What happens when you take a child’s ear
and shape it with Poe and Shakespeare's talent?
What happens when one grows exposed to
delicate musical and grand memories?
What happens when child’s mind is filled
with great aspirations from knowledge of many topics?
What happens is...
a divine, sacred, smart and grifted poet,
meant to grace the world.
Meant to be an avatar in life.
carving other ears splendidly.
Inspired from la bella notte,
She shall be wed.
Look at her not,
Gardenia encounters her majesty
And wears herself upon her majesty’s crown.
Queen of royals where she belongs,
O’er the death of them all
Sing, Oberon, sing
Shallow eyes nay be prepared
Thy future shall quiver
In the deep eyes of the siren’s iron gaze.
Close thy naivety,
Shut the gates.
Another tomorrow awaits.
Do not look at the Queen.
Do not wait for fate.
The Queen of the Night approaches,
The Queen of the Night too late.
Gardenia, flower, return to the earth.
Remain, and be noble,
As her majesty’s rebirth.
It almost feels as though,
if I hold the words to my throat, the heat of my blood
will transfer itself through paper--through intentions--
until it rouses tragedy and plucks the frost from
each delicately chosen word.
It almost feels as though,
if I cradle him in my thoughts, the boy will learn what I already know
and run before history catches up with him.
He will run and cry out his grief and his fear and he will escape his spies, his responsibility, his head, his conscience, his ties, his ghost, his guilt.
But no man--no, boy--can outrun a demise like this when
he's tripping on the roots of the family tree and failure
has taken his father, his mother, his friends, his affection.
The only person helping him stand back up is merely a messenger.
Cast thy nighted color off,
sweet prince of Denmark.
Breathe once in
the warmth of my heart before a colder kind of
messenger comes to carry you away, no longer a son of any sort.
Or are you still?
Next lifetime just let me be,
All lost souls that noticed me,
Over killed the hope in me,
Helpful hands unnoticed, feet,
Blistering I’m growing weak.
I have questions for the runaways,
How did your feet get so strong?
Why couldn’t I tag along?
Did you leave home to be alone or vice versa, got cold and was searching for warmer days in the week?
What is life without a friend dependent on I,
Is trust nonexistent when there’s a mention of side,
Is it not selfish to love yourself before mind,
A system that houses a light linked throughout time,
“-What do you want?”
For you to love me like you love all.
Look in the mirror, what about this person,
“I’m always here, all you have to do is call”
Where’s the assertion? I’m looking for words because the ones I’m using aren’t working.
Never felt too good in crowds, because there’s folks around, and they’re always thinking,
Never felt too good or proud, when joyful sounds touch my heart before they’re leaving,
“-Loving others isn’t a bad thing, lose the fear, it’s a state of being.
Don’t hate yourself for seeing a reality that others aren’t capable of seeing.”
But, Am I dreaming?
“Do not confuse yourself, you don’t want to lose yourself for dreams are other realities, you are currently in a state of being.”
But what is being?
“To be or not to be is the question.”
… Give me clarity
“Everything is being, it’s all existing, everything existing is living.”
Is this another lesson?
“Is death to exist and not be, or to be and not exist?
That is my suggestion-”
-How can you be and not exist?
“To exist is to have objective reality, a reality that exist independent from our minds.
Consciousness construct realities through imagination in space, which is time,
So, does the world end when we die,
Or does the experience of this reality end and our consciousness move into another reality beyond the human mind?
Would the state of being then not exist after existences?”
Let me go the distance with an analogy to make sure there’s nothing I’m missing.
Is it pain to love in a world that perceive it with ignorance, or to fully understand it and not have the experience?
“A little personal but the balance is understood.”
I just needed some clarity to be reassured,
Because sometimes I’m insecure,
There’s never been a life that’s “similar”,
And I see things in my life that will occur,
Pretty lady, baby don’t you close the door,
With other opportunities of loving me more,
Arkyi, Dondaycee, keep my knees from the ground,
In times I forget to stand, and am feeling less than a man should when his woman’s aroused,
By another… that feeling’s profound.
“-Jealousy found, that energy is not allowed when there’s confusion around.”
