You are but a beautiful spirit…so much splendor, that it cannot be contained within the halls of the spirit word. Your beauty ignites! It escapes like flames from a candle in the darkest of corners to illuminate our physical world thru your delicious contours and sweet face. You are celestial my Love! descended from the heavens for us to celebrate perfection in a woman.
Thank you my Darling...as a gaze from you justifies my existence. Call upon me with your angelic voice…watch me shatter in bliss.
Eres un espíritu bello...tanto esplendor en ti que no se puede contener en los pasillos espirituales. ¡Se enciende como fuego tu belleza! Escapa como luz de vela en lo más oscuro a iluminar nuestro mundo físico en tus deliciosas curvas y hermoso rostro. ¡Eres celestial mi Amor! Desciendes de los cielos para nosotros celebrar perfección en una mujer.
Garcia Querida...ya que una mirada tuya justifica mi existencia. Llámame con tu voz angélica...mira como me rompo de alegría.
- Luiz D. Syphre
As he lay waste her bed , her
Body, body-bed, bed-body
As he lay waste her cushions and
a saree unfurled
As he lay waste in a haste
To suck the marrow out of her
Lay waste her blankets,
And entered the bed which
Wasn’t one of Matrimony
But a bed raised in pursuit of mammon
To sort things , the easy way out
He entered a bed and she too ,
Body-bed , bed-body,
As voices cooed and quivered
As flesh writhed and squirmed
As pleasure heaved itself
And guilt oozed out
Somewhere, unwary children shouted
Finally, oh finally , passions routed
And people fled , a temptress left
In the temptress’ lair
And though the bed still lay waste
The pillows had a lot to boast,
A reward for the magnanimous host
Young tongues savoured dead flesh
On the largesse of a bed lain waste
In a temple of flesh.
I consider myself fortunate, that I discovered absurdism at eighteen. It seems to me, one of those things, discovered in old age when you wish then, you could go back and do all differently. I don't have that, I am free to live the absurd life, maybe I will feel I should have lived otherwise, when I am old. But absurdism makes sense, for right now. I've tried religion, I was scapegoating, putting my problems onto a deity rather than taking responsibility. I suppose, I must live. And we will see.
The tens of thousands of headstones were covered in flowers. Trees that were about triple the height of them circled around them forming a Stonehenge and green forest of those passed. Daughters and sons sat behind the decorated stones and over the flat marks that were simply map points where they, their parents, would live for eternity. The fresher visitors even needed time to navigate, the ones used to it know where to go. Many come. It's justifiable to to think that one of them could meet a friend that day in the same situation. Maybe they've been there a few more years or maybe this is their first Mother's Day on the grass, but friends just the same.
He pledged to woefully accept
The broken lullabies
That cradled his stone heart and
Locked itself deep within his soul.
The vow he heat pressed straight into his mind
Had left a scar wounding the very depths of his madness.
He swore to the heavens to ignore
Such sensitivities for the sake of another light.
Yet, his senses scream for some sort of release.
The desperation grew immensely like that of a saint
Who hath willing succumbed to ideals of sinning
And nightly creatures pieced his demons back together.
As they added weight to his already blood stained wasteland
I begin to wonder...
Who is he now?
I am merely the vessel of what use to be.
Unless, of course that man...
Is the one I see in the mirror.
Nothing but a silent reminiscence of what was...
- Rayvn St. Claire
controls me, contorts my mind into ugly destructive manipulative juxtapositions of melancholy and through the depths of it I often wonder ~
which foolish gardener planted this seed of angst that branched into the monstrous reflection at which I sometimes glance when I come across a mirror
There is a black door between us…
The door laughs at me, and it cries at you
But it can never open...it’s fixed forever locked
At the will of a 1 year old.
A manifestation of everything I ever did wrong…
A new hope and salvation away from my wrongs.
I know you’re there, my heart is a compass,
That will forever point to you, my true north.
even as your memories drag me south.
I don’t need eyes to see you or ears to hear you….
Our connection transfixes dimensions and human boundaries.
I feel you and you me.
We connect to each other in a spiritual realm only we can enter.
And there I can hold you once more
I embrace you like I never left.
You grace me with your sugar kisses…
It’s 15 years ago in our first apartment
There I die, with our kids, every night.
Like a fairy tale in reverse without an end.
I know we both do this...we were meant to hurt like this.
We were murderous in our past life and
now we pay karma in this life.
It’s why we met. To pay.
The messenger told us both.
Only when both wake together or die apart will we know this truth.
We are half of each other and fixed in a circle…
Walking the same ground, going over the same steps
We both try but cannot move forward...
We can’t escape the past, the door won’t open
It laughs and it cries and the child innocently holds the darkness.
Every time your sorrows escape your beauty,
It stains my pillow no matter how far we are.
Distance is an illusion, imaginary conclusion…
Baby, we are not in a delusion...
this is really happening.
The both of us, with our kids, every night perish.
I’m pushing up your daisies again.
Luiz D. Syphre
i think i silently vowed to never feel the pain of my entire world shattering again
because i can't seem to conceive the thought of someone reaching into my chest and opening up my heart again
because like a thief he came into my home he stole everything i've ever known
because i don't have anything to share with anyone anymore
for fear that these walls i have worked so hard to put up
will be taken down in the blink of an eye
because he forgot to lock the door when he left
because he never said goodbye
I don't want to believe anything truly dies. The things we love, the people we love...we carry them with us regardless of how they wither away and leave us. Seasons pass and the petals on flowers shrivel up, the colors aren't as bright as they once were but I've thought in this state, flowers tell the most.
I have two flowers that I keep in a glass jar next to my bed. While their states of these two flowers may them alike, the stories they tell are different. The first was given to me by a boy I swear I wanted to love. I'm wondering if I'll ever reach a moment where the timing is "right." I hadn't seen him in more than a year and in a way, this was us meeting for the first time again. I'm easily pleased and this single flower lit my face up the same way a whole bouquet would. Holding on to this single flower from months ago may seem strange but to me, it represents the warmth and comfort a single person can provide you with. The reality is things don't always turn out the way you wish for them for them too...but I was thankful to have crossed paths with you. I have no problem taking a different turn on my journey if it means meeting you at the end of the road. The light you bring to my being will always shine.
There were bundles of roses placed on my grandfather's casket the day of his burial. I remember this day vividly and despite the daggers I feel in my chest when I think about it, I want to remember it forever. I've been able to come to terms with the death of my grandfather since March but the thing with grief is one moment it feels light like a feather and the next you feel yourself being suffocated by the weight of it. This single rose represents my sadness, my shaky knees and sweaty palms that day, the tears that have rolled down my face over again, and most of all, the last time I saw his face and held his hand. Holding the flower brings me back to that day. I still feel the pain so intensely but I am now able to smile, too. It's hard when the ones we love leave us. It doesn't feel fair but I'm realizing their presence will always linger. They're here and there with us, we just don't realize it. Being without the physical presence hurts but a spiritual presence can help our grief to feel a little less heavy.
To you, withered flowers may seem like something you'd throw in the trash and a thing to let go of but I hold on to them for the stories they tell, the emotions they keep within them. Life is full of metaphors and dying flowers are another one of those. I am reminded of the ways in which things and people don't actually die. They live on within us and the universe. Planting another flower may bring some joy to my life but the thorns of the flower that came before will still hurt me fro time to time. That's the beauty of life and its highs and lows, there will be thorns to cause hurt but there will be new beginnings that will bloom.
It all lives on with those withered flowers that lay in a glass jar by my bed side. I am unable to let go of some things and holding on to them assures me they will not die.