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 Dec 2013 Toni Seychelle
kenye
I'm trying to get back in the flow
of feeling consistently constant
to blow my mind out
back to something cosmic
Made of star stuff
and spangled banners
bellowing my brains out
trying to wrack something
worthy of your attention

You just get so lost in your ego
it's hard to love yourself
before you put the world first
on your shoulders
and let go of
what was dragging you down
barreling passed all the borders
The self imposed prophecies
of invading the privacy
of your broken paranoia
are you even following yourself?

When you get to point
of writing it out
trying to sort out the madness
to make the next step
and process the enlightenment

Someone left the light on
in the attic of Heaven
calling
back to the stars
where they made up stories
of legends
stream of consciousness
 Dec 2013 Toni Seychelle
kenye
Cursed with consciousness
Controlled by the cosmic
**** of knowledge

Dripping wet
Drowned out
Overstimulated senses

Turned on
by some higher power
Feeling up
from chakra to chakra

Angels moan in harmony
humming divine madness
through the electric bodies

A touch of fire
forces art from fingertips
forging
copies
of copies
of copies

Created in the image
of constant grace
Burning the original
without a trace
sorry/not sorry for the c-bomb
With noon’s grim call, I rise too late.
Condensed sunlight through greys and slate.

Awake with a steadfast hunger for sleep,
to push out these pains that so make me weep.

Each day is rushed to a ****** too soon,
like some alleyway lover, ‘neath the moon.

‘Neath the moon, I give into wine;
vessel over my wholesome Tyne.

It’s all I have, to numb this pain,
pattern my thoughts, order my brain.

And with self-disgust, I discuss the past,
self-talk: The only friendship built to last.

I think on us all, and what we have been,
a filtered film-still, or some beauty queen,

when life weren’t fair, but fortunes true,
when the sky still ran that azure blue,

love no more than a hungry kiss,
some manufactured teenage bliss.

And lo, I’ve no friend to confide my heart,
each pound of muscle to create my art,

each longing of longing for reader’s love,
and my origins with the stars above.

No, reader, my dear, you’re all that is left,
to align my soul, frequently bereft.

So, read not this page as poetry,
but of the union of you and me,

we sit in life so clumsily
and yet with poise, we love so endlessly.
 Dec 2013 Toni Seychelle
Zedler
Started off in the [clouds]
and after falling and crashing down,
touched the roots of a redwood.

Now with the help of giraffes
I scale it's back as I'm looking
to climb my way up the trunk.

Branch after branch,
contact causing
****, hoping no one
stops my conquest
and burns this tree to ash.

Talking to fauna,
birds chirp, to attempt
continuing this saga,
after she left I reduced to
nothing but a larva, as I now
undergo the metamorphosis,
similar to that of Kafka's.

Trauma induces this  
determination, of being reunited
in clouds with her creation,
and if up there nothing for me
is waiting, then abort mission,
swing towards a new notion,
and from the the clouds
I'm perched upon, jump
and plummet into the [ocean].

25 hours pass before
the tip of the tree is reached
and as the sun rises, I realize
I'm above the horizon and
on clouds perched I instantly
recognize the eyes hidden
under eyelids.

Finally we've met again,
tragic ending as I reach for
her to grab my hand.
Unstably standing on this branch
and as she hands me hers, she
retreats and pulls back.

Slipping, she let me fall
and midair I hear my heart
crack, falling thousands of feet,
I'm thinking of the love she couldn't
keep, and before the impact a thought passes my head; so honest.
Humans like myself, too ambitious in their conquest,
meant to stay at trunk of trees, and clouds, strictly homes for a goddess.
 Dec 2013 Toni Seychelle
Chuck
Sing a song that all folks know
Sing a song with soul, real slow
Sing songs of triumph and pain
Sing a song and feel the hard rain

Songs of life's injustices and wrongs
Songs of protests, wars, and gongs
Songs of love and life and peace
Songs of captivity's sweet release

Sing a song that all folks know
Sing a song with soul, real slow
Sing songs of triumph and pain
Sing a song and feel the hard rain

For folks like you and folks like me
For folks who need open eyes to see
For folks who feel a tortured soul
For folks whose lives are at a lull

Sing a song that all folks know
Sing a song with soul, real slow
Sing songs of triumph and pain
Sing a song and feel the hard rain
Somewhere along the line I broke my internal compass.
Already inhaled our poisoned water, fearful of not reaching the surface.
Never knowing the right direction, leaves me left alone.
Done so much to weather this body, not as clear cut as a broken bone.
I just feel I want to go that way.
Eye see what I want - stumble, blackout, and stray.

Script already written, but the characters are constant variables.
Knowing everything in our heads is all malleable
Reading in between the lines searching for guarantees,
Feelings come influx.. and then slowly flee

Anchor me down to anything.

Sinking into a black tar pit abyss, wondering when I'll leave.
But maybe my soul was always meant to roam foreign zones, alone, free.
It's in moments like these where to thoughts I feel shackled to, can't release.
It becomes a hassle to feel happy, struggling to properly breathe.

