Windblown mane flying out behind,
Ribbons of tangled threads dancing
In the early autumn zephyr.
Ebony hued hooves alternate,
Strong as steel, joined in the pounding
Music of free flight. The wild horse.

Soft, flowing mane brushed to perfection.
Ribbons entwining the smooth silk braids
Shining in the early autumn light.
Silver shod hooves alternate in rhyme,
Shimmering like gold, joined in the proud
Prancing of a lady. The show horse.

Two spirits combine.
The wild and the performer,
Both content in their
Destined lives.

strong spirits

welcoming in nature-

powerful in instinct-

trying to find a moral compass-

one that they can believe in,

with all of their ****** hearts

searching for complete harmony

in a static world, charged by the sun.

their own saturated, sturdy bodies

learning to not know-

experiencing the now-

accepting that simplicity is beautiful-

realizing that no life has to be so complex.

—

no life needs to have so many thumbtacks

stuck in its cork board,

hanging on its bedroom wall-

only to be stared at by its owner

to distract from the present-

to keep sentimentality afloat-

to compare and contrast;

to remind a tired soul

of better moments and feelings

in its personal history.

but when those tiny memoirs

are reminisced upon,

the soul becomes vulnerable-

susceptible to reminding itself

of memories it does not want

to have as its own.

memories most likely forgotten-

blocked, and left somewhere

in the owner’s brain-

lost, due to lack of importance-

deterred from its conscious-

pushed back into its energy’s

open life storage, unconsciousness.

—

those memories like sharp tacks,

metal tips, dropped and unseen-

abandoned in a grey **** carpet-

left there so many months ago-

waiting for their owner

to decide their fate-

to either lay its bare foot

upon their thin metal,

creating a river of crimson-

so they may be finished with

their metaphorical life-

thrown in the trash can-

or they could taste the sweetness

of not being crushed-

of having one more day

to become as best as they can be-

to enjoy the soft, scraggily **** carpet-

to be unwanted, unfounded-

to aide in the growth of the now-

by refusing to resurface.

those memories, remembered or not-

are locked behind the purple indents

above the owner’s cheekbones-

below its red, puffy eyes-

violet crescents-

slowly caused by sleeplessness

and lack of nutrition.

—

if the past was not meant

to be consistently remembered,

why does humanity constantly try

to decode the future?

recorded history is meant so

living beings will not

repeat previous mistakes-

the human race is a cycle-

history will repeat itself-

mistakes and all-

the future is completely unknown.

predictions are never certain-

why spend the life one was given

trying to figure out why humanity

exists the way it does-

when in actuality, the researcher

is missing out on humanity as it is.

why try to figure out what happens

when someone’s energy is depleted-

when a mind is laid to rest, dead.

while searching, one is losing out

on actually being alive-

no one knows exactly

what happens when mortals die-

humans have been searching

ever since they developed cognizant

abilities, conscious minds…

the future will happen eventually-

people will experience it when it is time-

it is wasteful to spend one’s life

always looking for the answer-

instead of celebrating, and exploring

the earth that has given humanity

endless opportunities to love.

—

ghosts of creative minds

walking amongst the living-

ghosts encased in flesh

with no memory of their past lives-

their auras radiating-

saturated with ambition and kindness

following different dreams-

floating toward their goals

in a similar manner,

all with the same amount

of vigor and curiosity-

young (old) spirits;

hoping for their fellow

outspoken, anxious specters

to listen, and notice their potential-

to make their words understood-

to show their many points of view-

to let go of their pasts-

to stop worrying about the future-

to live in the present.

intelligent, brightly glowing entities-

the ones with flowing energies,

pigmented with color-

the ones striving for positivity;

the ones who really wish

for just one simple thing-

only for their peers

to consider clarity

as a degree or two on their own,

individual moral compasses.

to love this beautiful world

with no bias, with equality,

with excitement, and with

virtuous appreciation of life

as a common mystery-

one that would end a lot better

if it was left unsolved.

