"The hardest fight is the one inside you."
Not the blade nor the beast,
not the curse in the woods,
but the voice that whispers
when all else is still.

The night is loud with silence,
and the mirror knows your name.
He carries his mother’s magic,
but it’s his shadow he cannot tame.

Exertion has created a map at the back of her hands.
Just like abrasion, when water gently shapes rocks.
She has untied knot after knot.

Her hands carrying eternities of wisdom.

Commoners' indignant?
Youth disinherited?
Ha. Nay.

Intellectuals disrespected.
Visionaries neglected.
Aye.

Yous who don't learn,
Refusin' to see eye-to-eye.
You slight genius, Truth.
Ay;

Afraid to even say hi -
Much less engage in honest, forthright conversation.
Rely on your superstitious,
Your hope is to pray
For ignorance like arrogance be your prey.

Lambs what be foul predators
Fat on the blood of their own ewes.
Singin',

"We know not what we do!
We know not what we do!"

Yet, you do so willfully.

Soon-to-be-nothings;
Absence, as nothingness, will be your eternity.

For the unworthy are rejected, universally.

She keeps misery on her side,
Time and again her wits break a tide.
In prairie fields her mind runs;
With mindful and curious puns.

There she goes skimming through
For something uncalled but yet true.
Her eyes, rolling up and down,
Wearing dark circles like a crown.

Wonders and questions here and there;
Their answers dipped in sweet éclair.
She savors each flavor whole,
With no curiosity to pull a toll.

In Euphoria she goes beyond the skyline
Curious and ecstatic, a feminine Feline.

Your word is a lamp for my feet and a light for my path.
The path to withstand my evil’s desired wrath.

Lead me by your truth and teach me,
Strike me deep in my heart, Jesus I can be.
For you are the God who saves me,
Who bloomed a fruit in my worthless tree.

All day long I put my hope in you.
You’re the God, who showed me what’s true.
For he made everything such a beauty,
Though as for me, I am poor and needy,
but the lord is thinking about me right now.”
And he will guide me, even if I don’t know how.

The lord is my shepherd; I have everything I need.
He is the only one, who can make me succeed!

For I sin in my earthly routine,
Purify me from my sins, and I will be clean;
wash me, and I will be whiter than snow,
Make me pure, as I live and show.

How could I be afraid to grow?
For he orders his angels to protect you wherever you go.

Strung out nicotine
fingers test the water,
pointing
the desert.

counter melodies
rot
in graveyards of tone.

a face the shape of
a rock
beat water forth
with a stick.
a face that would
stutteringly part
a sea.

he dreamed the
burning bush
got wisdom from the mountain.
diminished chords
when the tablet
broke.

They called her child,
yet the stars bent down to listen
when she spoke.

She was born
with galaxies behind her eyelids,
ash of ancient moons
in the crescent of her palms.

In classrooms,
she learned nothing new—
only watched
as the world caught up
to what her marrow already knew.

She stitched silence
into her sentences,
wore grief like pearls
strung along the collarbone of time.

Rain would hush for her,
mirrors would blink twice,
and clocks sometimes refused
to tick in her presence.

She moved
like someone who remembered
being fire
before flesh.

And when the grown-ups
chuckled at her wisdom,
she simply smiled—
a soft, secret smile
like she’d seen their ghosts
and offered them tea.

While she was reciting her poem
she wrote just minutes ago,
she spilled a great
piece of wisdom,

purely accidental of course,
as they are from those
who seem to conjure wisdom
from the air they breathe,
or from mere daily observation.

She poured it onto the whole electric scene
like hot cocoa in a child's winter dream.

Some gulped it, some were aware of it,
some glossed over it, some picked it up
and set it back free again,
some took it in their hands and stomped on it,
vaguely afraid of it.

But most just stared right back
at this wisdom.
No doubt,
the one passed down,
from the great minds
before her,

This invisible line
threaded together
trying to weave itself
back into human synapse
every hundred years,
shouting to be recognized
once more,
but stuck  
chained to the
shelves of history
and soft breathe,

that is until someone
plucks it from the
great landscape of silence,
another entry point,
from which she had
undoubtedly  
terrained.