Where’s that soothing sound that moved me in dreams,
That had me chasing angels confusing chicken with wings,
Searching for permission in missing some things,
Like the giggle or a touch that slowly faded through change,
Like that love at first sight that never made it to name,
Those “unspoken” relationships that never made it to name,
Those misunderstood moments I forgave and delayed an encounter because I couldn’t forget the feeling she gave before pain.
Those hideaway hearts is where my shelter remained,
Because they kept the love pure when it was easy to drain.
It isn’t easy to contain let alone obtain a power source linked to the brain and refrain from allowing an equivalent vibration; being hate, creep into the domain and create a disease of insane.
“-Insanity is just as contagious as stupidity-”
-Please explain how to maintain love’s stability when hostility is blurred into a thin line.
Inhumane is humane when the word justify emerges in a reign of ignorance which solidifies the moment the sane become repetitive credited to an infection that dried the terrain of perception,
Unreceptive the brain becomes when love is trying to sustain which leads to strain that results in pain and hate burst as a supernova leading to actions in vain again and again,
Oh lord, the power of a woman.
If men could be before doing, we wouldn’t often do things we “shouldn’t”,
“It’s not a matter of wrong or right but evolving into light.”
Is it odd that I acknowledge you, voice inside my head?
“Just as odd as the words left unsaid before night.”
This solitude thing, it isn’t enough anymore, I need something new.
I learned to love myself from red to blue,
And I just reached purple, now all I see is white,
May that energy continue to heal and rise,
Frequency, continue to create shorter and steeper hills, so that I am able to write,
Documentations of this experience discovering love that’s unforgettable,
Because self hate should never be unforgivable.
That illness is always hospitable,
The existence of love is aboriginal,
Individually being is medicinal and additional if traditional.
Through ourselves is how we connect to all, an adventure to,
Dive within thyself but too many times I forget myself.
Every time I learn to stand, I project and fall like I forget my shell,
Because it’s easier to live life as light than with the body, odd of me to dismiss my health,
Physical problems; wanting love, a senseless touch; tempted to rush a manifestation of her beside me.
That’s the biggest lie when all I need is I and the being inside me.
If this is a human experience, neglecting the body is a serious condition, mysterious as if ID.O.M and 3D have been misspelled,
Then what is hell?
I thought death doesn’t exist?
“It doesn’t, it’s a reality when the state of being is no longer well.”
To be… or not to be…
“That is a question of wealth.”
I'm locked in a room with a desk and a chair.
I want my stomach filled, but the cupboards are bare.
I'm sitting here with only one option:
To continue to write, during this lock in.
Is writing a talent?
I say to myself, as I look over my shoulder at the book on the shelf.
What about Melville, and Shakespeare, and Twain?
The all have much knowledge to send to my brain.
But people these days just don't understand
That we can do more than just sing and dance.
There are so many talents that slide under the rug.
"I wonder what mine is".
I say with a shrug.
But then I remember that I am equipped
With a whole set of skills that are right on my hip.
They rest as a tool belt, and as a reminder
That if I wanted to, I could go farther.
Give me my Romeo. And when I shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
If there were seasons more temperate than the warmth of May
I would want to be there with you
Were there light more tender than a full-moon's light
I would want to lie down underneath with you
Had there a face more bright and full of remembrance
It would happen to be your face
And a name as easy to say
Easy to say it together with mine
Will always be it
And when the starry skies shows its best light
I want to stand the night right next to you
Have you ever
kissed a tree
or even listened
to the wisdom
of its trunk
gossip and glamour
its leaves fighting
for the sun
but the roots know
that deep below
the fields where
the flowers grow
is where the water’s
found and if you
come up close
and really listen
you’ll hear the
sound of the earth’s
The bard of Avon
termed man the
paragon of animals
but Darwin brought us
to the ground
helped us see
that the difference
and the morning birds
is that their song
the voice of love
in all of us
“what can the world give me?”
“what might I give the world?”
so why not
go back to the roots
and listen to the bark
befriend the tree
in the local park
Once upon a time,
There was a girl
Who met a Shakespeare
They were from different places
With the same passion, poetry.
She was hopeless, until now
He was all set for a bright life.
She walked in darkness
Then,he filled with light.
She had fallen once
Now he's there for a hand.
He was her Shakespeare
she loved his every lines.
He welcomed her into his world
The world of outstanding poetry.
she felt her ship has anchored
After a long journey in the Pacific.