Old snow
with some life
left to it
rearranges itself
outside: circling
like a thin
white dog.
Finding a spot
out of the wind,
it settles.

Here by the hearth
where my dog curled
for so many years,
his apparition appears
then melts.

Visions of a backlit childhood
Of golden-haired halos and shadowed eyes
Slideshow in flashes of painful yesterdays
For those still unfamiliar
Longing to hold the child as he cries
Those tears cannot fall in confusion's void
And fear darkens all roads 'can be seen
Still here, in their nightmare,
Like it was my own
Is a truth told in smiles and jellybeans
Long since gone away

a boy stands chained to a wall
silent words left unspoken line his lips
but,
Angels never stay silent
he's an angel among the shadowed souls
who save shattered spirits
they silently stand by
       repairing cracks that no one ever sees
                                         not even you
look around you...
                         Don't you see them?

Mother Earth and Father Sky
Sitting closely as I sing
Flying gracefully in the night
As I drift upon their wings
Slow and sweet, lovely tunes
Frolic through the sounds
Looking upon the blissful moon
As I float safely to the ground
Losing moments in the heat
As the night comes to a holt
And the moon turns to defeat
So the sun can spark a volt
Shining softly through the sounds
That the chorus makes
Of defenseless little clouds
Feeling pain they cannot take
The trees will slowly turn to ash
As the grass becomes a blaze
Melting into the dusty hash
So the world becomes a haze
Mother Earth and Father Sky
Protect me for I am trapped
In between these pins and burns
Slipping from your grasp
Mother you cannot save me
Now that the world is cold and still
Father can't come hold me
I am the one that makes him shrill
I know you're busy with this world
I'll be a part of it one day
But inside my body's swirled
For these words are brash, dare I say
That now I'm floating in your air
The breeze linked to my heart
Close you're eyes, no need to stare
For now I am a part
Of this world you know so well
Quiet and serene
Nature turns and dare i tell
It was no home for me

                                        Alysia Marie 2015 ©

Now that you are gone
they surely
will find you
as good as you
know you deserve
on Earth.

Why do you mock me
here in my own space?
This is my home
to desecrate.
Had I known you were
here as well I might
take my chances
to venerate.

I want to be alone,
lonely and lost.
I want to be
the god that I ought.
Whatever it takes,
however I find
I may as well
buckle up,
because I'm ******
either way.

Now that you are gone
they surely
will find you
as good as you
know you deserve
on Earth.

and so
we're alone in a world full of people?

just this pen.
just this paper.
one on one.

it's an escape.
therapeutic and sublime was how it felt.
a chance to put our thoughts down..
put our foot down..
"chill out", a voice behind the ear.
just let everything flow out.. spill out..

escape or seclusion, pen and paper
but not isolation.
for some reason, ‘these thoughts, can they be a gateway...?
to connect through others.'

we hear people's thoughts, personalities, various angles and perspectives, religion, art, arguments, controversies, and social engineering..
so many subjects and topics, spraying at many targets in the hopes for one that might ever latch on, can we ever click on?

so this was the escape.
let us bleed ink and we succumb to slowly die.
as the life proceeding will be one word less,
until the very last breath.

we share eachother our mind, body, spirit, soul to one another.
our sanity, our graciousness,
our wrath but also our peace into love and strong relationships.
the incendiary lava that flows and burns within,
can be frozen and lifeless tranquility tomorrow...

but then after all the chaos
once we see for ourselves, and we had a chance to walk and walk.
and everything just... settles.
past this tangible life onward to a spiritual existence,
just remember to stick together..

because we're all in this together..

They say the sea
is a place for freedom,
for the strong willed
and the liberal spirits.
They say the country
is a place for humility,
for the hard workers
and the level headed.
They say the forest
is a place for mystery,
for the subtle explorers
and the quietly brave.
But the sting of the salt,
the pull of the grass,
the shade of the trees,
they haunt me so:
for there is only one place
I could ever belong,
and those arms, that heart,
have long since departed.
                                                   tsk