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 Jun 2014 Et cetera
The Noose
The forlornness
That lies dormant
Violently wakes
As I stumble on
Images and words
That remind me
Of what eluded my grasp
In the year hope withered

Am I disgruntled
Because I am or
Because I am not
Unanswered questions  
Inhabit my psyche
At last thoroughly consumed
By world that will never
Be mine to take.
 Jun 2014 Et cetera
The Noose
Old hopes
Conversed
In hushed tones
Or not at all

The maddening
Clock ticks
Inflaming
A sense of urgency
The pungent suffocating
Stench of death
Draws closer
And surrounds

How unsettling it is
For the sun to
Keep shining

Smiles
On their faces
Do they not see
The troubles
The shade of ruin
Impregnating the skies

Bound by limitations
And yet all they perceive
Are iridescent rainbows  
In a world without hue.
 Jun 2014 Et cetera
The Noose
Echoes of yesteryear’s
Blissful laughter
Fade away
As new profound
Sorrow blooms.
Disoriented in the murkiness
Of a wistful haze
Writhing in unending
Spasmodic aches

A new day is born
The mid-morning
Deceptive sunshine
Briefly kisses my skin
The sweet taste
Of what it means
To be human

The paralyzing
Feeling of unraveling
As the May icy winds whistle
Through the eucalyptus trees
Forbodes of calamity.
 Jun 2014 Et cetera
The Noose
I have been seeking solace
In fantasies
Of meeting my quietus
All my pleas to the maker
To be exonerated from the tyranny of drudgery
Fell to the wind

In the throes
Of self-abasement
I have been torn asunder
And rue haunts me
Like no ghost ever could

I don't quite know
Where this road
With no footmarks leads
Marching into the uncharted
All what my eyes perceive
Are visions of fractured glass
As I stare into the distance of a destiny painted in eerie hues.
 Jun 2014 Et cetera
The Noose
Severed from reality
Kept hidden
In my kingdom of grey
I tire of this horror
Do these four walls feel
The wrath of my violent sighs

There is beauty
To be discovered
In the wilderness
Of life
Even then
The ferocious storms
This world creates
Are not to my liking

The answers I seek
Are neither there
Nor here.
Some poets have muses
they have inspiration
that wells up inside
and gives them something to write

Some poets have great emotions
boiling up,
overwhelming their thoughts
until they have to take action
their words teeming with feeling

Some poets have experience
their knowledge and wisdom
flow with what they've been through
and they take you on a journey
as they enlighten you
on their life

But me?
Lately my pen and paper
have been left untouched,
neglected.

It's not like I have writer's block,
I have writer's uncertainty.
It's not that I have nothing to write,
I'm just not sure
if I want to take a long look
inside myself
and write about something
deep
dark
and dangerous
that I've kept within.
 Jun 2014 Et cetera
r
Morning Prayer
 Jun 2014 Et cetera
r
A whispered
call to prayer
across the pillow
my muezzin
your adhān
awakens me
to the sun
a new day.

I rise and kneel
in worship
in supplication
I hasten to you
my confession
in adoration
I vow, I bow
to please you.

r ~ 6/23/14
\•/\
   |   حي على الصلاة Hasten to worship
  / \
1273

That sacred Closet when you sweep—
Entitled “Memory”—
Select a reverential Broom—
And do it silently.

’Twill be a Labor of surprise—
Besides Identity
Of other Interlocutors
A probability—

August the Dust of that Domain—
Unchallenged—let it lie—
You cannot supersede itself
But it can silence you—
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