She bleeds through the
ends of her fingers, as she cries--
   she dies inside
   as she relives the horrors

   and re-suffers the blows;
   down on to the paper
   it all goes

her shattered-heart knows,
and her tear-stained face shows
that this is how she will reach
those, all alone;  

so, with trauma-scarred hands-
and blood-stained-red bones, creates
the much needed seed to be sown
  

   and down on to the paper
   it all goes

A broken leg, open fracture -
All the pain like a price for rapture.
The sweetness festered, feverish, ill,
After the feast, came the bill.
Just like that, heartbreak followed,
Once giddy love left black and hollowed.
.
But that was months ago, or years,
No fresh cut in my flesh sears.
Time moved in to mend the break,
Agony now dulled to ache.
A bone healed the wrong way, free,
Crooked branch of a poison tree.
And so it hurts, albeit less,
My sin that I cannot confess.
Like an old wound numbly stings,
When weather changes, and rain brings.
.
It's a limping leg, it is.
But free of teeth, of a bite that's his.
It's functional, it does it's job,
Despite the faint random throb.
Will it ever heal? Be right?
I don't know. I hope. It might.
But I never had such a sore -
I'd never been in love before.
.

I'm going to stop loving you..
because I'm loosing control.
Over myself..
Over what I do and say to you.

My demons are creeping up
Telling me lies about you
Clouding my judgment
I don't know what to belive in anymore

You pull me close
You push me back
You say you love me
Yet you don't want me to stay

For every step you take towards me
I rush to you like a wave to surround you with my love
Till you step back to take a break
And leave me longing for just one touch

You pull me towards the heavens
Only to drop me back slowly
And I'm waiting here looking up
For another chance
It takes a while to feel the pain
But the heart ache never stops

Love is cruel
Just to me
It leaves you unscathed
Will I ever learn my lesson
Will this be the last time ?
How long should I keep trying and failing
For this feeling the stop ?

She born as a sad news, starts burgeoning
as she grows, her miseries following
flows with the rhythm, held in curtailment
reach to the juncture of a new lament
Wedlock with duty, chore and torturing
tis’ chapter of her life yet keeps going.
Getting older and older by inchmeal
bids adieu to her beauty with genteel
and bidding farewell to her weary soul
In grave unrequited, another book closed.

From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if

But those who know..
we who have  laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both  outside
and inside  

    of the wire..

Those who have  quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate  as that   borne  of
and in to,  a training..  an equipping;
lay low,
lay low

.   .   .   .  

The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own  need
to be mesmerized,  never even
   noticed the children
who  in their innocence,  peered
out from under the crowd's legs

to better see the 'magnificent' podium..

The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,  
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which  to the  knowing,
was  as that of a clanging bell..)

Now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in  wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such  slipshod,   weak
and hastily assembled framework..

And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be  a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..

"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"

War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ******, with all
of his blowhard oratorical *******,   at least

had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..

Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,

   but this
   but this;

This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation,  borne
not  from a suffering  leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms;
   This counterfeit substance..
as if borne in power,    as if..  as if.

    .. But the realms.. they know

It is only those down here on earth,  spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart  from the necessary legwork needed
to humbly become a part of Stream's flow:
(borne,  solely from the inner Wellspring--  deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache)..


It is here.. on earth..  that you will find
the reward you seek..  oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..

   Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
   floating upon nothing..


--And therefore meaning   nothing
within the Substance-Based parameters  
    of the Realms.

𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘨
𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘥
𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦
𝘈 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘰?
𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶
“𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯”
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺

𝘚𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵
𝘐𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵
𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴

𝘔𝘺 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦?
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯
𝘐𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮

𝘈𝘴 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵
𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨?
𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 : 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