I thought we were strangers
As much as we were strangers to
Everyone around

I thought you were just
A story untold,
A future ideal

My little self dreamt of you
Pretended you were a hero

She saw you under the bed
In the backyard
In the furled faces
Of a million flowers

I knew you were of this
universe, well-known
But wasn't convinced
We'd ever meet in the flesh

But we've met many times
You and I

In the corner of my shoe closet
Running down that street, bruised.
We met in a cafe on Rue de Seine
On the 4-hour bus rides at 3am

We sat together, utterly content,
On the floor of old libraries
Inhaling stories and scents
Of cedarwood and vanillan

I saw you dancing
When I was dancing
Awkward nerds
You took my hand, pulling

Your kind, fractalled face
Kissed mine a thousand times
Your voice saved my life

In awe at the depth of your knowing,
I'm grateful we're still alive.

X

===============
As far as one may say, I might know more
or less than the standard, normalized person.

I may have had more words spoken near me
than many who never had the tools I have,
especially the personal time, I have taken
to listen
to books
for the blind, while

driving mile after mile on roads built
by mankind across the continent I live on.

I can consider Tolstoy a failed ensample
of a curiousity construct, inclined to accept
real congruity, eh, is that the word, coherency,

sticking together to become elemental parts,

almost elevating the essence that being is,
to the knowing that the knower is knowing…

not for, nor why, but so, being so many possible

parts of so many plausible entireties, each actual
processing mind prepositioning self in other words.

Being cyborgian, not demented, but there's
an edge, spirits can cross painlessly…

================

Sup
supposed
superior position
supposed to be top.

Utmost, uppermost
ultimate umbrage

shade
shadow low to the ground,

local turkey buzzard grace
given true liberty flight
over me, free
to see,
feel, accept as real.
===============

On Earth, as it is in Heaven,
in spirit, of course, not really
yet, with a little wish it so,

realizable perfect Wisdom
from Heaven, realizable
for some who make

beliefs, relieving weighed reality,
breath and river, trees and freeway

--------
When.
Now, suppose, position time
at this stream instantiating data posed
to mark those points with no pastence.

Not long ago, make believers made
boys believe we've been made
to fly through the sky, and
ever after then,
we believed.

===============

From the future,
at the speed of thought,
literally let us agree, thunk
words carry any sense you make.

Your at
present position,
in Heavenly scale, JWST
on currency considered
influx imaginable indeed
side-real context input ports
make believe or realize, mindwise,
within Physics, the science of reality,
clear noway, beyond boy's true beliefs

we believed,
basically the truth revealed,
at
about the bottom edge
of puberty, say
seventh grade,
in the U.S.A., that summer,
for many a Boomer, unforgettable,
1961, yo', Boomer, get out of the slot,
jump the track, lose the confusing loosening

hot wire
from the capacitor, country kids know,

a shock somebody must feel
to believe,
to know
it's funny, we laugh
at the Yankee city kid, loser

loosened childmind lid,
the anger and the shame,
and the pain, the unbelievable shock it takes
to crank a war surplus jeep, the shock makes

the whole life event, a better, shamed

by rubes,
yes, rubes,
what's a rube.
You. You're a rube/ ra' ah ben Jacob's eldest,

not so bad a name, AI tells me
a man named
Reuben Waithaka:

A 72-year-old Kenyan man
walked out the back door, in Alabama,
around the middle of May, in 2025,

and nothin' won't undo that, wandering
away forgetting everything, that temptation

sad, story, such as any accidently hearing it, say, man

this life can instantly change,
so sudden any person can
disappear, instantly be gone,
so sudden… few go so mysteriously, instant
in prayer, sudden
at a thought,

a faith, held supposedly true,
instant persistant what if.

Same science Elijah uses. Save a seat.


===============