Maybe no world is the same as yours
Each path has perfectly placed locked doors,
That's as individual to you as what you soak into your pores.
Getting *****, but we still want more.

It'll soon be time to graduate from our physical capabilities,
But man, how did I go so long without seeing the synchronicities?

I bleed red, I'm tired, but true.
I can't bridge past the fact that I don't know if this is for me or you.

My monster of malice,
Helps me hold high, the aluminum chalice.
Knowing these roads don't help feed my head,
Left Alice in bed for the next adequate depressant threshold
Draining my spirit and the malicious comes back-
Writing down symbols, using me as a vessel.

This dream of a life can be stressful
My walls I am enclosed in has become a mess hole.
Halls with trophies that look much like alcohol bottles.. oh wait.
Little victories! - I'm still here.
Make the liquid disappear so you can see the skewed you a little more clear.
I make the art of dying look so graceful,
Just hoping before the expiration date I left you with something tasteful.

My genes are tearing at the seams.
Glittered with fractured beams of half- hope
Slipped down the rope before I saw the light
Shining down on disappointment.
Been joyously walking to the liquor store for my alcoholic ointment.

Too much cancer, fresh internal scars, and airbrushed perspectives.
It's too bad we mostly only look at our exterior when being reflective.
*** becomes a place where we can forget.
It happened for more than hormones, yet many tend to regret.
People can run off course and divorce themselves when ******* leads to remorse
But the choice is yours.
Then we develop new feelings whether intended or not.
A home for new wounds, just waiting to clot.

We're simply riding through life chemically imbalanced,
Happiness turns to madness, sadness, numb.
Jumping from this feeling to that, this person to them.
Firing more into the overworked synapses that overreact through connection
When you clash with your mind, and embody all it's destructive four course meals
It eventually takes control over your entire life, robbed blind, an easy steal.
Peel away each sentence, and bask right now in the surreal,
Make a deal to be your divine self and let the soul show ya what's real.

In these very limited bodies, currently, time is currency. *
With your unlimited potential act purposefully-
Spend the ticks wisely to enrich your soul.
Mind plays tricks from time to time, never let it have control
Open your third eye and dare to be bold
Strengthen vibrations with intent to share the love
and you'll be riddled with appreciation without deviation,
From the heaven within us all, to the heavens above~

But I trust our spirits know our way around the blueprint.
Despite the many unseen forces, forever at play.
Look deeper into the depths like an enthusiastic student
**Reality is just a matter of what you believe; namaste~
I left the town and the girl I loved to come to college when I was 18. The night before I left, she came over and cried, which made me cry, so we cried together about being torn apart by the unloving forward movement of time. The next day she watched as my parents packed my car and drove away, and she texted me the entire time.

I still go home sometimes, for weekends, vacations and holidays, but I never see the girl I once loved. She loves someone else now, and I love no one, and that’s exactly how it’s supposed to go. I’m not even sure I love the town anymore, but I realize it’s prettier than I gave it credit for. However, when I go there now, the friends aren’t around, the school no longer my own and when I walk my dog on the farms the regulars look at me with an hint of distrust, as if I’m a foreigner in their land.

The scenery could be on a postcard somewhere. “Welcome to Small-Town Massachusetts, the town that soon forgets.”
terrestrial siren call out
to me with your irresistible
song, ground me on the Earth
in the clouds, alone, I will go mad
alone without your melodies
to lure me back to a port
where I can furl my sails
and rest in your grounding solace

a song unlike the siren songs
Odysseus heard strapped to the mast
to resist temptation—he had only Penelope
while I have only you

you pull my ship back on course
away from the tangents I am prone

I want nothing more
than to bring
you aboard my ship
I know your telos
is rooted amidst the Earth
to heal and flourish
the ailing land
my telos to sail the sky
charting the heavens in search
of a key to turn the tumbler
of the lock to the universe

it tears my heart to be away
from your terrestrial song…

know: you will always be the port
where I return—for no reason other
than to hear your sweet song

one day, I will
roll my sails
un-step my mast
let the shrouds
hang loose
anchor my ship
permanently out
in the waters
of the celestial bodies

walk upon the Earth amongst trees, plants, and rock
rooting myself alongside you—ears open, listening,
solace in your song, in the port we built together
This is a revision of Sonnets from a Celestial Mariner to a Terrestrial Siren
my replacing takes part by small
designs. displacements accumulate,
until some day you look
out the window or
breathe to check you're still
alive; and, like that,
this weight will be gone.
this burden, effortlessly
dissipating.
this lament reaches from all hollows.

'cause you only reap from seeds
sown, right? it never
rained once.

you know, though,
i, likewise, never threw a single one down,
and instead just bit my tongue,
carrying out schematic emptinesses.
these hollows fill out and
encompass the entire world;

at the focus of everything,
i act out absolutes
and do nothing at all.

these new fields still look
burnt. i still turn soil, hoping for
salvation.
what if it rains?
will i cope?
will i drown?
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