Her body was a temple
but her mind and heart are in ruins.

My body has not once been a temple.

I remember years ago,
sitting poolside with my grandmother,
her spidery, veined hands touching my knee:

"Your body is a grand temple,
only those who are holy are worth admittance."

And her stern sincerity made me laugh.

My body is a wet, lush jungle.
My body has been trampled through and lived in.

Destroyed, burned,
yet always continues to rebirth itself from the rubble and debris.

Am I any less for this?

My body is a mystery,
a slow wafer on the tip of a school boy's tongue.
A dark, cool place to rest your weary head.
A place to let your feet press into the rich soil
and feel like maybe you can call this home.

I think one time,
a man with dark hair and light eyes thought he could
reduce me to mere trees and rain,
not knowing the jungle is not a safe place.

Unlike those with temples for bodies,
my heart lives deep in a hidden cave guarded with
sharp memories that feel like claws.

My memories have teeth,
and my heart has a brain.

Homes don't grow where I'm from
they only stand stagnant waiting for one to deconstruct a building process.
Limbs leave family trees way before fall happens. It's only a matter of time before one becomes familiar with "**** happens".
Indulged in decency far fetch becomes close Morals become like unread books.
Back-hand to reality some people get it.
Men will hit everything around, before hitting their target so a bulls eye is more like scolded ones golden tongues couldn't fix.
Pictures catch more than a moment
Pictures don't hang anymore the walls are gone. Houses look more like tornadoes  so prepare for hail. Aftermath can make a better beginning. Black looks darker in the light. In the dark your eyes will adjust so black is the new norm.
Accustomed to a ****** up custom where an abandoned home.
no painted walls, a brick mailbox, and a broken garage.

The temp of my body is insinc with the earth
The health of my bones is tossed with the rocks turn
The temp of my body is insinc with yours
The heat of the body burns down to my core
The temperature of the temple is increasing rapidly
And the height of the thunder is high and howling
The earth stops to turn
The seas dry to burn
The thunder cries and yearns, to howl at our bodies insinc heated temperatures.

Bonding over anxiety disorders
cause you're feeling pretty lonely
meditating in your own little corner
but your act- it seems so phony

It's the only thing that helps to calm
your shaking and your dreams
that's right, you've been through so much
at the age of seventeen

step into my temple, oh the rain's about to pour
you must remember, Darling, leave your common sense at the door
it saved my life and it can save yours too
step into my temple, Now, Please, don't be rude

to her with tea bag eyes
and wrists like scarlet fever,
gently undue your bruising ties
and unthaw your years of winter

--  --  --  --  --  --  --  --  --  --
she breathed the where
and exhaled the won't be,
if only you'd been with her there,
to slow the feverish sea
--
up, to the nearest fall
down, in the mountain mist
she falls from nothing at all
just as she had wished
--
the moments leading to a place
took shape and color like music,
and with all the grace it takes
to purposefully lose it
--  --  --  --  --  --  --  --  --  --

to her with shaking hands
and a mind like a burning temple,
remember your wish is your command,
and to always hold yourself gentle

Neither in the vividness of the arches of a cathedral,
Nor in the dangling bells and echoing rituals of a temple,
Neither on the holiest banks of Nile or Ganges,
Nor among the peaks of the grandest Mountain,

There is no augury, there is no God, is there no God? And if there is,

Why are the eyes of lives haunted by the cruel dreams of disbelief?
Why is banishment tangled around the feet of a truth seeker?
Why the perverse thoughts and deeds ruling the Mankind?
Why the pious body and mind are today full of grief?

If there’s God, Why is this sea of cold blood on a high tide?
If there’s God, Why are the innocent lives being wasted?
If there’s God, Why are the good being handcuffed?
If there’s God, Why the darkness is today the source of light?

The slaps of violence on the face of peace is a sign of doom,
If there’s no God, then these drops of bloods cry for whom?

But GOD is that moment which is beyond knowledge and wit,

That one cipher which has taken centuries and yet not deciphered,
That one point of thought where the minds seize to think,
That one decision which stops a man from giving up,
That one drop of tear from the eyes of an Oppressed,

That one source of energy which makes us to take a stand,
That one voice of truth which demolishes the works of lie,
That one smile of innocence which equals a million shouts,
That one silver lining which makes us believe in ourselves,

Calls Aloud and makes us believe, that there is A GOD,
And He’s Everywhere, With everyone, and Will always be.