#navigator
you were whisked away on a ship, bound for the treasure of the hidden world
i traveled to a desert
sweltering heat and cracking blisters
called your name as dry sand filled my esophagus
an oasis sprouted in the middle of the sandcastle civilization
running water, blue and hopeful
sprinting like a madman, i trekked towards my salvation
but when i came across its beckoning entrance
the mirage collapsed
the betrayal
my eyes had deceived me
in my consuming exhaustion, i had forgotten the illusions, smoke and mirrors the desert plays on you
and in being so crushed beyond belief
sandstorms came from under my feet
and, you know, the mirage became some
solidified reality
and
i
ache for it
with all my bones.
if only i were a crew member
aboard your ship to the galaxy
i was seconds away from boarding
five steps away
so close i could smell the saltwater as it caressed my cheek
waving goodbye to your face, decorated with sunlight
sun-kissed and golden.
the navigator of the seas
traveler with a sense of abandonment, on a sailboat gliding over waves,
glowing, evolving, flying
the sunset disappearing beyond the horizon,
where you chase the possibility of its various immensities
a rhythmic beauty, hung up in galleries, watching the waves lap against the shore
hands on her chin as she sits cross legged,
feeling the sand swirl around her
she cups up the sand, as it vanishes slowly underneath her palms
sobbing into a pile of grief, so confined in a state of helplessness
she tumbles on the sand, silky hair falling to her sides under crescent moon design
and
she
aches for refuge
with all her bones.
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 9:29 PM UTC
_Beyond the shanty town of Midtendrift, where the moneylenders ply their trade among the aimless and avaristic, lie the ice prairies of Ensomfelt. The region is a barren wasteland whose boundaries are flanked to the west by the bottomless crevasse of Issorg and to the east by Lake Hjertestorm.
Those who come to wander this no-man’s-land may find that they disappear from the earth for a time - from themselves, and from the memory of others. Relying only on intuition to guide them, they pass this way unseen, their weary feet making shallow graves in the freshly fallen snow.
The rocky outcrop at Engeldrøm marks the gateway to the in-countries. Nestled beneath the foothills of Mount Håp, this is the place to which souls lost to the world of ego and ambition return to take up their torch and remember.
During the long northern winter, the sky above Håp is an expanse of indigo ocean punctuated with an infinity of lamplights. Among these lanterns which float free of the earth, the North Star shines the brightest. It is here that you will find your journey’s end and a treasure trove of truth, forged in fire and sealed in ice._
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 8:13 PM UTC
I'm a ship without a captain
I sail wherever the wind takes me
I have seen troubled waters, but
I always feel powerless to turn
I'm a navigator without a compass
I don't know where my heading is
I cannot find the North Star, but
I don't need to in these doldrums
I'd rather remain here
Hear my wish!
O shooting star -
Bless me with an eternal tonight
So I can forever gaze at the stellar sky
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
you navigated your way
into my heart,
where your map said,
"X" marked the spot.
you broke the walls,
that were once built so high,
dug in deep,
to find the treasures within
and when you finally did,
you took a piece of it
and left a mark
as you navigated your way back
to your home unknown,
or to another lover's heart.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 4:17 AM UTC
"No one loves a flower when it withers away"
He navigates on hope and will
With no sense of direction
Surviving only on memories and inspirations
Forsaken
Adrift
A castaway
In search of something more than destiny
Something more than storms and uncertainties
Navigator
I am the map you navigate
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 3:44 AM UTC
Hate me. Why not take an arm off?
Maybe my arm's already gone and missing.
Maybe tonight's the night I won't
wake from sleeping.
Shame as pestilence incarnate
rakes my beating heart and brain.
Nails as sharp as shards of memory.
I ingest the scent of corpses in a
cold storage adorned with limbs and organs,
underneath the floor of that burned
out/burned in periphery beneath the rain.
Sprang up again, arose in sweat,
toward the toilet. Some things never change.
Will this never change?
Hard jobs **** up my night,
and I can't rest in day.
Hard jobs **** up my day,
and I can't rest through night,
but I cannot stay awake.
What came before comes now,
becomes the future, turning loops.
The present keeps pace steady, only to
slide the Earth below me to prove
Some things never change.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC