Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Linespace Sep 26
Dreams shifting visions of reality being bent directly into my cerebellum.
It's nice.
The day's are Sunny, and the air is hazy with good energy.
The sun vanishes and night encapsulates my psyche.
I hear splinters of conversations.
Fragments of discourse hurled into my dreamscape from their proper position in time.

This has happened before.
Same stories.
No. It has not happened before this moment, not in reality.
But being given this gift comes with the curse of the unknown;
Knowing what is to come
But never having a due date.
Linespace Sep 26
A bloodline sharpened and honed by years of misfortune,
Until it comes to a fine and refined point like the tip of my jawbone blade.
I am the prophet.
The future seer from a family destined to muddy the waters.
I stare into the eyes of the abyss until its gaze falls into my trap
And my third eye opens
Revealing what will be in visions from days yet to come.
It's evening. Everything is dark beyond my windows. The music starts to play, and I close my eyes.

The silken touch of a cloth
I haven't felt it since my childhood
Vaguely registers in my mind
Fingertips still roaming
Still trying to find
The crack in my hull
The fissure in my seams

There's a corner of my book
That digs into my hip
I only move it so I can go deeper
Into these blackened depths
I turn off the lights
So I can be one with the night
Then I'm alone in the darkness
With the fur of my blanket
Rushing over my feet

Dogs howl
Inside or out
I do not know
I rest my head back
And sag into the pillows
To close my eyes
Is to break away from reality
Left only with the stains of the light
Painted on the backs of my eyelids
To convince me
That I'm really alive

The music ends. My eyes have been open for a while now, but I'm still not sure if I can see.
Keiya Tasire Sep 12
every day
They do happen
All around us
Do you want to see miracles?
Open our eyes  
To the rainbow colors of  Light
Creating playful rhymes
Pros and songs
With joyful gratitude
Set your heart free to Love
As the sun shines
as songs of birds filling the air.
As pebbles of sand
Without number.
Miracles are. 
(now read the lines from the bottom up).
The journey from pain to increased joy and peace has been filled with the little and large miracles of life,   It seemed when the need arose it was met in ways, I did not imagine (synchronicities, gut feelings, hunches, dreams, visions, guardian angels, message through an unaware friend, etc). May of the answers were small. Some took  time. Yet over the course of my life all that I have asked for has come into my life. I am grateful for the assistance we receive from ancestors, and others on the other side of the veil.
Ken Pepiton Aug 21
and they began t' sing
marching single file

from the west

no masqued men were these,
these were
Kachina whitemen only saw in curio stories,
approaching the old

sitting full-lotus in his Barco-lounger, curbside-score,
from the land of too much good stuff

still, it's America, best effort men have made,

up to now.
The whole world has known since the International Geophysical Year,
1957, when the Symbolized Face of the Hungarian Freedom Fighter,

the cover of Time, as Man of the Year before, when they lost
their war
and nobody cared, because
every body knew Disneyland is the Happiest Place on Earth,
where wishes can come true, and

that place is in America as sure as

blue fairy, you'real wish, Urielistical wish-grant,
Asrael and the others
singing backup
when you wish
side-really… and a subtle shift in per
spect capacity
let be, just so,

and haps sub tile into layers of complexity re

because we, the people born to mature in the environs of Dublin
writ large, we
seers endowed with tele-vison, from birth.
The elders who watched the roll-out.
Aye, we watched
us evolve
to now

our future bright they say, a bright white light, then what

we can say. The seals have been broken.
Nothing hidden now stays that way in ever,

and ever, as you know it, began

agone afore in some direction beyond your
ken, as it were when kenning the way of a knack was
as common as dowsers in the desert of my childhood.

What's in any name but what the namer seems?
Hey, yah way, tha'swhat I say,
tell me
what I say
Dancing shuffle footed single file
pass the white shirt black tie messenger from
the telestial king down Sonora way,
Yahoo, feel that tickle fo' a nickle, Hiram say come see
come feel
a boinin' in d' boosum through

the very crystal lenses

portal-ible model
through which Joseph of the name
-- link back to Cain, through Tubal, via Na'amah--
-- set a breadcrumb, landmark, tag- say good old way
-- sign out don't break the story

through which Joseph of the name
Smith, came sayin an angel of light came with another gospel,

maybe the same guy the Galatians were warned to ignor,
re-legate-- re-read- start at the top
or all meaning is
like a song sung by Kansas, when we aren't there,
any more, than those wee
merest kachina jingle bells listing in the winds

but the Kansas chorus is stuck asif dust is all a simple

higgs-ified mind can manage to

without reading any ancient landmarks on maps of meaning
tattoo'd to the face in your mirror

in the darkest memory you hold
your precious, in your Gollum-purpose state you know so well
protect it for all its worth,
with only your
to lift
being the measure of worth-ship.

Ex-tol the worth of no bher-don born while in my state,
un-gifted.  I remain a mortal soul linked mitochondrially to thee,
for whom the bell
told. You heard, but you were tolled don't ask.

Listen, the same hunch that said, It don't mean nuthin',

when you say you know that,
you bet you do.

