My wild ambition loves to slide - ye all must understand
But fortune's ice prefers only the most virtuous of hand.
In Malaga I grew weary and wanton to possess
The most colorless canvas, one easy with a lazy happiness,
Disdained by golden fruit to the viewer be
As I passed the crowd to gently shake the tree.
Now manifest in paint, inward contrived and long since
I stood in bold defiance with the heart of a prince,
Held up on the square by one wanting to buy my latest cause.
Against the wind I held it up in spite of all the laws.
Do they wish to thicken my lot among all their other mistakes?
What circumstances find you this? -This is what my mind makes!
The buzzing of my emissaries fill my ears
With many solitary jealousies and fears,
Arbitrary thoughts brought forward into the light,
Contemplating existence, must it prove my vision right?
Weak are the arguments! Which the true artist knows full well,
Where weak minded people curse my renderings or are easy to rebel.
For am I not governed by the moon and by the far off stars?
Tread lightly on me and don’t put me behind your own bars.
And once in a shard of time let the Annunaki’s scribe record,
That my vision once rendered could somehow affect their lord.
The unrecognized Enki still wants to be a chief, yet none
He created was found as fit as barren Adam.
Not that he wished his greatness to create,
For leaders should wish not to be called great.
But he like I know our titles are not to be allowed.
For titles are useless and only dependent upon a crowd,
Those are kingly powers, thus ebbing us out, they might be
Drawn by the dregs of a falsely acclaimed democracy.
But in my paint I attempt, with studied arts to ease,
And shed the unholy venom with visions such as these.
On the other side of the canvas, not much escapes my eye –
But once in front of it – nothing escapes the me that I call I.

If an impeccable ally is false or the implacable ingrate
Resolved to ruin or rule our combined fate
Or to encompass us with the blood oath bonds they've taken
The pillars of our safety shall forever be shaken,
A jilted child removed from a foreigner awakened.
Then seized with fear, yet affecting fame,
Usurped by an intruder’s unatoned name.
So easy still it proves in falsely factious times
With public zeal to cancel their most private of crimes.
How safe is treason and how sacred it’s ill,
Where not even a child is safe to be free at will.
Where evil marchers are all hoodwinked and their offences not be known,
Since in each other’s guilt - they confuse and hide their own.
Yet their fame is undeserved, for I am their enemy with a giant grudge
Once a child that they abhorred, but praise be – I am now their judge.
In my court they sit for me to annihilate their scheme
With my discerning eyes, with these hands that are bloodlessly clean.
Unbribed, unsought, these wretches I redress -
Swift to dispatch them to ease the victim’s distress.
Oh, some call me a heartless hanging judge,
As I dispense my medicine on this vile blood thirsty sludge.
But had I the ownership of these evil souls freed
I’d hang these oppressors twice hoping to redeem their evil seed.
A hanging judge I’m truly not, I’m just a historian in love
Setting heaven straight for the one I serve, the true guardian above.

The pulse of love beats inside of me,
Relegated to never be released or made full use of.
My inner compass always pointing to a seal unbroken
Like undisturbed pillows on a display bed - always made.
Sheets fitted - made ready for the unmaking.
Then seized by some inner fear, affecting all that I ever dared,
Usurping you my love, the you without a name.
Yet, how easy it begins in these faceless rhymes,
They ensnare my heart with their private crimes.
How safe is love, how sacred still,
Where no one reads of my inner hidden will.
What good is it that I can wink when it goes unknown,
With nothing shared or to call my own?
Yet, my love deserves no enemy nor grudge,
Just the presence of my heart as the consummate judge.
In this court I sit chained and broken
With discerning eyes scouring me until I’m deemed a token.
Unbridled, unsought, a wretched mess,
Swift to dispatch me off to less and less of my own access.
Oh, had there been a covenant I could have served the crown,
With virtuous, heady and proper nouns
Or had I been given the pass of my big heart freed
I could write unoppressed with the noblest indeed
But my tuneful harp is forever unstrung,
While heaven waits for my loving sounds,  my songs are yet unsung.

My bleeding here like this -
May it never stop until I have
Taken my very last breath.
And in that last breath may I
Somehow take up my pen
Thrusting it into my chest once again
To make way for the release of that last
Phrase which still anchors itself so
****** deep in my soul.

Oh, to feel it finally ooze from me
Leaving me void of its painful control.
Of which I both love it and I hate it too.
Its double edged influence like God
Himself on the one side giving me hope
While the devil is on the other,
The destroyer of all that I ever hoped.
Oh dear Lord - is not my pen like
A multi-cartridge-d vessel containing
More than just one color?

At times to be blue
When the pain of life draws out that color.
Spilling all my tears
To anyone within my reach.
At other times my pen writes a crimson red,
Letting go of all the love that is in me.
Then to click it yet again to find the black
Darkness that also lives somewhere in my soul.
But there is another color, isn’t there Lord?

Yes, one so silky white in color
That when I write in on this page
No one can ever see it.
That is, no one but you Lord.
So if I leave a white page
With my last dying breath
Perhaps you’ll understand that it’s
Just another note from me to you.

