception or end point
if > opposites
how does one come to one? or none?
when they decipher this will they see
how they are the same and also opposites?
one ... none
will they it she he already know?
the big stupid open secret

She says, "Crash into me, baby, and let me crash into you."
and I possess nothing, least of all things, power.
I am not. She is - nothing other than she is.
All my good intentions go to diseased swine.
I am not - her wrath takes me from here to there
and calls it nowhere. I am tossed about,
no compass, no center to navigation.
She toys with my love and honest heart;
tests me with sharks and rattlers.
Why so harsh?

For pleasure and the peace to be ever sweeter.
For to end suffering and a beginning to nothing.
I am nothing and forever trying to be something.
What else can I be?
I see no boats rocking. The sea is glass.
Nothing is broken.

Some moments a thought comes -
It’s so much easier just to give up.
So comfy a feeling to visualize
nothing but blank-nothing –
Not to be. Not to think
or feel or breathe. No pressure
to present a concocted identity
one can’t even see that’s not at all me.
No stress keeping abreast of every snippet
of someone else’s reality. No figuring
or wondering or worrying or plans.
Nothing to hope for or hate
or to signify or demand.
No side-eyes screaming "how weird".
No stink-eyes looking to strike.
No evil intentions peering behind
some ignoramus’s unbelievable disguise.
No more fake smiles
and rhetorical "how are you's".
No more seeing wrong numbers
and choosing them too. Absent
anxiety and anger and acrid, stone-cold fear.
Absent color. Absent pattern.
Without texture or taste. No feeling
a thing like the aching of pain.
Some moments a thought comes -
Just end this silly race sooner.
Why stick around any longer
perceiving the same old, unpolished,
frayed and slightly greyed images
on a disappearing, silky screen,
when there is glorious and
unending nothing awaiting
this little, tiny insignificant me.