I slew this dragon, not you. I say what the map says.

The dragon died of natural causes, so now,
all its true-sures
is yers…
Crown o'glory moon shine

plumb pert-nigh perfect fiture
imagined happy place to a T, crossed
and I dotted

Bleibe Doch! This is where all the Faustian Losers left their marks.

This is not where I aimed t'be said the elder bro,

as the wastrel was welcome t'Dada arms,
the crucial critics rave
Sheiszkunst, who Rah!
isis throws
a party for the prodigal madrigal has returned
from the pig's sty

packing each redeemed pearl, his brother once
fed to swine.

bent low 'neath his pearl-loaded ****-pack, he lifts his head,
waves his
crown, Fini,

come see, he says.
where I live, nowadays.

This is that treasure, on another level
as you may imagine,
free, if

you accept charity.

{There's the rub, say professional older bro, I know, charity;
'taint fair,
s'foul some, some ne'er-do-well finds a
pearl in some pigsty,

not now.
I worked
for them ****** pearls, I sweated, brow-sweat, lo and hi.
I hid them well,

only a fool would ever believe a treasure
could be found in such ****,

but some fairy pulled a fast one, 'put a bean in little bro's ear,
so when the pigshit hit it began to grow,
sent a tendril to tickle a special spot,
just above the left ear,

let's see diamonds, no

any where we wish.
Let's say okeh, mark this spot, let us move on,

this is life. Let us see that more abundantly, while the poor
are safe and sound,
free as me to pursue haps past the frozen

disnified happy-ever-after WW2,
in the wake of Camus and ****** Wolves

splashes as the speeders pass, powered-row-row-rowing,

merrily mere ly wrong, not evil. Live on, next
is as you wish it were
someday, but in its diapers,

still. A we thinker thought awaiting effectual function,
as this trigger is pulled, in your space in time,

and another bubble appears,
portalish as mine-craft if ever there were

a subtle shifter of perception conspiring
A.I. see
a conspiracy with Lex Fridman infected by
Lynning Skyward
though a wave of old Radioman vibes,
played with plastic spoons
a famous peace march by
Kenurchka Klumpen, Sera-serah-selah-sinnade in B-Natural

and the last to leave broke the right arm from the doll,
sealed the dirt box one measure by one measure
deep and wide,

That seal was broken, 1957, approxi apriori right
arm dis
the left to change this next to come, sym-bolische
ified in the one-armed bandits left behind,

the bet. The die cast. Foccinaucipilinihili or holy

happy hunting ground, imagined in the land of too much good stuff.
Bits and pieces of the underlying tale. Note: The one armed effigy left in a 12 inch bt 12 inch adobe sealed hole in the floor of a pit-hose that may have been a kiva/ Vernon AZ
Two miles away was sun
Naked, striped down
In a sea of sweat
The fire from the sky
The demons of past
The girl in the heart
I felt free at last
The seventh paradise
That hell of  ice
Kicked in that hell
Deed of life
The boat of the time
I am gonna make it
Baking a cake
All things for God's sake
I am gonna make it
What ever you say all hormones are alike
If you ever are ****** you can still ride a bike
He knows you are not that type who gets a hype
Methadone to **** the pain sown ***** still to ripe
His throne is prone he loves to be disliked
Blown in the mind of his clone waiting for that airstrike
For his right he is thrown, torn to that hunger strike
He is flown to a very ape like creature
Those DC motor and its armature
Studying all this Physics literature
Visiting the church and the mosque then their preacher
Shaking hands with the traitor
Confused by those myths about the creator
Tired to type, giving command s to the narrator
He can't speak in a tone, does not own a smart phone, fighting the world all alone still in the dark, unknown
But he has let it go to keep his toes on his throne
His thoughts are like seed sown and flown with water
He is about to drown but I know he will get his crown though he is a starter
Those demons see and laugh
This smoke is more white but does not make you cough
Holding your brain, squeezing it, removing all the dirt
You will see those pretty pretty girls, you don't need to flirt
This sleep that comes with a gentle blow
In dreams you see falcons glow
Mirrors shine light in room
The mind is about to meet its doom
Welcome the light in the head
Or you will end up dead
Pain in eyes makes you fall asleep
You travel those dark oceans, so deep
Drops of blood from the eyes
Can it colour camelias in thousand dyes
Though solitude is my bliss
But not anymore, I am about to kiss
The posion on her lips
Why worry about death
I know she has been high on crystalmeth
Sleep taking me away forever tonight.
Everlasting dreams, magnificent sight.
Maybe I went a hair too far
And maybe should have cared a little more
Maybe I said some things I shouldn't,
But you said you loved me for my candor
I was never one to apologize
And I hate that about myself
But even so I’ll never call you back
Or collect my things from your shelf.
Just know I’ll not forget
The time we spent together apart
Talking about poetry silently
And bashing modern art.
Did you see the signs?
That I valued time most when I spent it alone?
That I love that Keats quote,
“The poet has no identity of his own.”?
For even this is a manufactured feeling
I tell a lot of lies
I never had a loved one
And I live a lot of lives.
What do you want to hear today?
Next page