Pulling my pen from my bleeding heart
While taking the last breath I shall write to you:

With the tidings of my fate squarely in your hands oh Lord,
My bleeding has not quite yet stopped.
Here you are to come to administer
Whatever consolation of thy affection
That thy Love has for me.
Dear Lord, receiveth my parting breath
And close my eyes within your blessings.
And when I reawaken let me find myself
Somewhere in the midst of your framework.

Thou hast undoubtedly numbered all of my tears
And placed them in a bottle for safe keeping.
Dear God, thou has always been the framework
For all these words that I bleed upon these pages.
They were all my fancy embracing my feeble knees
Hoping to raise my eyes to bid me into your comfort.
They are all my own blessings like the child within my heart.
Never more so than when I am bleeding here like this
In these words – only then do I feel your principles
Ever present within me.

So take me Lord when my bleeding has stopped
And please don’t be alarmed if even then
My soul dips its finger into my own crimson jell
And one last time with that finger I write

In the name of Love……

Of all of these words the truest Star in heaven was first:
A name of which from all the succeeding generations burst.
With enclosed designs where my salacious counsel does fit
Sagacious she is - bold and born of a turbulence of wit.
Restless she is too - unfixed by principles or place;
Her powers unleashed with the patience of her grace.
A naked fiery soul which works out daily in her own way,
Unfettered by the gloriousness of her own body’s lack of decay.
She, the master of my mind ever beating my heart away from the clay.
A daring luxurious softness engulfing a flaming fire,
Poised with passion and waves of pleasure reaching ever higher;
Like a summer thunderstorm renders the calmness unfit,
Steering love nigh into my hands, boasting of how her touch has wit.
Of great wit we are, surely, as madness is to be allied;
As these thin partitions do touch the boundaries they divide.
Our bodies plundering our souls’ wealth loving the honor blest,
Refusing our age any needful hours of rest.
Sharing a simple body which neither alone could ever please;
For the single body alone is bankrupt, but together, a prodigal ease.
Flesh always leaves that which its touch has won
Un-feathered and four-legged making the two into one.
Oh, to my soul in my deepest huddled notions I do try;
To be reborn into the shapeless spent lump of you and I.

Thy lively prose and sprightly words disclose
Within a sweetness of eyes as fixed as those.
The flavor of your smile extends
Often to reject, but with love, it never offends.
To a poet thine eyes strike
Like the sunshine, they are so alike.
With a graceful ease void of pride
It hides any fault - if in you - you ever had any fault to hide.
For if to thy being some poetic errors befall
One look into those words and I’d have surely forgotten them all.

Doest’ thou know the beauty that I find in a single verse?
Let alone the many where my mind becomes traversed?
In unequal sentences measured in a peck
They shine like gold covering ‘round your ivory neck.
In these labyrinths - I am but a slave detained –
A mighty heart held within your slender chains.
So much to ponder in your imperial snare.
When all I ever needed was to know you there.

Let me breathe the breath that raises the fire.
Till we all fall together, never let us transpire.
To obtain and possess for each of us this prize.
The one I see when I’m lost within these cries.
If the powers can grant me but half of this prayer,
Then all the rest can fly to the winds dispersed into empty air.

Come now, my poet friends, secure this vessel that glides,
Fill it once again like sunbeams trembling across the floating tides.
Melt away the distant music that stole away the sky,
A deafening sound along the unwritten reply.
Please feel the smooth flow of the waves in gentle play.
Give me another smile to share with the whole world today.

Oh my thoughts of you are so tightly compressed,
I see the love tread softly across all the rest.
Summoned straight from some denizen's despair,
A lucid mastery of mystery, let it sail in to repair.
Soft underneath this shroud of death,
Let me feel your whispered breath.
Words flowing of the love we all bequeath.
We are many fluid bodies half dissolved in light.
Let us lose these garments erasing every mortals’ sight.
Our bodies given away freely in the words of a few,
Each of us lost in the other, the ones’ we always knew.
From every beam a transient color flings,
Given of life with our love on its wings.
Amidst the circle of life rides an ink filled gilded mast
With our hearts throbbing together within our task.
With purple pinions raised to the sun,
We raised our pens and shouted - we have just begun.

To this acquaintance,
A rendezvous with midnight.
A gentle Déjà vu and in some sense
I wonder if an unspoken invite
Has played a part or two.
Does the past ever ensue?

Words do become an addiction.
Layer upon layer of repeated satisfaction
Interjected, felt and spewed.
Silken sheet’s confessions are
Best made in the ****.
These words, why are they so bizarre?

Oh let me write it right
Let me dream tonight
Upon this unarmored stage.
Let me free the fight
All through the night
Releasing it from its cage.

With a candlelit smile upon a face
The sheets do gently part.
What fills my heart
Is the gentle art
Of a finger painting slowly traced.
It has not been done by the ones
Lessening love absent of these notions.

What lies beneath must lie beside
As the past becomes renewed.
A gentle kiss a midst a torrents tide
The naked beach subdued.
Wet sand shaping dry demands

Déjà vu be wooed.